February 11, 2010 - The Four of Pentacles

There's no reason to dislike this card, but today, when I saw it, I felt that sinking, "oh no." There's nothing apocalyptic about it. It does possess a stingy feel, as if life is hoarding good times at my expense. I know: I know. Project much?

The question today was about fostering deep and rewarding friendships. I tend to cycle through my friends. These days about three years, four, and they drift away, my opportunity I suppose to consider the nature of friendship and why my flow and then ebb. Life does get in the way, sure. And I suspect I have done much the same with people, warming than cooling. I tend to see myself as constant, and maybe I am, or maybe I just tired later then they tired of me. Are you still friends if you never talk? Does Facebook count? Do you stay open no matter what? Is it truly better to have loved and lost then never to have loved at all?

When the Four of Pentacles comes up in a reading it's time to take stock. Are you too possessive? Are you trying to maintain control of things at any cost? Are you resisting change, trying to maintain the status quo? It is a card of a young ego trying to assert itself. It is a card of "gimme," "I want," "no," and "mine." I know I want things to stay the same and I also know that change is the only thing that's sure in life that, to paraphrase Heraclitis, you never stand in the same river twice for all that it looks the same. Joan Bunning writes of this card: "The lesson of the Four of Pentacles is that control is impossible. We stand in the world as in a great ocean. Who could manage or possess such power? The only way to keep from drowning is to ride the currents. The ocean will support us as long as we swim with the flow." I wonder sometimes if my need for the ocean these days is for just this reminder of timelessness, of ebb and flow, of neap and spring, the tidal nature of life and love and everything in-between.

In the Jane Austen Tarot, the Four of Coins is depicted by John and Fanny Dashwood of Sense and Sensibility. When the elder Mr. Dashwood dies he exacts a promise from the son of his first marriage, John, that he will provide for his half-sisters, Elinor and Marianne, and their mother. John promises but after talking to his wife is gradually led to the conclusion that he cannot "afford" to help the girls monetarily, that this wasn't his father's dying wish, that a bit of brotherly concern and occasional visits is more than enough, plenty. It's a grim looking card of avarice and selfishness. I suppose that's why it bothered me so when it came up. Is this me? Food for thought as I prepare for a week in snow and cold, far from my life and its rhythms.