The Dusty Mirror by Rob Harle

Image from The Hermetic Tarot

Part One – Arcanum 17 – The Body of Nature

He lay on the velvet green,
heart reaching for a belonging
a testimony of perfect existence,
delicate sun's rays lifted his spirit
expanding to fill the heavens.

Arcanum 17 offered hope
a chance for renewal
a chance to heal the wounds
the dusty mirror of doubt cleared,
earth energies flowed through his skin
like smoke curling around a log
the grime of an artificial life fell away
the ground throbbed gently
massaging his lacerated heart.

Cool pure water, flowing
energised by the ancient forest
dissolved the dirt,
the dark sooty stains of an uncertain life.
The sun's fire grew intense
searing through his tired limbs
clearing the inner darkness with Kundalini vigour.

All around the birds sang serenely
the insects intense in their crescendo
energised his clearing mind.
The “doors of perception” opened,
like Alice falling inwards
he became an enchanted forest
vibrating with rainbows of energy,
nature glowed with a fragrant purity
flawless clarity pulsed through his being
expanding to reach infinity,
he experienced the sanctity of oneness
and awakened as the body of nature.

Part Two - Arcanum 16 – Agendas of Greed

Image from The Hermetic Tarot
Toxic water seeps beneath the dust
gas wells of death are drilled
in defiance of public pleas,
in open defiance and contempt,
children suffer the poison of greed,
the Silent Spring is deafening.

Publicly announced agendas of greed,
a mandate to profit or be prosecuted.
Shareholders are the silent killers
working towards the extinction of life,
blind capitalist greed explodes
contemptuous disregard of the natural world
spreads like the plague,
heartless indifference for the sanctity of life,
turns fertile green to lifeless toxicity.

We squirm like white rats in a lab
guinea pigs in a power game of death
where there are no winners.
Patents of life are issued like bank notes,
genetic mutations traded like organs,
traded on a floor of unspeakable filth
There is no next,
There is NO next!
These  buds are filled with the cancer of greed,
this is the final death of Spring.

Arcanum 16 flashes from the “Big Board” 
lighting up the putrid night sky,
polluted by lies and neon greed.
Limousines wait in the street,
like hearses at the Church of Mammon
silent killers, hyped with speed
eager to get the first shot in
juggle their agitated minds
as they slurp spiked coffee,
anonymous behind black tinted windows,
impatient to make another killing.

Part Three – Arcanum 15 - The Final Meeting

Image from The Hermetic Tarot
I met Zarathustra at the village market
tired eyes greeted me sadly,
a single tear fell
crashing into the dust at my feet,
the dry lifeless dust.

His lamp flickered,
the brightness all but gone
diminished by years of searching,
the glass blackened by the darkness of doubt.

Still the greed persists,
the sickly phosphorescent yellow-green
tinged with flecks of black,
the colour of the corrupt,
peddling lies with steadfast gaze
like a carnival Snake-oil seller
their hideous smirks
hiding behind black flecks of contempt.

Arcanum 15 fell from the deck of Tarot
crashing into the dust at our feet,
the dry lifeless dust.
We recoiled in horror
the Devil gazed up at us,
hideous portent of a dying planet.

Market goers ate and drank in bliss
oblivious to the powder dry earth
scuffing at their mirror-polished shoes.
A soap-box orator broke the air,
her voice a gravel-pit of spite.
Nearby an old man plucked a harp
angel like,
soft, gentle and serene,
but few cared to listen.

My old friend and I walked on in silence,
all around us smart phones squealed
Clicking furiously!
heads bowed in techno-stoop,
users’ thumbs darting across keys
sending vacuous interjections into hyper-space.
Oblivious to the world,
too self-absorbed to feel,
absorbed in a solipsistic nightmare
with no escape.

Rob Harle
a careless youngster slammed into Zarathustra
dropping his smart phone into the dust at our feet,
Zarathustra trod the phone down into the dead earth,
wiped his cracked lamp glass and shuffled off,
I knew this was our final parting.

He headed for the last remnant of green,
a sanctuary of tenuous life
the last body of nature,
his lamp swung in the breeze
reflecting particles of dust,
the dry lifeless dust.

1 comment :

  1. My goodness there's power in your words Rob; I only wish every politician and every capitalist was forced to read them. The imagery of the Tarot is beautifully embedded into the imagery and symbolism of the poems, and being familiar with the Major Arcana myself (I use the Waite Tarot deck) I can appreciate what you're saying.


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