This sephiroth is perhaps the easiest for me to grok. I can grasp this and even see reflections of it in the tarot.
The idea of the preparation complete and now the waiting people struck true in the 8’s of the various suits…though Reed’s pregnant woman is out of place with my experience as a pregnant woman. Rather it is that male vision of the pregnant woman. There should be pain in that card…but that would put it out of sync with the calm before the storm manifesto of Yesod.
There is an energy here that is pensive. It is the decision before the act of good or evil.
Yesod is the genitals as part of the foundation. There is an absence of this in tarot…another thing left out. I’m afraid that again kabbalah
Yesod has this idea of ebb and flow and the vessel on the ebb and flow. The cards mesh here…especially the pentacles. Here is where you have the resources to do what you will.
From contentment to preparation…the whole thing has this pervading sense of Now What?
Yesod is the the machinery of the universe…just not of my universe.
Spontaneous Writing Mediation: Weaving, Dew, Spider, Machinery of the Universe.
I cannot tell you the lengths to which we have worked. As the lathe turned out the wooden spokes, I could almost touch the idea.
“Can you weave this dream, Aradne?”
“I can, master.”
“Of course you can,” I smiled. “You dear, were bred for this.”
The great machine bobbed in the waves. I could see th islands far to the east where Aradne would pilot the beast and weave her dream.
The girls walked across the plank to the baubled glass. She kneeled, placing her hands in the cusps. The golden prods shuddered, shoving themselves into her veins. Aradne arched he back; sweat escaped her brow.
I sealed the glass, and removed the plank myself. My workers standing back. The first function of the machine was the journey. The second was the dream.
We would sail to the isle of Fire several months from now to see the success. The preternatural world make livable by the dream.
The great wheel began to turn. Aradne’s head thrown back in pain and ecstasy.
The machine reached the archway of the inner bay; her way clearing as dawn broke. That boy ran past with a push. I struck out. The thud of his knees hitting the deck should my workers.
“She could not!” he cried.
“It is done boy. She fulfills her destiny.”
“No, she carries my child.”
The far of chug of the machine broke the silence. The boy’s sobs followed timed to the waves lapping the deck.
“Kill him,” I said.