My Dear Jack:
Cut the deck. Spread your arms, as wide as they can go. There now. Parted faces yearn for each other, powerless to combine, save by your will. See them? Your intervention is required.
Shuffle. Unity returns, though always and ever at the expense of order.
Deal. As below, so above. Our Edenic parting scattered all of us poor jokers to the four corners of the Earth, a pack of two-faced ladies and gents searching for their counterparts. One carries a sword, or says he does. Yet this diaspora led to the crucial shuffle of sexuality, the divine dance of DNA.
Play. If all goes well, if all the mouths of all the many pitfalls make no meal of us this time, then angels worthy of the right hand appear and appear again, to be taken up after a brief flaming existence to fill the four corners of a foursquare paradise. In time the game ends, when it ends, as it began: in perfect immaculate order, the only goal its starting point.
Clear the deck. It is necessary, you must not forget, so that the Significators may not remember their significance. If you should happen to recall something of this in the morning, Jack, please try to forget. It won't help you to know where you lie.
As below, so above; Asmodeus, so Amadeus. So mote it be.
P.S. Fear not; the tiger may roar but his bars are firm.
See also: MS Found in a Pneumatic Cylinder.
©2000, Alan P. Scott. All rights reserved.
This document was last updated August 11, 2000.