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We fell, down, down, down to a time when men had not stuck their Gherkin in the centre of a city or raised their club atop a chalk hill, a time of a peaceful matriarchal existence. Landed with a clatter on a pink mountain, our feet in the air, we danced on our hands through the river, a tiger beside us. The sun is a sudden flare behind the snow-capped stone and I don’t recall if we tasted the fly agaric growing on the bank.
Now, the High Priestess sits in the dark blue, palms turned up, legs open for blessing. Though her face hides behind the horned mask, her energy strips the soul. Onto Death, where normally a reaper rides grim, but no - there is no harshness here. We are enveloped in gentle dark, a breeze brings the whisper of newness through the silver birches, mixing with the hiss of snake softly encircling the bones.
Motherpeace calls from the womb of a time within each woman. The artists, the creatives, the ones who feel deep inside, these are the ones who need this deck.
We fell, down, down, down to a time when men had not stuck their Gherkin in the centre of a city or raised their club atop a chalk hill, a time of a peaceful matriarchal existence. Landed with a clatter on a pink mountain, our feet in the air, we danced on our hands through the river, a tiger beside us. The sun is a sudden flare behind the snow-capped stone and I don’t recall if we tasted the fly agaric growing on the bank.
Now, the High Priestess sits in the dark blue, palms turned up, legs open for blessing. Though her face hides behind the horned mask, her energy strips the soul. Onto Death, where normally a reaper rides grim, but no - there is no harshness here. We are enveloped in gentle dark, a breeze brings the whisper of newness through the silver birches, mixing with the hiss of snake softly encircling the bones.
Motherpeace calls from the womb of a time within each woman. The artists, the creatives, the ones who feel deep inside, these are the ones who need this deck.
