The many-armed goddess dances on the skull of death and time. She shines in the darkness, images flickering around her – of comfort, partnership, travel, sailing over dark waters into the light – all dreams of humankind. These do not concern her; they are fleeting, time-based, mortal images of passing fancy. Neither is she bothered by the myriad of bats that hang over her head in the darkness. They, too, are temporal, and short-lived, at that.
What does interest her are the human perceptions of the items held in her six hands, the choices she offers to those embodied in space and time. These appear as material objects, but in truth they are ways of looking at reality. Or should we say, of coping with it. Is life a glowing egg of possibility? An enemy to be slain? A flight of joy and hope? A challenge?
The immortal one turns her gaze to one who acknowledges her and offers her prayers. This one wears the body of an old woman, her face lined and her eyes calm and wise. She sees the dancing goddess in her dreams and recognizes the celebration of life, death and eternity. Even now, she understands how she herself is walking towards the darkness, nearing the time of dissolution that is bound to come. And yet, while she recognizes this, she is also content to live fully on the earth. She wears flowers and adornments because she and life itself are beautiful.
She sees all of the choices and accepts them all.
The old one is known as the wisdom keeper by her people. She accepts the adulation of the younger women. She knows that if she can be a clear channel, they might sense the goddess through her. She may, at times, provide a glimpse of She Who Dances.
Her people often ask her for teachings. They want to learn from the wisdom she has accumulated through her many years. And so, she tells them to take time alone, to respect their solitude. She says that time spent in contemplation is invaluable, even when it appears to come from sadness, grief or depression.
The tides come and go. The sea rises and falls, like the breath. Attuned to these rhythms, one might almost feel the beating pattern of the goddess’ feet, dancing the dance of all being. That is what the wisdom keeper says.
The middle card is actually one I call Wisdom Keeper. I always pull a card for each season and a card for the year (this can be a challenge since you have to look at it all year, and mine's a doozy this year - it's called The Wounded Masculine). I made the Wisdom Keeper card after I turned 65, and I realized at some point that it would be my guide for the next 5 years. I love that she turned up in this 3-card story/reading.
Images on my cards come from magazines, cards and calendars. Thanks to all the wonderful photographers and artists whose images inspired us to recreate and discover our inner and outer worlds. My cards are for my own use and will not be sold or bartered.