Tarot and the Tree of Life

by Isabel Radow Kliegman

  Funny story: A friend of mine who had a tank of fish said to her roommate, “I feel so guilty! I haven’t changed the water for those fish in so long they’re barely moving.” The roommate replied, “Maybe they’re stuck.” So the fish tank winds up in the garage, too. In short, we need to integrate Wands with the other suits to balance our functions of consciousness.

  When we look at the Suit of Wands, we see that the images have become extremely simple. In every case, if we look at the card and then look away, we can easily hold the picture in our minds—unlike the Ten of Pentacles, for example. Why? Because we approach each suit with the function of consciousness that the suit represents. In other words, we approach Pentacles, the sensate function, with our own sensate function. We approach Pentacles with perception. Cups relate to feelings. The question to ask of a card in that suit is, “How does it make me feel?” Swords carry our thinking; we analyze Swords cards. But since we associate Wands with intuition, what is most important about these cards is what clicks for us when we look at them. What we can best ask ourselves is, “What is my inkling about this card? What comes through for me?” For this purpose, structurally simple images are best; detail would be extraneous distraction.

  Ace of Wands

  As always we begin in Keter, where divine energy first enters the Tree, first enters the universe. We see once again the huge hand that can only be the hand of God, emerging from the heavens, through a cloud, shining in a halo of white light, offering a gift. The gift this time is a rod, or wand. Before a pleasant landscape, God offers us the life force and the power of intuition. Keter is the crown, and perhaps more than in any other suit, intuition seems to come to us as a delicate explosion through the crown chakra. The most interesting aspect of this image, arguably, is that not all of the leaves are attached to the tree. When I looked at my first Waite deck, I thought the card was flawed. When I looked at my second Waite deck, I thought, “Wait a minute…” My third Ace of Wands made it clear that every deck had this “misprint,” so I allowed my intuition to respond to the image exactly as printed.

  Clearly these are not dead, falling leaves. They’re not yellow or brown dried-up leaves that have reached the end of life. These are plump green leaves that are virtually exploding off the bough because they’re so full of sap! They’re full of life! This is the life force at its most powerful, an explosion of leaves off the wand that God is offering. When Jesus said, “I come to bring you life more abundant,” I believe that this is what he meant. He wasn’t talking about more years to watch reruns of sitcoms; more years in the same old rut isn’t life more abundant. That’s just doin’ more time on planet Earth. He meant more cluck for your buck! More life for our life, vitality, the feeling of being quiveringly alive every minute that we’re here.

  The Buddhists talk about life’s yearning for manifestation, the yearning to be in the world. The life force has an intrinsic need to funnel its way into living things. Dylan Thomas writes, “The force that through the green fuse drives the flower drives my green age.” This is what the miraculous image of the Ace of Wands portrays—God gives to us the same life force as the sap that thrusts the flower through the sepals of the bud.

  We can recognize in these ebullient leaves the little Yods, the first letter of the Holy Tetragrammaton, the unpronounceable description of the God that has no name, the Yod He Vav He. As always the Yods are the presence of divine energy in the world. It is interesting to note that there is only one ace that has no Yods: the Ace of Pentacles. In the Ace of Swords they masquerade as flames, in the Ace of Cups as drops of water, in the Ace of Wands as leaves. Why are there no Yods in the Ace of Pentacles? As Stephan Hoeller suggests, the pentacle itself is a representation of God’s presence in the manifest world. So the Ace of Pentacles alone doesn’t need Yods. But the Yods in the Ace of Wands hold so much juice that there’s no way to contain it, and they fly out into the air.

  At this point, we must address directly a subject we have discussed more generally, and that is that the Wands carry explicit sexual energy; in particular, phallic energy. (For the faint of heart and overly delicate, be forewarned: this is the X-rated chapter, and my only hope for marketing it through “adult” bookstores.)

  The suits of the Tarot fall into two categories: female and male. Pentacles suggest pregnant bellies, Cups are symbols of the receptive female sexual vessel. Swords and Wands, on the other hand, are more or less classic phallic symbols, images of male sexuality. This is clear in the aces of these suits, especially the Ace of Wands, the cardinal image of virility. The way in which the wand is held brings to mind a certain African tribe that attributes the entire creation—all the stars of the universe—to an act of onanism by a single male god. (Keter, we recall, is associated with the vast nebulae of the entire cosmos.)

  The Ace of Wands is a wonderful card for undertaking any new venture, because its energy, better than any other, can break through the obstacles of inertia.

  Two and Three of Wands

  Because of their obvious similarity, we will depart from the usual format of this book and examine the Two and the Three of Wands together. Aren’t they somehow redundant? In each case, there is a single figure. In each case male. Each stands perfectly still, each with his face averted, and in each case he looks out over a body of water. Each holds a wand. Why do we need both of these cards?

  To understand why we need both images in the Tarot, we must remember that we are dealing with Wands, and therefore with intuition. The question is not how much alike the cards are perceived to be, but what sense we have of them. We get a totally different sense of the personality types of these two figures, of what energies are being expressed. The Three of Wands makes us feel peaceful, carries an aura of great serenity; the Two of Wands carries one of impatience and urgency. So beginning with that, let us look at the images more closely.

  In the Two, we see a gentleman who is dressed in patrician garb; we might gather that he is a nobleman. It seems to me that he is standing on his own balustrade or the turret of his own castle, looking out over the sea. He holds a wand in one hand—the life force, energy, inspiration, intuition—and in the other he holds a globe of the world, suggesting the material plane. His crest is made up of the red roses of desire and the white lilies of pure thought. The stark mountains in the background suggest objective clarity.

  This card is often referred to as The Lord of Balance. This is someone who has done his spiritual work as well as his worldly work. He feels passionately, but he thinks clearly. He has done all that is in his power; what is left is to await his reward. But perhaps he looks out over the ocean as if to say, “Well, universe, I’ve been doing all the work here. What are you now going to offer me? When does my ship come in?” Or perhaps he is reflecting dispassionately on someone who has just sailed away. Is it his offspring, perhaps, whom he has prepared both spiritually and materially for independence? Yet now that the children have struck off on their own, he muses, wonders, questions their readiness.

  The figure in the Three stands dressed in garb that suggests a more ancient time. A student likened the figure to Joseph in his coat of many colors. The robe and headband can also suggest the time of ancient Greece. In the Rider version of Waite’s designs he stands in the golden glow of sunset or sunrise. He looks out over a river on which we see three boats. What does the card mean? How is it different from the Two?

  If we look at the figure in the Two of Wands, we see that he can’t stand in that position very long. How heavy is a globe of the world? How long can you stand with your arm crooked, holding one? Now look at the Three. Which position would you rather be in if you had to remain standing for an hour? There is a suggestion of impatience and urgency in the Two.

  Whereas the figure in the Two is surrounded by worldly riches, the figure in the Three is out in nature without any belongings. The mountains of objective truth have receded into the background and appear much smaller than they do in the Two. Analytical judgment is of diminished importa
nce. The key differences emerge, however, when we examine the ways in which the two figures hold their wands. The figure in the Two holds a wand that is perched precariously on top of a stone wall, as if to balance it, to keep it from falling over. The wand held in the Three is planted, or at least embedded in the earth, and the figure leans on it. He is not supporting it, he’s gaining support from it. He’s resting on it. He is grounded; his body language shows him to be comfortable. He’s there for the duration.

  Finally, we see in the Two of Wands a figure in profile, whereas the figure in the Three stands with his back to us. What here is at issue is faith and trust—how we really feel about our intuition. In standing with his back to us, he is vulnerable to attack, to someone sneaking up on him, but the Three’s figure is not worried about that. He trusts that if there were something amiss he would sense it. He would somehow know it. Two of his wands are simply planted in the ground behind him, where he can’t keep track of them. Suppose somebody steals up and makes off with them? But no one can; he trusts in himself to know if any danger approaches.

  The Two of Wands, on the other hand, represents someone who does not trust his intuition as much as he thinks he does. The mountains of objective truth loom large and near; the figure is challenging and checking up on his intuition. The wands of his intuition are not grounded, so he cannot trust them to hold steady without conscious help. This is why, in holding one wand, he supports it rather than being supported by it. As if this message were not clear enough, his second wand is bolted to the wall! He’s actually got it bolted to the wall! This is a man who has to be in charge, has to control everything, and can leave nothing to chance. And while he’s not exactly looking at us, he’s positioned so that he can easily glance over his shoulder. He does not have the faith in his intuition that he would like to think he does.

  For our intuition to serve us, we must be willing to submit to it, but the figure in the Two attempts to govern it. Rather than relying on his intuition, he has decided that he is entitled to some result or reward, and he expects the universe to deliver it right then, while he stands holding a heavy globe. We are reminded of the facetious prayer, “God, grant me patience—and I mean right now!” The card may well mean, “You will get what you have earned, what you deserve, but not necessarily on command.”

  This card turned up many times for me during the two-year period between my leaving advertising sales and finding my current work. I had provided for myself financially, making it possible to forgo a biweekly check. I had searched my soul, prayed, meditated, cajoled, and finally walking on the beach, railed at the heavens and ranted at the sea, “Why can’t I find my true work in the world?” I found it—but not just then.

  Let us ask next what the difference is between the ocean and a river? The ocean represents something “out there,” separate from ourselves, from which we await something. The river is a metaphor for each of our lives (we have examined the “river of life” in earlier discussions). It’s an interesting and appropriate metaphor, first, because like a river, we change all the time. While the river is always “the river,” the water in it is never the same. We can return to a river, whether it’s the Missouri, the Nile, or the Colorado, not having seen it for seven years, and be in no doubt that it is the same river. Similarly, every seven years, every cell of our bodies is replaced, but people continue to recognize us when we meet them on the street. It is not as if after three years people notice that we look a little strange; after five years, they aren’t quite sure whether or not they know us; and after seven, pass us as if we are strangers. We remain the same even though particulars change. Our experiences flow through, as do our feelings, our thoughts, and our deeds, and yet there is the consistency of who we are. We are always the same, the capital I as opposed to the lowercase I of our lives. We, in our essence, are always the same. The river, then, is the symbol of constancy in the face of change.

  Let us return now to the Three. In the Rider deck, the color that permeates the rendering is gold. The color of the water and the color of the sky are exactly the same. In the Universal Waite deck, they are of similar hue. This suggests the Kabbalistic truth that the soul and the God-stuff from which it emanated are one essence. It comes from the Ein, through the Ein Sof and Ein Sof Ohr, into the Tree. Whether one is in this body or another body or no body, it’s the same essence. It’s all golden light. That’s what we are: golden light. Only the vessel changes from the rarefied medium of the sky to the denser but more dazzling medium of the water. The colors in the Two of Wands are more divisive. Individuation is much clearer. We can see where one thing lets off and something else begins. But there’s a lovely blending and melding in the Three.

  The peacefulness with which the figure in the Three looks out over the river of his life, on which float three boats—three relationships, jobs, opportunities, careers, goals, whatever—says, “There are three boats here. I wonder if one of them is the ship that will come in for me?” There is no urgency. There is no attempt to push the river. The figure has learned to go with the flow. He knows that if any of these boats has his initials on it, it will come into port without his doing anything further. He also knows that if it doesn’t, he can’t get it into his harbor with a gettin’-it-into-the-harbor machine! What is meant to be will be, and what is not meant to be will not be, no matter how much we want it.

  The river can also be seen not as a single incarnation but as the soul’s journey, in which case each boat would represent a life on earth. The Three of Wands symbolizes the capacity for detachment and the achievement of spiritual perspective on life and its events. Always and ever we remain golden light.

  Beginning with a comparison of the Two and the Three is instructive. If we start with our perceptions, we see the cards’ similarities. If we begin with our intuition, we may begin to understand their differences.

  Since we are dealing with Chochma and Binah, we’re dealing respectively with relationship and completion. As we mentioned in our discussion of Pentacles, the suits are not equally comfortable in every sefirah. The Suit of Pentacles, having to do with earth, shows increasingly positive cards as it nears Malchut, the kingdom, while the Two is uneasy and off balance. The Suit of Wands, which is fiery, naturally moves up and therefore is at its happiest high on the Tree. (This point will become even clearer when we examine the Nine and Ten of the suit.)

  The Two of Wands, then, falling in Chochma, is a card of balance. Chochma means “wisdom” and refers to relationship; the Two at its best reflects the wisdom of establishing a balanced relationship between our spiritual and our earthly natures. The card suggests encompassing the full range of existence, as Chochma, associated with all twelve signs of the zodiac, implies balanced fullness. The successful executive whose inner life is a void has become a cliché in our society. Just as tragic, however, are those whose disrespect for the mundane results in noble intentions whose effects are disastrous. My heart sinks when a “new age” querent announces in the course of a reading, “If I’m on my true path, the money will come to me. The universe will provide.” From a spiritual perspective, that statement is absolutely true. The universe will provide, but what? What will it provide? What the universe provides may not be what we want! Mick Jagger’s reassurance that “you get what you need” is cold comfort for someone envisioning a universe that provides what they want. The streets of every major city are littered with the broken dreams and broken bodies of failed lives, spirituality notwithstanding. When clients talk with me about leaving an unfulfilling job to strike out on their own as healers or psychics, I cannot encourage them to do so before they have provided for their material needs.

  In the third sefirah, Binah, the supernal mother, we see the understanding of the eternal feminine, the trinity that brings opposites—time and eternity, perhaps, in the Three of Wands—into a newly created union. The Three, as always, is the fulfillment of the suit. In Wands, it is trust in our intuition, in our own life force, in our connectedness with God energy. B
inah has brought forth the child of perfect faith, who knows intuitively that we belong on this earth and are exactly where we are supposed to be. How many lives, how many lifetimes of Saturnian restriction and discipline, are required to arrive at this place of peace?

  The right temple of Chochma and the left of Binah come together at the third eye. The profoundly evocative images of the Two and Three of Wands may more fully reveal their mysteries if given the benefit of this powerful and mysterious chakra.

  Four of Wands

  In the Four of Wands we come to an interesting expression of Chesed, God’s manifestation as loving-kindness and mercy. We see the overflowing bounty of Jupiter, the largest and most expansive of planets. Two figures rush forth from what is clearly a harvest celebration taking place at the castle in the background. Arms raised high above their heads, hands filled with abundance from the earth, they hasten toward a canopy that is laden with fruits, gourds, and vegetables—a harvest canopy.

  This canopy is an important symbol in the Jewish religion, in which there is a harvest festival called Sukkhot. For this holiday, people traditionally build a sukkhah (the singular of sukkhot), an arrangement similar to the one pictured, in which they take their meals, sleep, and spend their days. This is fascinating in terms of the Suit of Wands! Why? Because most of us would feel terribly vulnerable living outdoors under a flimsy canopy, spending the night exposed to unseen dangers without any walls or locks to protect us. Sleeping in the sukkhah is the acknowledgment of our trust in God, not just to bring forth fruit from the earth, but to provide for all our needs, including protection. As a point of interest, our own Thanksgiving traces its roots to this ancient celebration. More significantly for our work, Rabbi Ted Falcon teaches that the true sukkhot are not the ones we construct “out there” of branches and fruits, but the sukkhot we make of ourselves. If we recognize our gifts with kavanah, if we make them kadosh, we come to trust the Adonai (Lord) and the Elohenu (Creator). When we trust in God and the God within—our life force and our psychic knowing—then we are free to be in the world without walls, without protection, open, welcoming to the stranger, and laden with gifts to share.