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[Voice, Open] Trump Talk: The Tower of Destruction
[Seclusion's not a good fit for Ted. If it keeps up, he's worried he'll withdraw to the point of disappearance, as it seemed so many others had. Better make at least the occasional effort at socializing, and what better than geeking out about one of his favorite subjects? It starts with a single image before his usual discursion.]
"Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it." Another good epigram springs to mind: "Whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased, and he that shall humble himself shall be exalted." Here, in the sixteenth Trump, one can see that terrible topsy-turvydom of Heaven.
Of all of the Major Arcana it's certainly the most dramatic. The lightning, the flames, the ruin, the dual plunging figures! Goodness, a man could faint to look at it. The meaning looks very obvious too, doesn't it? The astonishing suddenness of catastrophe. But why? What deed merited decisive divine fire?
Well, one much like the Tower of Babel. If you haven't heard that story, it goes something like this: In ages past, men all spoke the same language, yet were very puffed up. They thought they might collaborate and build their way into Heaven. So proud and vulgar, God couldn't help but to blast their edifice to bits, and confuse the languages of men for good measure so they wouldn't repeat that mistake. In Genessia, of course, our languages have been reconciled, but I fear the world still wants for humility. It would surprise me not at all if our current circumstance is the result of a lot of clever, powerful people who got it into their heads that their works were a match for heaven. Heaven tested their works, and...heh, well, the latter tends to win those comparisons. Brutally.
And yet...is it strange, is it morbid to look at this and be very happy? All the Trumps communicate love, in their way. Even The Devil, if you're charitable enough. But love is a wild thing; I've heard legends that if one were to ever look on a countenance full of love, it would seem, to earthly minds, indistinguishable from hatred. It would look that ferocious. Perhaps it's down to preference. Some take pleasure in meticulously building complicated arrangements of dominoes or houses of cards. Other, simpler minds like myself, rather like knocking them down better. Doubtless, if one spent a long time building something and then lived in it, having its top blown off in a fit of pious pique would be inconvenient.
Even so, doesn't it look as though love is seen here, at its most severe? It's as though the card communicates that no matter how elaborate or stony one's artificiality, they shall not be allowed to go on forever. There is a limit, and it comes good and hard. Much to our chagrin; much to our charity.
I'm interested in other voices than my own, believe it or not. Well, how does number sixteen strike you?
Of all of the Major Arcana it's certainly the most dramatic. The lightning, the flames, the ruin, the dual plunging figures! Goodness, a man could faint to look at it. The meaning looks very obvious too, doesn't it? The astonishing suddenness of catastrophe. But why? What deed merited decisive divine fire?
Well, one much like the Tower of Babel. If you haven't heard that story, it goes something like this: In ages past, men all spoke the same language, yet were very puffed up. They thought they might collaborate and build their way into Heaven. So proud and vulgar, God couldn't help but to blast their edifice to bits, and confuse the languages of men for good measure so they wouldn't repeat that mistake. In Genessia, of course, our languages have been reconciled, but I fear the world still wants for humility. It would surprise me not at all if our current circumstance is the result of a lot of clever, powerful people who got it into their heads that their works were a match for heaven. Heaven tested their works, and...heh, well, the latter tends to win those comparisons. Brutally.
And yet...is it strange, is it morbid to look at this and be very happy? All the Trumps communicate love, in their way. Even The Devil, if you're charitable enough. But love is a wild thing; I've heard legends that if one were to ever look on a countenance full of love, it would seem, to earthly minds, indistinguishable from hatred. It would look that ferocious. Perhaps it's down to preference. Some take pleasure in meticulously building complicated arrangements of dominoes or houses of cards. Other, simpler minds like myself, rather like knocking them down better. Doubtless, if one spent a long time building something and then lived in it, having its top blown off in a fit of pious pique would be inconvenient.
Even so, doesn't it look as though love is seen here, at its most severe? It's as though the card communicates that no matter how elaborate or stony one's artificiality, they shall not be allowed to go on forever. There is a limit, and it comes good and hard. Much to our chagrin; much to our charity.
I'm interested in other voices than my own, believe it or not. Well, how does number sixteen strike you?