Judgement

Signicator

Should I do it? The reasons against doing it have begun to seem insignificant compared to the reasons for doing it. "The reasons against insanity fall through with a soft chirring sound." Where is that from? I can't remember. It doesn't matter. I flushed all my meds down the toilet. Mom's dead. Dad doesn't care. Boyfriend dumped me. Even the fucking goldfish croaked on me last week. I could flip a coin, but chance seems just a bit too cold for a decision like this. My horoscope says that this month I need to prepare myself for some tough decisions. 'Seek advice from a trusted advisor.' I don't have a trusted advisor, so I'll use the cards instead.

Flip.

Death. How appropo. Doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to die. However, in a case like this...But it's just the first card, it tells me who I am right now, not what I have the potential to become. A robed skeleton on a bone horse. The harbinger of world-altering change. One part of the self dies so that new growth may occur. This is the card that ushers the Fool into the underworld. What if there is no new growth? What if the body dies along with that infirmed aspect of the self? This tells me nothing. I reach again for the deck.

This crosses one

Flip.

The three of swords is my obstacle. Not surprising. A Heart pierced by three cruel blades, blood dripping off their tips. It indicates harsh words exchanged, wounds inflicted by callous thinking and wrongful assumptions. Words thrown in spite that can't be taken back. Carl. He thought I was sleeping with Patrick. I wasn't but I knew that he was getting suspicious, so you know what I did? I went out and fucked Patrick. He wouldn't have done it, not sober, but I got him so drunk that he could barely find his own feet. I timed it so that Carl would walk in at just the right time. He didn't even have to say anything when he saw us together. I knew by the look on his face what he thought of me. I knew it was over. I wanted him to be the one to end it. I deserve to be dumped.

The scarlet heart glares at me, an unblinking eye on glossy cardstock. The swords plunge deep, and the blood dripping from their exposed tips is the color of a valentine. I wonder if my blood would look that vibrant if I were to take one of the razor blades from my little utility knife and use it to slit my wrists. Up the river, not across the street. If I do this, it won't be one of those cries for help. The last thing I want is to wake up in a hospital bed with my nearest and dearest all berating me for my selfishness. If I do this, I'm going to do it right. I pick up the knife and remove the blade. It's barely been used. Probably so sharp I won't even feel it until it's too late. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The Foundation

Flip.

The eight of cups. Retreat from emotional involvement. I don't know if I would call it a retreat. More like a headlong run. I can't connect anymore. People don't make sense to me. All I know is that loving them can wound me, so it's better to run. I think I loved Carl. That's why I drove him away. Better to be the hated ex, the girl who cheated with his best friend, than the girl he fell in and then out of love with. I didn't want to give him a piece of my heart to take away with him when we separated. Changes happen. People go their separate ways.

Should I allow my body and spirit to go their separate ways? The body goes into the oven of course, no burial for me. Why make my relatives pay for a two thousand dollar box for worm fodder? I'd want my ashes to be scattered somewhere nice though. A river. Some place where the air is sweet and you can't see any buildings through the trees. I want someone to pour a bottle of wine into the water, too, a final send-off as the last earthly bits of me slip downriver to the ocean.

Now, as to what happens to the spirit, that's another question entirely. I've never been religious, but somehow I doubt that that means I'm going to end up in Dante's atrium. What if I just go out like a candle flame? Poof. No more me. No more worries. No more broken hearts. But what if there is something else? What if my consciousness remains? Is the heart an organ that can be translated into the spirit? What if, instead of cutting short my problems I prolong them for all eternity? My hands tremble and the blade nicks my thumb. A bead of blood wells up from the cut. It's dark ruby red. Almost black. Not the color of valentines at all. I put the blade down on the desk. The overhead lights make it wink at me. I turn over the next card.

The Past

The Moon. This is an easy one. I've always loved the Moon, but the card is not always a good sign. It shows that one has given up on being governed by logic and has turned instead to the lunatic magnetism of the full moon. There is a river flowing out of sight in the card with two animals on either side, a dog and a wolf. The wisest choice is to take the river path, straight and unbending, the middle road between the domestic and the wild. I have not taken the river road. I think I chose the wrong side of the bank. The moon has me in her high beams and I can't move left or right. This card tells me that I strayed from my path, that I'm allowing myself to be ruled by forces beyond my control. Insanity perhaps? What is a lunatic after all but someone who has been transfixed by the moon?

I look at the razor blade on my desk, shining with a pale luster so much like that of the moon. If I use it to cut open my veins I will never have the chance to look up at the full moon again. My heart will never ache at its beauty. Looking at the moon used to always make me feel that there are greater forces at work in the world. It made me believe that in some places, where the shadows still lay thick on the ground, magic forces lingered. It made me hope that perhaps every now and again wishes would come true. I haven't looked at the moon in a long time. I go to the window and look out. A crescent moon hangs in the sky. It's waxing, weeks away from full. If I die tonight, it will be the last moon I'll ever see. An incomplete moon. I turn to the cards.

What is Overhead

Flip.

The World. This is what my spirit truly longs for, what might be kept hidden from the conscious self. The culmination of a journey, the final card of the major arcana. The Fool has journeyed over the Earth and through the underworld. He has met Death, confronted the Devil and parlayed with the Moon. 'He has waded through the bitter waters and reached the sweet.' That's from Dracula I think, but it works. He has become a whole person and this phase of his journey has reached its culmination. The card is the ultimate completion of a journey and denotes triumph over all adversity. This is not a card I would have expected to draw in my current state of mind. But the cards can surprise you.

What do I really want? Is it that sense of completion that comes from having overcome every obstacle and achieving one's goal? I think not. What I think is that I just want to feel whole again. I want my journey of the self to come to completion so I can figure out who the fuck I really am. I feel like I'm stuck in the underworld right now with the pale moon just visible above me through the furnace flames. The World tells me that not all is lost, that the journey continues towards completion, but right now it's pretty hard for me to believe that I'll ever feel whole again. Oblivion beckons. And even if it doesn't turn out to be oblivion at all, at least it will be a change of scene. I look at the blade. I think of the Moon. I think of the World. One more card to decide me. The card that tells me my future. This card will tell me to live or to die. I turn it over.

The Future

Flip.

Judgment. A choice. Well, I guess that's what it all comes down to isn't it? A choice. Was I expecting a yes or no answer? I look at the image of Judgment. It depicts an angel soaring above an ocean, his golden trumpet blaring loud enough to rouse the dead from their coffins. On Judgment day all pretense slips away. Everyone is equal. All the lies we tell ourselves become unimportant. The card indicates that I must make a Judgment of my own. Should I try to shake the dust from all the corpses inside my own head, all those hopes and lofty goals which I've buried one by one? Judgment can also mean rebirth, a fresh slate upon which to etch our lives.

I look down at the razor blade on the desk, at the tiny rust-colored speck on the edge where I used it to prick my finger. This could provide a much easier rebirth. Just a few quick cuts and there I'll be, spirit whizzing off into the ether searching for a new body. I don't even know if I believe in reincarnation. I pick up the blade and hold it up to the light. I look down at the card. The faces of the risen corpses are filled with awe and terror. I look closer and see that despite that, they all seem to be on the verge smiling. A crazy sort of hope infuses their senses. In the outside world church bells begin to toll. It's midnight. I think of Carl. I think of how I felt when he saw me with Patrick. I think of the full moon. I look at the blade for just a moment longer and then I toss it into the trashcan standing by my desk. It doesn't even make a sound. I shuffle the cards back together, stowing them in their silk bag. I stare out the window at the crescent moon for a long time. Then I go to bed. Tomorrow I'll try to begin the business of rebirth.