Cat*
Okay, let's look at the Death card...
The first thing I notice is that the crystals(?) coming out of the skull look like popsicle sticks to me. Which gives the card an absurd touch of humor.
Next I see the beautiful rust flower with its shiny, black tentacles. It looks like a hybrid of a hibiscus flower and some underwater anemone to me. Exotic, beautiful, and very alive.
Between them floats a meteoric sphere that links this card with the Star card. Since I recently learned that one of the earliest swords was forged out of the metal ore of a meteor (by Inuit people? it may be in the Ironwing book?), it carries both an association to the distant past, and to battle/war/violence as a major reason for death in human history. (Here's an article about tools and weapons made from meteors.)
It also looks like a smoking piece of resin, reminding me of the many different rituals humans have created around death (and other transformative processes).
Now I look at the night sky full of stars behind the skull, and the microscopic close-up of the bone. Both dimensions are present in death - the large picture of life and death, becoming and decay, the philosphical dimension, much larger than any tiny blip of a single life is even able to grasp. And the small dimension, close up and personal, embodied by the ones who die and the ones who are left behind, the physical dimension of decay and becoming something else. They seem like opposites but they aren't.
The sky also is a metaphor that some humans use to visualize where their loved ones go when they die. ("Mommy has become a star now and watches over you every night.")
Besides, who knows which of the stars we see every night have already died long ago? Their light comes from so far away that we can't tell... This can be a scary and hopeless thought - or a hopeful and comforting one.
The vulture shapes in the bone also connect the two dimensions. They fly high up in the sky, and yet they also come down to physically take apart and transform what has died.
The bone cross sections behind the first one make the vultures look like little insects - which interestingly have pretty much the same job as the big birds: take care of the leftovers and transform them into new life.
Now I look at the stretched-out material the skull holds between the teeth. It makes me think of muscle and sinews, but also of gritting your teeth to deal with the pain of death. Maybe it sometimes speaks of not being able to let go, to holding on to something that should be released now.
The surroundings of the teeth on the right side make me think of rotting flesh. This idea may sound creepy or scary, but it's also a fact of life (or rather, death and decay). It may acknowledge our fears of death, of seeing something or someone we loved fall apart.
The little toothed drops of blood (or poison?) underline the fear aspect of death. Ultimately, everything physical will be devoured - and thus changed into new life.
The little white squares represent this breaking down to the smallest parts to me. They also seem like building blocks for the next "incarnation."
The rusty part on the right side also looks like a microscopic close-up of blood vessels and muscle to me. There are little branches reaching out, that at the same time are cracks in the surface. Next to the flower, this is the part that looks most alive to me.
Finally, the third eye. What does it see? Maybe it simply tells us to see and accept the beauty and horror of death, our fears and our hopes, the tragedy and absurd comedy. It's all there, and it can all be a part of death.
Oh wait, there's more... The other two eyes. The one on the right side almost looks like a womb about to receive the seeds of new life. At the same time, it could be a swollen wound, eyes after lots of crying, pain and emptiness within.
The other eye socket holds a swirling sun, sucking us in - or circling towards us. We can't escape death. It's always right there with us in the middle of blooming, pulsing life. And vice versa.
The one part that doesn't make much sense to me is the white background in the upper right. Is it the white light that people keep reporting of seeing during their near-death experiences?
Of course the death in question doesn't have to be a physical one. Loss, decay, and dying happen on many different levels, literally and figuratively, on large and small scales. And who's to tell whether an actual physical death is necessarily more tragic or painful than the death of a dream?
While I don't find the image very calming or aesthetically beautiful, the card now leaves me with a surprisingly peaceful feeling. I think I even have a better understanding of why the absurd "popsicle hair" is exactly what is needed for me to see in this card.
What does this card mean in a reading, then? All and none of this. I believe the important parts for any given reading will stand out for me when I look at the card as part of that reading.
Maybe it sometimes just means that a bowl of spaghetti sauce spilled over a medical textbook illustration...
The first thing I notice is that the crystals(?) coming out of the skull look like popsicle sticks to me. Which gives the card an absurd touch of humor.
Next I see the beautiful rust flower with its shiny, black tentacles. It looks like a hybrid of a hibiscus flower and some underwater anemone to me. Exotic, beautiful, and very alive.
Between them floats a meteoric sphere that links this card with the Star card. Since I recently learned that one of the earliest swords was forged out of the metal ore of a meteor (by Inuit people? it may be in the Ironwing book?), it carries both an association to the distant past, and to battle/war/violence as a major reason for death in human history. (Here's an article about tools and weapons made from meteors.)
It also looks like a smoking piece of resin, reminding me of the many different rituals humans have created around death (and other transformative processes).
Now I look at the night sky full of stars behind the skull, and the microscopic close-up of the bone. Both dimensions are present in death - the large picture of life and death, becoming and decay, the philosphical dimension, much larger than any tiny blip of a single life is even able to grasp. And the small dimension, close up and personal, embodied by the ones who die and the ones who are left behind, the physical dimension of decay and becoming something else. They seem like opposites but they aren't.
The sky also is a metaphor that some humans use to visualize where their loved ones go when they die. ("Mommy has become a star now and watches over you every night.")
Besides, who knows which of the stars we see every night have already died long ago? Their light comes from so far away that we can't tell... This can be a scary and hopeless thought - or a hopeful and comforting one.
The vulture shapes in the bone also connect the two dimensions. They fly high up in the sky, and yet they also come down to physically take apart and transform what has died.
The bone cross sections behind the first one make the vultures look like little insects - which interestingly have pretty much the same job as the big birds: take care of the leftovers and transform them into new life.
Now I look at the stretched-out material the skull holds between the teeth. It makes me think of muscle and sinews, but also of gritting your teeth to deal with the pain of death. Maybe it sometimes speaks of not being able to let go, to holding on to something that should be released now.
The surroundings of the teeth on the right side make me think of rotting flesh. This idea may sound creepy or scary, but it's also a fact of life (or rather, death and decay). It may acknowledge our fears of death, of seeing something or someone we loved fall apart.
The little toothed drops of blood (or poison?) underline the fear aspect of death. Ultimately, everything physical will be devoured - and thus changed into new life.
The little white squares represent this breaking down to the smallest parts to me. They also seem like building blocks for the next "incarnation."
The rusty part on the right side also looks like a microscopic close-up of blood vessels and muscle to me. There are little branches reaching out, that at the same time are cracks in the surface. Next to the flower, this is the part that looks most alive to me.
Finally, the third eye. What does it see? Maybe it simply tells us to see and accept the beauty and horror of death, our fears and our hopes, the tragedy and absurd comedy. It's all there, and it can all be a part of death.
Oh wait, there's more... The other two eyes. The one on the right side almost looks like a womb about to receive the seeds of new life. At the same time, it could be a swollen wound, eyes after lots of crying, pain and emptiness within.
The other eye socket holds a swirling sun, sucking us in - or circling towards us. We can't escape death. It's always right there with us in the middle of blooming, pulsing life. And vice versa.
The one part that doesn't make much sense to me is the white background in the upper right. Is it the white light that people keep reporting of seeing during their near-death experiences?
Of course the death in question doesn't have to be a physical one. Loss, decay, and dying happen on many different levels, literally and figuratively, on large and small scales. And who's to tell whether an actual physical death is necessarily more tragic or painful than the death of a dream?
While I don't find the image very calming or aesthetically beautiful, the card now leaves me with a surprisingly peaceful feeling. I think I even have a better understanding of why the absurd "popsicle hair" is exactly what is needed for me to see in this card.
What does this card mean in a reading, then? All and none of this. I believe the important parts for any given reading will stand out for me when I look at the card as part of that reading.
Maybe it sometimes just means that a bowl of spaghetti sauce spilled over a medical textbook illustration...