Bringing Unaware Patterns to the Surface
Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Life in the Third Degree.
The Treat. He’s the King of Wands, and I’m a cold, heartless bitch.
I’ve heard of him before, in this terminology. Last October, while my divorce case was in full-fledged hell, I’d asked a church Elder to lay a Tarot spread for me. She didn’t get around to it until two weeks after the divorce had finalized, and it wasn’t until the end of December that she emailed the results to me.
For most Tarot spreads, I’m usually represented either by the High Priestess or the Queen of Wands. In the Tarot suits, wands or spears represent ideas or projects. With my wild mind, I’m often considered to be a queen of ideas. So does this mean my partner is the King of Wands? A man with many ideas and projects up in the air?
“The harder thing,” the Elder tells me in the reading, “is that this King of Wands is involved with familial well-being or good things, that the family business is tied up with a man who is basically a loner—not too involved but unduly involved if it serves his purpose.”
At the time, her comments didn’t mean a lot to me. I had no King of Wands in my life or involved with my family. At least, as far as I knew, I didn’t.
“The King of Wands is strange bird,” the Elder continues. “Capable of doing that which he hates in order to achieve what he wants.”
Hmmm, but don’t we all?
“This is a man who is diverse, capable of doing, thinking differently, but also able to be pragmatic,” she says. “This means that he is one of those people who is capable of doing something that is less inspiring in order to continue to have the time and means to do other things. He is able to compartmentalize, to put things in separate boxes in order to have time and energy to do other things.”
But this strange man is definitely in my future, and now that I’ve met him, I’m not sure what to do about it except surprise myself.
I sit amidst friends at a get-together for a bunch of female friends. The wind is up and weather is chilly, but the wine is good and the company is warm. Until a couple of men show up to say hello before going off to do their own thing. I know them both, and one of them—The Treat, aka the King of Wands—I was not expecting to see at more than a passing glance. I have…feelings…for him but I don’t really know what they are and I’m afraid to explore them.
I feel awkward, like I’m invading his space. It’s clear from his expression that he wasn’t expecting a party and he wasn’t expecting to see me. He stays clear of me, finding a spot as far away from me as possible. He is distant, aloof in a way I’ve never seen, and nervous. I hide my interest in him behind a glass of wine and polite conversation with his friend.
I’m the first to leave the party, but I give one of the other women a ride home. As she exits my car, she says, “What was up with you and that guy? He was so aloof. You mirrored each other all evening, but Lorna, you were by far the coldest person there.”
She’s right. Mark has told me to be aware of old patterns and to look for them. This is one.
When I feel rejected or when I feel exposed in any way—in this case, the fear of anyone seeing that I like this man—my walls go up. I suppose that’s true for most people, but I saw first hand what it looks like when I become a cold, heartless bitch. The King of Wands tells me later that he doesn’t think I was, but of course not—we mirrored each other and he was just as cold to me as I was to him.
Just another pattern that surprises me. I’m aware that I withdraw when I feel rejected, so I’m working on that. But do I really put up walls if I like someone and fear those feelings being exposed? And more importantly, what will I do next time I see him in a public setting?
Do I dare keep the walls down?
Do I dare keep them up?