The presence of any letter of the Holy Tetragrammaton, but particularly the first, carries with it divine energy. Yod is that from which everything is created. Hebrew is called the flame language. Myth has it that if we begin with just the little tiny Yod, roughly the size and shape of an apostrophe, and a wind blows through it as if it were a candle flame, every other letter of the alphabet would emerge from it.
Finally, as you may recall, there is a Kabbalistic belief that Torah (or Pentateuch, the first five books of Moses) is the blueprint for the creation! Torah is held to have existed before the universe. If Torah is the blueprint by which God created the universe, there is clearly a complex relationship between the word and its manifestation.
Part of what this means is that we must be very careful of what we say because words create reality. “Abracadabra!” What does that mean? We all heard it as kids. Magic! Magic! If I say it, something is going to happen. If I say something, and then I say “Abracadabra,” it’s going to happen. Abracadabra comes from Hebrew or the related Aramaic and means “As it is said, so shall it be.” (Literally, the translation is “that which is created is that which is spoken,” abra being from the Hebrew boray [to create] and dabra from deber [to speak], according to Rabbi Stan Levy.) As it is said, so shall it be! The power of the word belongs to every breath we emit with sound. It floats to the top and above the Tree of Life to the highest realms of heaven—and changes things. It shifts energy.
Why is one of the Ten Commandments “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord in vain”? If you could give your offspring, a son or a daughter, ten crucial pieces of advice on how to live life, would one of them be “Don’t swear”? If you were limited for some reason to ten, would you waste one by saying, “By the way, don’t curse”? Isn’t that roughly on a par with “Always carry a clean handkerchief”? In exploring the mystical relationship between words and reality, however, the true and profound understanding of that command emerges: we are not to take the name of the Lord in vain because it can’t be done. When you say God’s name, energy shifts. Something is changed. If I look at you and say, “God bless you,” a flow of love goes out into the world. “God bless you” is a powerful thing to say. If I say, “God damn it!” something changes, too. We want to be very careful about saying that. Is that what we really mean? Do we really want anyone or anything to be damned by God? In summary, the relationship among letters, words, and reality is potent, magical, and central to human life.
We can now return to the Ace of Cups and recognize that the little drops of water form Yods. God’s own energy spills over through the initial letter of the Holy Tetragrammaton, the unpronounceable name of the unknowable Cause of all Being.
So we have in Keter (the crown) the Ace of Cups, the overflowing of joyful love. God reaches into the universe, the entire cosmos of Keter. He has already given us the gift of the material world in the Ace of Pentacles. Now He presents us with another crowning gift, the capacity to love it. His gift to us through the Ace of Cups is the capacity to respond with love and to feel emotion in this world.
Two of Cups
As we move now to Chochma, which is the second sefirah on the Tree, the supernal father, wisdom, we see the lovely card of the Two of Cups. We will recall that the position of the Two represents the place of relatedness and introduces the possibility of relationship. In Keter, the place of the One, or Ace, everything is everything else, and everything is one and we’re all united. There is no possibility of relationship. Only when we get to Chochma, the place of the Two, does relationship becomes possible. I-Thou becomes possible. The Suit of Cups is the most hospitable place for the energy of the Two. Relationship is natural to the suit of feeling. We consequently see here a very comfortable card in the place of Chochma, a balanced and beautiful one.
We see in the Two of Cups an expression of the magic that can take place when two come together, not just in passion but in spiritual love. We see a man and a woman; the woman, magnetic, remains still; the man, dynamic, approaches. Each, handsomely dressed, is crowned with a garland, the woman’s distinctly the laurel of victory. Each then is a winner. This explains why the two are not sharing a cup: she has hers; he has his.
The suggestion here is that this is not a codependent relationship. The woman does not come to the man saying, “I’m desperate! Still my terror, ease my pain, or I’m not going to make it! Let me drink from your cup because I don’t have one.” The man does not say, “At last! Someone in worse shape than I am! Compared to her, I’m a bloody hero! She can’t even tie her own shoelaces. She needs me. If I have her in my life, I don’t have to deal with my own stuff. Dealing with her crises—just ensuring her survival—will take all my time and energy. So what if I can’t get through a day without a couple of six-packs? I function great compared to her!” What we see, rather, is that the man approaches the woman saying, “I have a full cup, and I would like to share it with you.” We may imagine her reply to be, “I too have a full cup, and I would like to share it with you.” The relationship suggested is that between two independent people. Chochma means “wisdom”; the wisdom they have achieved as individuals has prepared them for the relationship.
Because of their mutual independence, a cordial distance that is almost chivalric can be maintained between the two. There is a gentleness and caring; rather than risk intrusion or offense, the two keep a respectful distance. In recent years, we have seen a return to the gradual development of relationships. The madness of the late sixties through the early eighties seems to be gone. People no longer think that instant physical intimacy is an expression of freedom. We seem again to recognize the need for preparation, whether in cooking or spiritual development or relationship. We cannot achieve true intimacy without putting in the time and work. I was present to witness a moment of consciousness raising after a party in 1978. An agitated young man told me in confusion that he had met a woman at a party the night before, who after twenty minutes of “What’s your sign?” dialogue and three dances, had gone home and to bed with him. Then she got up, got dressed, and left. “So what did she really give me?” he asked. Were I a cartoonist, I would have drawn a lightbulb over his head.
Over the figures in the Two of Cups we see a winged lion head, the red, leonine energy of passion. The spread wings unite the two as one so that the relationship is more than the sum of its parts. The whole is something entirely different. A fiery angel has been created by the feeling between these two: there is the suggestion of being uplifted as well as merging in passion.
Finally, between the two we see the caduceus, the symbol of the medical profession; and therefore the symbol of healing. This is an important and lovely concept, that relationships have the power to heal. The caduceus, for those of you who may not be aware of it, was created when the Greek god Hermes was walking down a dusty road and saw two snakes tangled in battle. He threw his staff down between them to keep them from harming each other, and they wound around his staff in the now-familiar pattern. By virtue of having prevented harm, Hermes became the god of medicine and healing, and the caduceus a symbol of the healing arts.
The suggestion of healing is particularly interesting when we consider an old Hebrew midrash, or interpretive story, about the creation of Adam and Eve that Rabbi Steve Robbins tells most beautifully. It is similar to the more exoteric forms of the myth in the Bible, but different enough to make a lot of us (especially feminists) very happy. The original creation myth is that God, having completed the rest of creation, made a being in His/Her own likeness and called it Adam. Because everything that was in God was also in Adam, it was possible for Adam to communicate with God at any time. But Adam wandered around the Garden of Eden and saw that each creature had a mate unto its kind, and Adam alone had no mate. The earthling was lonely and said to God, “Of all the creatures in the world, I alone am without a mate, and I cannot function in this world.” (Interestingly, the word in Hebrew for sexual intercourse has the same root as the verb “to function.” So muc
h for any notions of sexuality as sinful.)
God replied, “I can make a mate for you, but if I do this, our relationship will never be the same because then you will be only half of what I am, and you will not be able to relate to me in the way you do now.” Adam said, “It would be worth it. I must have a mate. I must feel that I am a part of this world.” So God put Adam into a deep sleep and divided this first human down the center and, as the story goes, the two danced apart. Adam the androgyne was divided into two beings, the male and the female. (This story is very different from the version in which woman is created only from Adam’s rib, the implication being that his heart, or even a lung, of which he had two, was too valuable to sacrifice for the creation of a mere woman. Apparently, even a finger would have constituted too great a cost to Adam’s dexterity. So what does Adam have so many of and so little use for that he’ll never miss one? The suggestion is that a woman is worth the concession of a single rib, and not an earlobe more.)
This moving midrash enables us to understand in a new way the tremendous yearning we each have within us to find our mate, because what we are really looking for is our own other half. This is what we feel when we talk about looking for our soul mate. We are looking for the one who will make us feel complete, whole.
Now, I want to stress here that this is, of course, metaphor. We each have male and female energies within us. It may be that my other half also takes the physical form of a woman. Or it may be that a man’s other half takes the physical form of a man. That doesn’t matter. When we talk throughout Tarot or Kabbalah about marriage, love, or union, when we talk about male and female, we’re talking about male energy and female energy. It’s very important to remember that. All varieties of love are valid to the heart. What is important is that two come together as one and create a relationship through healing and love that is both passionate and spiritual, the whole of which is greater than the sum of its parts. Between the two figures of the Two of Cups we see mutual respect. Recall for a moment the Six of Pentacles. That is an image of domination. This is an image of partnership.
We have said that Tarot cards all have both positive and negative charges. What could be wrong with the Two of Cups? Perhaps it’s a little too good to be true. There is something so idealistic, so pristine, so perfect about the partnership represented that it sets people up for disappointment. You know, when you have this kind of entirely lovely relationship, you don’t want to be around the other person when your hair needs washing. Yet sooner or later everybody’s hair needs washing. And if you’re actually going to set up house with someone about whom you feel this way, inevitably that person is going to see it all, and so are you. He will see you, bloated and short tempered with a touch of acne, roughly once a month. You will watch in horrified fascination as he laughs at moronic jokes on his favorite sitcom. He will wonder why you can cook only three different dishes. You will wonder why he drives ten minutes out of his way to save three cents a gallon on gas. And everyone has some personal habit fit only for total privacy in which we can be surprised, to our mortification and our mate’s disillusion, if only perfection will do. Laughter at such moments is not an option for the figures in the Two of Cups.
The Two of Cups, then, is a card often associated with the beginning of relationships, because as they develop it becomes clear that no one on this earth can be our perfect counterpart. That is our ideal, but it is not realizable. We begin to find the little flaws and to see the grating inconsistencies between our image and what that person really is. That’s when highly romantic love gets tested. In The Road Less Traveled, M. Scott Peck actually goes so far as to say that you can’t begin loving someone until you fall out of love with them! You can’t begin loving someone until you see and accept that person as they genuinely are.
There is another aspect of the Two of Cups that can be seen as negative: it is, as you have probably noticed by now, a separation card. As idyllic as the little house and rolling green hills of the background may appear, the couple pictured have separated themselves from it. They are in the early stage of their relationship that involves what John Bradshaw calls “primal gazing,” the kind of mooning absorption appropriate to nursing babies and their mothers. This state of total infatuation separates the couple from everyone else. They are in their own little world, which, like a cocoon, spares them any awareness of troubles and sorrows “out there.” We will see more mature images of love as our work progresses, but the couple in the Two are complete unto themselves. May they savor the exquisite fleeting moment. May we all.
Three of Cups
We move next to the number-three card, which is at Binah, the place of fulfillment. Representing the creative resolution of opposites, the three is always the completion of the suit. The fulfillment of the Suit of Cups is the rejoicing celebration, total lack of competition, harvest, warmth, and unbounded good spirits pictured in the Three of Cups. Binah means “understanding.” A profound understanding of what is valuable and important in life is reflected in this image. Most of these cards, I think we will see, are relatively simple in relation to the Suit of Pentacles. Because the Suit of Pentacles has to do with perception, there is a lot to notice and see. The Suit of Cups has to do with feeling, and therefore how we react to the cards is more important than what we notice by way of detail. In fact, we will find in general that the best approach to a suit is with the function of consciousness that it represents.
What we have here are three women dancing in a way reminiscent of figures in Botticelli’s Primavera. It’s interesting that they dance not in a line but in a circle. None is the leader. None comes last. They are all women, because women represent loving and sharing rather than aggression and competition. Does this mean that only women can rejoice in this way? Of course not. When we talk about the female, remember, we’re not talking about people, we’re talking about energy.
When men do come together in this kind of loving, sharing way, they’re coming from their own female nature. This is not the kind of friendship that’s expressed in the locker room when one guy slaps another guy across the butt with a wet towel and asks about the ball scores. It’s the relationship among men who can put their arms around each other and talk from their hearts, from the feminine parts of themselves.
This is a harvest card. We see the gourds, pumpkins, and squash, the flowers in the maidens’ hair, the loosely held dangling grapes. The number three again brings together the best of the suit: rejoicing, celebration, and an outpouring of love. The Saturnian influence of Binah manifests here as the willingness simply to be part of a group, without individual ego expression, without the need to be exceptional. The Two and Three of Cups, the right temple of Chochma and the left of Binah, come together at the chakra of the third eye. The best of the Suit of Cups is love; we could have few more inspiring mandalas for meditation than the images of these two cards.
Four of Cups
We move next to the number-four sefirah on Tree, which is the place of Chesed, of mercy and loving-kindness. It has, perhaps, a warm, golden light that infuses, fills, and surrounds us, bathes us in loving comfort. It imparts the feeling of being connected to everything else around us. This is one of the more complex cards of the Suit of Cups. We see what most perceive as a young man (but it might also be a young woman) sitting cross-legged and cross-armed on a green knoll under a tree. In the background is the suggestion of a barren mountain. There are three full cups before him and a fourth cup coming out of the sky through a cloud, held by a small hand. This is not the hand of God, but perhaps the hand of an angel. Why isn’t he taking the cup? That is the interesting question. The answer is manifold, and it’s what gives richness and interest to the card.
There are some who feel—and I believe this is the most popular interpretation of the card—that this figure represents surfeit and satiation. Jupiterian expansiveness has become cloying. There is already such abundance that there is no enthusiasm or need for anything further. There’s a kind of lethargy to the card
, a sort of indolence—it’s just not worth the effort to reach out for this next cup; it will just be more of the same. This ties in very well with the message of Chesed. We are reminded again that Chesed, as wonderful as it is, is not on the central pillar of the Tree. It is an extreme. It needs to be balanced. There’s nothing more wonderful than going out for a delicious, beautifully prepared, multicourse gourmet meal when you’re really hungry. It is less wonderful to go out for a delicious, beautifully prepared, multicourse gourmet meal right after one has just finished a delicious, beautifully prepared, multicourse gourmet meal. We need to hunger as well as to be satisfied. So one of the interpretations of the Four of Cups is that this is someone who is just spoiled; someone who is subject to the danger of Chesed: having more than enough.
However, there are a number of other very interesting interpretations possible. Many of these have come from students of mine. I love to look at these cards, these same images year after year, and have someone just blow me away with an interpretation that I’ve never thought of and that is obviously correct! One person said, “Oh, he’s going to take that cup all right—when he’s ready! But if that’s his cup, he doesn’t have to grab at it, because nobody else is going to get it. It will wait for him.” There’s a lot of wisdom in that.
Another interpretation I like is that this card represents a temptation. Perhaps the figure sitting under the tree is meditating, and when we’re meditating, the last thing we want is to be distracted by some cup that comes along. Yes, it may be a good thing, but how good would it have to be to make it worth interrupting our meditation? What is more valuable than inner peace, discourse with the divine? We are even reminded of the temptations of Jesus. Refusal may not be a sign of lethargy.
Tarot and the Tree of Life Page 12
