NaPoWriMo, day 24

a walk at the San Pedro River

I went for a walk in the winter.
The river was low and sweet.
Dead grasses bent bowing
to the floods of last summer
snap crisply neath my feet.
Sentinel cottonwoods
soaring silver-tipped filigree
across the blue crystal sky.
Their stone pillar trunks take no notice
of the child wandering by.


~~~~

This poem was inspired by the San Pedro River Trail, the imaginary garden, and a warm sun in January.

~~~~

We don't get a lot of what I grew up thinking "winter" was, here.
I grew up in western New York, surrounded by the deciduous forests of the Adirondacks' foothills. We got a lot of snow and cold, there.

Now I live in the Sonoran desert, up in the mountains. We don't get a lot of snow - though we'll occassionally see a flake or two, and they might even stick for an hour or so - and the warm sun makes January days feel like late spring or early fall. Or rather, what I imagine late spring and early fall to feel like. Winters here mean putting on your jacket once the sun goes down. It means the San Pedro river is nearly dry, though the boundaries of the summer floods are still obvious. Today, it had to be in the 60s (F) when I went for my walk. It was a beautiful day for a hike with friends.

a piano not forgotten

I wonder what song he is playing. Something taught to him in his childhood?

A few years ago I had a chance to play around on a piano. Without sheet music, all I could recall was the first song I ever memorized, for the first recital I ever did: Mary Had a Little Lamb. I remembered, even, the harmonic accompaniment to the melody, though I couldn't tell you know what that type of chord was called. My body recalls what my mind does not. It has been so long since I've really played - almost twenty years - could I even read sheet music any more? It'd be a struggle, I think.

There's an analogy for life in that. 

easing back into life: some notes

I've been writing more lately. Like, actually writing. In a notebook. With a pen.
Somewhere along the way I had stopped doing that. I had forgotten, or maybe I had never realized, how satisfying it was to write by hand. Or maybe I stopped doing that so much because writing by hand is more likely to cause a flare up of the nerve damage in my right arm. Since I'm right-handed.

~

The other day I was talking to my mom about the possibility of me getting a disability rating from the VA (for my Depression and the nerve damage in my arm, and some other more minor issues). My advisor, I was telling her, had told me that all my issues could easily qualify me for a 100% rating. That means the VA might decide I rate getting 100% of my active duty pay for the rest of my life. My mom said, "That's great, I guess, but wouldn't that hurt your pride, to be considered disabled?" That stopped me short momentarily. Then I replied, "well, yeah it would, if I weren't disabled." Geez, Mom.

~

I'm newly single-ish. What the hell does that mean? It means my primary partner and I broke up. Archer & Bones is no longer a romantic relationship. He's still my best friend. It hurts, but it's also exactly the right thing for both of us. I have other people in my life, but my other relationships are not so intense. So I'm single-ish.

~

I had a revelation today, while I was thinking about being single. That is: I'm always strongest when I'm single. I wrote it in my journal. See? It's right there:

It's not a great picture, so I'll give you a transcription:

{Left page, top to bottom}
"I'm always strongest when I'm single.
Why do I do that?
Why do I weaken myself with men?
[Seriously, I don't do it in my relationships with women.]
How many loves has that cost me?
^maybe it's because I think in those terms
Can I stop thinking of Love as something to be caught and kept tight -
- and think of it instead as something that grows better when there is no pretense?"

{On the left side of the left page, in blue ink}
"I've seen this before, but did not recognize it until now."

{On the right page, top to bottom}
"That weakness is given shape by our culture, but the force came from my Depression, and the legacy of abuse.
This is what I must change next."

Are any of us ever completely ourselves with anyone? Isn't there always something that we hold back? - Thoughts that come but seem uncharitable or poorly timed; it's not always bad to hold things back. But sometimes, over time, holding back might make us seem to be someone we are not.

I always felt on some subtle level that voicing the thoughts that might have appeared to diminish his importance in my life was generally a bad thing which would potentially hurt his feelings and make him think I didn't really care about the relationship. (I'm using "he/him/his" generically here - it's a running theme in my relationships with men throughout my life.) It didn't matter that the thoughts didn't actually mean I didn't care, but the idea that it might be taken that way was enough to silence me. Thus, I appeared weaker, less independent than I was. I even believed it, right up until yesterday.

I don't know exactly where I picked up the idea that I had to appear weaker than I am in order to 'keep' a man. I'm aware of the likely culprits, but I don't feel like doing an in-depth analysis right now. It's enough to know that I've done this, and better to know that now I can work to change it. Phew.

~

I'm working away at my story, which still doesn't have a title. I'm finally relatively satisfied with the first two chapters, and am planning chapter three. The work is invigorating and addictive. I did a character sketch today. Literally.

Jacqueline Avery

Escondido Falls

A few evenings ago, from the foot of the falls...

This morning, my back to the falls, looking out over the trail.

Little ferns, but they totally look like a mini pine forest!

So much beauty, so little time... 

I love Arizona.

my brain: unfocused

I wonder, sometimes, why it hurts to hear someone say they love me. Especially when I know it's true. They really do. Why does that make me cry? There's no reasoning in my thoughts that explains the tightening in my chest, the burning in my eyes; there's just emptiness in my head.

Maybe there's isn't any explanation, besides, "you're mentally ill, Bones."

~

I had a disagreement with my boss earlier this week about the relative meanings of "their" and "they're." I was right. I'm not sure who won. But luckily, we're still friends. She understands my virgo side, even if she's not sure about my grammar skills. She's a pretty awesome boss. She also makes great tea.

~

My favorite bumper sticker to date: "Bisbee: it's like Mayberry on acid" - that's totally true. Most accurate description of this town, ever.

~

I'm headed to the next town over to get some quality Archer time tonight. It does a body good. Specifically, my body. And my heart. And I need that. I'll miss my critters though. It's a trade off.

~

I should be doing homework right now. I'm scheduled to do two more classes in the second summer session, next month. I might withdraw and just take the rest of the summer off. It's a very appealing idea. My GPA would probably be better off if I did. I'm completely burnt out on academia right now. But I'm so close to my degree....! Another trade off, this one far more uncertain right now.

~

I did some paintings this morning. They're itty bitty - only 2x3" - and it was totally fun.

See that one in the middle? I used a strawberry to paint that one. It was a really juicy strawberry. Then I ate it. It was delicious. I think I'll leave it just like that, only I'll put a clear acrylic seal over it. So it doesn't attract ants. It would suck if ants ate my painting. Even though I bet it would be tasty. It still smells like strawberry. You don't even have to scratch it first. 

He's looking at you, kid.

I might keep that one for myself.

Because I love strawberries.

an evening recap, and runes

I'm so tired.
I'm not mentally exhausted; I'm just... a little too well grounded. It's like my mind never wanted to wake up this morning. It's the Depression, I'm sure.

Around lunchtime today, I was able to get myself moving. Not literally, but at least in terms of being productive, and that's a good start. I got my newest goodies posted to my etsy shop. I'm pretty excited about the rune set, and the rune sets I'm making next.

I had visitors this afternoon, whose presence helped me immeasurably. We discussed business plans and gardening plans, and I'm getting excited for what comes next.

Note to self: when feeling down, find a friend to talk about future plans with. It helps a lot.


Wanna see the runes?

Get more details at the shop.

tidbits

tea shop titillations

What did you do yesterday?

I hung out in the tea shop where I occasionally work, enjoyed the cool air and drew pictures. 

Quote of the day:

When the cash register didn't want to open and I suggested that spewing vulgarities might convince it to work, a regal-looking woman told me, "not in front of me, please - my delicate ears won't stand for that shit."

I like her.

Archer's Bones hits Main Street

I'm pining for home - can you tell?

But really, this little shop is a real treasure house, and I'm delighted that it's in our little town.

Welcome to Blissbee, Julie Thompson's "creative supply shop": http://www.etsy.com/shop/bisbeebliss

Walking into this airy little shop makes my inner artist dance for joy with every step. It really is blissful. I wouldn't mind having the entire contents of her shop at my crafting disposal. I wouldn't mind at all. In her brick-and-mortar shop, visitors are treated to some of Julie's own creations which, as you can imagine, are just as whimsically endearing as the name implies.

Bumblebees from Blissbee
I adore the antiqued bronze finish!

 

Archer's Bones: little connections in the shop walk

The rain let up over the past few hours. Just now, I saw a peek of blue from behind the clouds. Still, I miss the warmth of Bisbee, my little town in the high desert mountains.

As I was moping about this weekend, waiting for the rain to abate, I found a bit of Bisbee on etsy. Imagine my joy! I'll share it momentarily.

But first: yesterday I went to my cousin's college graduation party. I didn't know most of the people there, despite us being distantly related and having met once or twice when I was much, much younger. It didn't matter that I didn't know them. They're perhaps the most loving people in the world. It was heartening just to be in their presence.

One of the women, whom I did vaguely remember, asked me where I was living now. I said south-east Arizona, right in the corner. I was thinking nobody this far north would have any idea there was a tiny little town called Bisbee just six miles from Mexico. She said, "Oh, near Bisbee?" Ha! That's what I get for assuming! Anyway, she's good friends with some of the people I know. I'll have to mention that to them when I get home.

Six degrees of separation, right? It's all these little connections, you see. They remind us how close we really are to each other. And Bisbee is the hub of my web. It's no surprise that my shop walk has led me right back home. The woman I'm about to introduce you to is, in my opinion, an excellent representative of our town, in her art and in her story. I hope you'll take a moment to look at both.

"Desert People"
by Quenda J. Shults,
whose name means "little connections"

http://www.etsy.com/shop/Quenda

Archer's Bones: the shop walk

I'm walking my way up to a grand opening on June 1st; come wander with me...

 

Wandering through the wilds of Etsy-land, I've come across some treasure chests that simply must be shared. There's too much Wonderful for one person to keep all to herself.

 

My first stop is the shop of a woman whose artwork caught me up, the net to my fish, delicately leaving me gasping for breath. Luckily for the rest of the world, and despite her easy-on-the-wallet prices, I can't actually afford to purchase every item she has available.

 

Take a gander, you won't regret it:

 

Amore-ology by Kelly Bermudez

 

http://www.etsy.com/shop/kellybermudez

 

Fawn Archival Watercolor print, by Kelly Bermudez
(I'm in love.)

 

H is for hiking in the green

Today I took a walk with poison ivy, hemlock, and wild geraniums.

Don't worry, I wore jeans.

I'm in Iowa with my son, visiting my mother. After Arizona, the world here seems painted in green. Green grass, green trees, green everything but the houses and skies. Sometimes, in the years since I left the more verdant climes, I have paused to wonder if I might like to be in a greener place.

I remember the womb-like depth of the woods were I grew up. I remember the welcome arms of that place, disguised as hickory branches, and oak and maple branches. I remember that place with love. It was green from its roots to its canopy. All shades of green with beautiful brown bark streaking through and flecks of blue sky trying to peek in from above. Beautiful, lovely, intimate. I miss that place.

But oddly, I don't miss the world being painted in green. And that is surprising. Isn't that the refrain - "oh I love the weather in Arizona, but I miss the green of ____ (insert non-desert place here)." It's so common, you don't even have to say the whole phrase to be understood by a fellow transplant. But it feels a little hollow to me. I wondered if maybe I didn't miss the green, after all.

Being here, surrounded as I am by greenery, I miss the many colors of the desert. I miss the variety. I don't want my vision tinted any one color, be it green, brown, or even rose.

I don't miss being surrounded by green.

But green is a sign of life! I hear myself argue. But in the desert, there is just as much life as there is here, if you know how to see it.

If your glasses don't wash the world with a single hue.

 

 

Art Show Today!

Samhain, obviously

It's the morning after, but I'm not done with this season yet. In my book, Samhain is a season, not a day. And I like it that way. The veil is thinning  - it doesn't just I'm always a little sad when each day of the season is over; I won't have an excuse to do all this again until next year (without looking awfully eccentric, that is).

We still have Dia los Muertos to celebrate. That's a big deal in this region, and the themes are the same as those we recognize in Samhain, so we celebrate that despite not being hispanic or latino. Besides, it gives us a chance to share in a public celebration of the dead, which we don't usually get as pagans.

Yesterday was pumpkin carving, costumery, trick-or-treating, and a mute supper. In other words, awesome. I cooked dinner, which I almost never do. Beef roast, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and baked beans. I made everything from scratch except for the baked beans, which were canned. That makes it sound like I did a lot of work (unless you cook, and you know how little work goes into mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce, and a roast done in the crock pot). That's my kind of home cooking. I was going to make pumpkin pie, but I didn't have enough evaporated milk, or anything to substitute for it, and I really  didn't feel like driving to the store. So we'll do that tonight.

The down side? Missing Archer. This holiday is so very family oriented; it felt strange to not have Archer near, and stranger still to know that he is on the other side of the country and sick with something flu-like, and the distance is keeping me from being there for him. Making him soup. That kind of thing. His illness compounds the normal missing-him part. I want to help, but all I can do is get off the phone with him, so he can sleep. Are you reading this, Archer? I love you. 

 

vervet monkeys and totemism

V snuck up on me.

I lost track of the alphabet somewhere between last week and today.

Which means, obviously, that I'll be talking about Vervet Monkeys today.

Whaaaaa.....?

Please, try to contain your excitement.

Who said pastels aren't manly?

Actually, I do have a point (and it has nothing to do with colorful genitalia).

A recent revelation about how to read my animal oracle cards (or any cards) for divination has led me - as I said then - to view aspects of my spirituality differently. I started really looking at the qualities of each animal, as opposed to trying to memorize the meaning of each card. Sounds like a "duh" moment, but it took me awhile to get there. Anyway, this morning I was thinking about Vervets, because I was trying to think of a "V" word for my Pagan Blog Project post, and "Vervets" is a much better word than "vicissitudes." Well, maybe it isn't, but it's better for my brain this morning. I need something a little lighter today.

Thus, Vervets.

A friend of mine took that picture (above) while we were in Rwanda this summer. It's an adult male Vervet Monkey. You can tell because it has baby-blue balls. True story.

So having decided to talk about Vervets, I began pondering what lessons a Vervet might confer, were I to draw it from my oracle deck. Not that I have a Vervet card, but if I did. Specifically, I started thinking about what makes Vervets different from other monkeys, and from other primates.

And then I thought, "well it's not like drawing a vervet monkey would give the same advice as drawing a baboon." But... that sentence might actually not make sense to anyone who isn't into primatology in some capacity, so I'll expand. You can tell a lot about a species by how they play, because juvenile play is a huge indicator of how the species will behave as adults.

Vervets have a relatively loose hierarchy in their social structures, and they engage in about as much solitary play as social play. Baboons, on the other hand, have a oft-contested and rigidly enforced social hierarchy - their play is almost always social play, because those skills are important for them to develop. ... That's just one difference in the character of the two species; there are many more. We don't even have to go into their physical differences, which are great enough.

If I were to draw a Baboon card, I would interpret it as a lesson in hierarchies, power, and family loyalties. A Vervet would be a lesson in flexibility, oneness with your environment, and being comfortable in your own skin - even if you have baby-blue balls. It's like comparing vikings with hippies. Two very different animals. Each species of primate - and there are many - is different from the others.

So I wonder, for those who have "monkey" totems, which one do you have? It pays to do the research on this.

~

And then  I thought, maybe I should create a primate oracle deck. That would be interesting. That's a project for the winter holiday season, when I don't have to go to classes all week. I'll keep you posted.

finding hope

Cloistered in my bedroom, doing my get-ready-for-bed routine - putting away the clutter of clean laundry, notebooks, and miscellany that coats my bed each day - I saw my oracle cards, had a moment of love, and realized, "duh, I should ask my oracle cards how to get myself back into balance." This deck is all about balance; every answer I've ever gotten, for anyone, from this deck, has pointed toward a more balanced [whatever the situation called for].

So I sat on my now-cleanish bed, and shuffled. And drew.

Dog.
Fox.
Otter.

Now, usually I'm looking immediately for the symbolism of each card; this time, after drawing the first card (the Dog), I thought, "huh, maybe this is literal." Maybe that's because I just got back from taking Bella for a walk, and playing with both dogs and their toys after the walk - activities which improved my mood. It wasn't a drastic improvement, but still, any improvement is good. There hasn't been any in so long. My instincts tell me to listen to that first thought, and consider the very recent improvement to be proof.

So before drawing the second and third cards, I felt there was a literal quality to this reading that I haven't seen much in previous readings. Then, the Fox - the High Priestess in my coven believes the Fox may be trying to reach me, in the sense that s/he might be a totem animal I'm meant to learn from.

And the Otter. Oh, the Otter. If I had any doubts that this was a literal reading, they disappeared with the appearance of the Otter. Remember my Otter story?

...ok, here I have to break into what I was about to say, and replace it. This is what just happened. Just now.

I went to my list of blog posts and searched for "otter" because I wanted to link the post with my otter story right where I said, "Remember my Otter story?" A quick reference for anyone who was curious and didn't know what I was talking about. The four posts I've done recently about otters came up, but so did one more, from quite a while ago: "dichotomy: survivor v. whore." That made me curious; I hadn't started working with Otter back then. Otters weren't even really on my radar at that point. I figured I must have done a reading that I logged in that post, since my oracle cards were really the only place I came into contact with otters, then. So I clicked the link, to see what I said. Sure enough, I had done a reading and gotten Otter. I read on, remembering the post. It was a highly emotional time for me - more than now, because things were more volatile then. I was still so devastated by then-recent events that my emotions and wits felt so scattered much of the time. Now, I'm just dealing with Depression - an illness, not a symptom of trying times. I got to the bottom of the post, and went on to the comments. Reading Archer's comments to me... how do I describe it? They just made me feel warm inside, loved. I smiled.

And I'm glad I followed the otter back to that post, to that time.

I know what my depression is; for the most part, I know how to combat it. Recently, I've been overwhelmed by the siege.

I need to remember to play with my dogs; exercising them, exercises me - and that's good for my health. The Dog of my oracle deck is a protector; I believe my dogs help protect me from myself.

I need to remember that Archer loves me, has always loved me, even when I didn't feel worthy. Even before I knew what to think about him, when I couldn't have seen it because I didn't believe it was possible. The Otter led me back there, and I needed that. His lesson, always pertinent, is a reminder that things are ok. I have a stuffed otter (not a real one, a toy; the silkiest stuffed toy I've ever touched). Just holding him makes me feel a little better. Juvenile, but better nonetheless.

And the Fox, I believe, is me. Surrounded by those who love me, trying to keep the words in my head from becoming weapons, used to break me down from the inside, out. I've decided - just now - that it's time for me to start trying to work with Fox. But the message in this reading from Fox seems clear (besides needing to work with her/him) - my greatest difficulty in battling my depression is in the shame I associate with certain memories. Most don't actually warrant shame on my part, some embarrassment in a few perhaps, but not shame. Nevertheless, the shame is there. And when the litany of my misdeeds begins to play through my memories, it's this that does the most damage. I cut myself with my own words; Fox counsels care with communication, so that words do not become weapons through deceit. I'm working hard, lately, to remember the good things, when the bad things try to take over my thoughts. Practice makes perfect, right? Maybe not. But I'm getting better at it.

Tonight, I found hope.

Now, I'll link you back to that Otter story. Enjoy.

the Chariot: 8/78 days of tarot

Oh how I wish I could harness some of her energy. She's forging ahead, full-steam and full of power. She is going somewhere, with momentum. She is purposeful, unheeding - or unconcerned - about the stormy skies around her.

And she's ... holding an umbrella?

Oh right, stormy skies.

Really, I think the umbrella adds to the unconcerned feel, kind of a "I'm going to get shit done, and hold my little umbrella, too." Like doing construction work in high heels and still kicking ass.

From the book: "'Despite any concerns you may have, I am in control of this situation.' ...The thunder of hoofbeats shakes the earth and yet her slight form remains perfectly still as the horsepower vibrates the reins. This confident young woman is intent upon forward movement and progress in the face of many challenges. The energy she directs is moving at dangerously high speeds. In the midst of the swirling chaos  she remains steady and focused."

Yes! What they said. Exactly. Awesome.
I can relate to that, even though I haven't been feeling it lately.

Reading on... "If it is your turn to drive the chariot, you will find yourself wanting to move in a certain direction. You will be confident in that direction. Getting started will be the hardest part."

Yeah no shit. That would be me, every single morning.

The final word: "Once you start moving, there won't be much that can stop you until you reach your goal."

Well I hope that turns out to be true.

I just talked to my psychiatrist this morning. She's getting me in for appointments more frequently these days. She wants to add a second antidepressant to my morning routine, an SSRI. The welbutrin (well, bupropion actually, which is a generic form of welbutrin, because the VA is fucking cheap) hasn't been enough lately. I'm not keeping up with my life. I'm functioning at a lower level than what I consider the minimum acceptable. Not far below, but still, not where I need to be.

For the most part, I can get through daily stuff, but nothing extra. Some important things have been dropped by the wayside.

I haven't seen my girlfriend in too long. I even missed a party at her house.

I have commissions to finish, and to start, ones that I want very much to do for their own sakes. I just can't seem to find the steam.

I just got a letter from DES (the Arizona agency that handles food stamps, state health care, welfare, and some other need-based assistance programs). They rejected my renewal for food stamps because I didn't make it into their office for an interview in time. ["Interview" is becoming such a vague term.... it's what they're calling it when I bring in paperwork that could just as easily been faxed or emailed.] I'll have to get in there this week and apply again. Otherwise the food stamps will come in later than usual - or not at all - next month. That's important. That's $300 a month I can't afford to replace.

The thing is, I can't get started in the mornings. I drag myself (kicking and screaming, yes) out of bed at a decent hour. I get my child's schooling done, or as close to done as I can before I go to my class (and the babysitter takes over). Usually, I make it to class. I've had to skip a few times, when I just couldn't make myself go. In the afternoons and evenings, when I have time to work on commissions or do other errands, I just can't make myself do it.

I am the Chariot, in reverse.

How do I turn this around?




~
Image of the card from: http://www.mindbodyspiritodyssey.com/2012/09/mind-body-spirit-odyssey-review.html

the Lovers: 7/78 days of tarot

When I first saw this card, and its name, I thought, "Oh, it's about love. And here's two lovers who seem well-balanced, if a little unsure. Or maybe that's just a sedate happiness. Yes, let's go with that. And... who's the angel lady? She seems like she approves... oh wait, did their hands manifest her? No wonder she approves."

I wasn't feeling this card. I chalk that up to my own issues.

I tried a bit more analysis, looking at the parts of the card, the artistic details and symbology. I noticed that the lights on either side felt balanced, so I counted: four on one side, six on the other. But, the six "lights" were yellow flowers, and smaller than the four gas lamps on the other side. So, balanced in a gestalt sense, but not numerically.

I felt like I wasn't really getting anywhere, so I opened the book a little sooner than I usually would.

Sayeth the book: "Core meaning: Making a decision that makes your heart glad."

Hmm. My confusion increased. Maybe it's the insomnia, but I was having serious trouble here. This is where things get sticky, because I couldn't see more than a tenuous connection between good decision-making skills and falling in love. (Poor decision-making, on the other hand, seems to have a strong track record in my history of love.) Really, I've never seen love as a choice made. I've long had this vague notion of love as something that happened, like the flu - unpredictable overall, but more likely in certain preventable circumstances, and bound to hurt once it takes up residence. I read a little more.

"[W]henever the right two things come together, something transformative and magical happens."

Then I thought of Archer, and it all came together. 

The lights are unbalanced individually, but balanced when seen as a whole. 

The angel is a conjuration of the lovers' decision to love; she is representative of the greater magic that happens when the right decision is made. 

The two people - the masculinized technology on the left, and the feminized natural world on the right - must be joined, unified, not separated.

The two people are confident; I know this confidence, because I feel it when Archer holds my hand.

"The Lovers" is the union of two good things into a whole,
which is better than its parts. 

Ours is the decision to unite, or not. 

the Hierophant: 6/78 days of tarot

My tarot deck just shuffled itself.

I picked it up to find the next card, then remembered the deck had slipped off my nightstand a few days ago and been hastily tossed back into a stack. So I took pains to re-organize it before starting my observation today. Just as I was putting the last card back in place, the deck practically leapt out of my fingers in a graceful slide toward the floor.

Exasperated, I gathered it up and organized it, in the order the cards had come in. I'd been keeping them unshuffled, thinking it would aid me in going through the deck as I learned each card, in order. Then I realized I probably should just let them be unshuffled. I think the deck was tired of being unshuffled. Stifled, it seemed to say.

Well, it's not like the "next" card is going to disappear from the deck just because it has been shuffled, so now I'm shuffling them.

They seem less tense. I think rigid orderliness didn't suit them. Can't say I blame them.

~

On we go, to the Hierophant, card number 5, the 6th card in a once-orderly deck. 

Here is a man who has spent long years in pursuit of wisdom. He is well-read, and wise enough to share what he has learned. He's not aggressive, but he's no pushover either. There's strength left in those arms. The children gather, seeking wisdom - seeking that essential key to a better path. In sharing his knowledge, he expresses his active participation in the world; he has learned much, and experienced much that could not be read. He is, perhaps, a philosopher who frequently leaves the library to test his ideas in the world.

The book says: "the Hierophant is one who teaches us how to live in accordance with our sacred beliefs... He is the bridge between theory and practice. He creates a connection between spiritual belief and daily life... The apple [holy crap there's an apple! How did I miss that?!]... if you cut an apple crosswise, the center forms a pentagram, representing the four elements of the physical world under the guidance of Spirit. Our Hierophant, shown here as a humble, compassionate, and wise teacher, weaves together all these notions and more, and gives them to us as keys to open up our own understanding."

Apples! The nourishment of the soul, a sacred fruit for a sacred purpose.
(I can't believe I missed that.)