Queen of Cups

“Queen of Cups: A woman capable of deep romantic love. A passionate woman in the creative arts. A woman who leads first with her heart and then her head. Love for one's mate and children. Sense of protectiveness for friends and loved ones. Dedication. A woman in search of a long-term commitment. An attractive woman. Creative arts and alchemy. A loyal woman on your side.”

My profile includes a daily tarot card. Mostly I include it because I like the pictures on the cards. And each day, there is a new picture. Today the picture resonated for me, having spent the week in quiet conversation with a new person in my life, someone struggling with abandonment baggage. That person wonders if they can ever trust someone unequivocally as I realise that trust is ultimately about faith. And this week long conversation makes me reflect.

My own life has been marked by some clear extremes. I let go of the first so-called love of my life because I believed I was killing him. I was let go by my second love because he believed he was killing me. Strike one: behaviour typified by excess. Strike two: suffocatingly stifled walking ghost. The pendulum swings from one extreme to another. I wonder if it will ever stop swinging. Maybe when that clock chimes for a third time, it might actually stop ticking.

I use the phrase “love” loosely. It is hard to imagine that, for someone who coasts through life, love is something such a person can feel. I am not really sure I have ever been excessively passionate about anything - certainly not to the point of being obsessive-compulsive about it. Yet somehow I believe I might only experience true passion if I am so obsessed by one single thing (or person) that everything else is utterly eclipsed and nothing else has any meaning.

Perhaps such an extreme is impossible anyway. Undoubtedly it is ludicrous to believe passion needs to be that intense to be real. Do I need to give myself completely (in respect of that one thing or person) to feel passion?

There must be a spectrum, surely? I know I am divorcing the concepts of passion and lust in defining this spectrum. These concepts do not seem to equate in my mind. I have unquestionably experienced the latter. But I am not sure I have ever truly experienced the former. There are times when I do not seem to care enough about anything to be consumed with craze.

I am reminded of the philosopher Soren Kierkegaard. Soren talked a lot about the life style of hedonists and their lack of connection with family. He said if everything just is, without purpose of relation, then despair takes hold. It is not difficult to understand the imperative to disconnect. It is a form of self-preservation, a form of self-defence. No one can hurt you if you keep everyone a safe distance away. But is that really a way to live your life?

I realise that I have never really given away too much of myself to anyone. Does anyone really know me? I doubt that anyone gives much away of themselves and, to the extent people have a level of self-awareness that they can describe who they really are, I do not think I am unique in reserved behaviour regarding revealing my nature. We are all politicians. We are all wannabe diplomats.

The second love of my life suggested this was so at the end of our ten-year relationship. How you can be with someone for that long and have that person make the accusation that they never really knew you? Who was I for twelve years? Did I put the real me on a shelf for a long sleep? Was the real me taking a holiday? A part of what he said rang true. I spent twelve years in a cage trying to be something I was not and it is not much of a stretch to recognise that, in doing so, he might never have seen the real me.

But I am not that woman now. Today I am the Queen of Cups. And I can look to the future with hope.