I was reading this passage from The Book of Talismans:
Most scientists are agreed that Pearls are formed in the endeavour of certain bivalves to obtain relief from the irritation caused by some foreign substance which has penetrated the shell and which the Oyster, by covering with a pearly secretion, forms into a beautiful gem. The idea that Pearls are symbolic of tears arose from this fact, and illustrates the old adage that the most noble achievements have their origin in painful and enduring effort.
It caused me to realize that, just as precious pearls are formed of grit and water, so too is Fortuna Major is the sum of Tristitia and Albus: the greatest blessings are bestowed by suffering and reflection. We tend to think of Fortuna Major as the most positive figure in geomancy, but it is not so simple as that, I think.
Back in 2012, my wife was working as a live-in nanny and we lived in a one-room studio apartment off of her employer's house. This was out in the country, amidst woods, farms, and estates. It was a Friday evening in September, and after a long work week I was interested in some quiet conversation with my wife, but she was intent on watching a movie. Movies cause me anxiety and I found the noise of it unbearable, and with no place to escape to in the apartment, I went for a long walk. It was a waning quarter moon with crystal-clear skies, so easily bright enough to see by. After an hour or two, I started to hear music: very faintly at first, but louder as I continued. It was a flute, beautifully playing some classical piece that I did not recognize. I thought this strange and interesting, so I followed the song down the road until I realized that it seemed to be coming from the woods. I stepped off the road and after a few minutes followed the music to its apparent source: a fairy-ring. I walked around it and the music seemed to be coming from, and not beyond, the fairy-ring! I listened to the music for a few minutes longer, and considered the ring curiously; but even a person as stupid as myself knows better than to step into a fairy-ring under such circumstances, and I was starting to get a bit alarmed, so I turned back and hurried home. I swear the music followed me for perhaps a quarter-mile before giving up and fading into the distance. I have always wondered what might have become of me, had I stepped within the ring!
For context, let me note that I was convinced there was no supernatural element to this story at all: there were several ritzy country estates in the area I lived, and I figured that one of them must have been having a party that night. Perhaps I had even had a drink or two before going for my walk—I can't remember! But, this little journal has a lot of affirmative geomancy examples, and I figured I would include this as a negative one. So imagine my surprise to see that it perfects, and strongly!
I'm represented by tense Cauda Draconis in the I. (This is also a traditional indicator that I'm already full of my own preconceptions.) Spirits generally are represented by Populus in the VIII, indicative of a crowd or gathering. This chart perfects in three ways: a conjunction from the I to VII (indicating that I stumbled into meeting them), a mutation between the II and VII greatly strengthened by company simple between the I and II (indicating that a third party—an advisor, very closely aligned with me, and also a partner—had a plan to make this happen and took an active role in doing so), and a mutation between the XII and VII (indicating that a second third party—a limiting or restricting factor and also a partner—was being disruptive to me and also took an active role in events). I take these to be my guardian angel (with whom I am now close) and my wife (who, on this night, was certainly frustrating me!), respectively. Populus is also in the IX, indicative of music (as a skill). As a cute aside, Rubeus in the IV speaks to the disruption I felt at home, while Albus in the III speaks to the peace and solitude I found on my walk.
The court is straightforward: I (RW) wanted companionship (Conjunctio), but external factors (LW) pushed me to go for a walk instead (Via), resulting (J) in my needing and getting some space (Carcer), having the personal effect (S) of widening my horizons (Caput Draconis).
The first spiritual event I can remember happened just after I started college. I was working for one of the departments and was asked to deliver a package to a destination around half a mile away. It was October and the weather had just begun to turn cold, and on this particular day it was extremely windy, and since I had just "left the nest" and was on my own for the first time, I was awfully underprepared for the weather (and many other things). So I had set out and was buffeted by the severe winds, so strong I could barely walk, and so cold that I was chilled to the bone. Normally I could make this walk in ten minutes, but with the wind it was taking me three times that. When I was halfway to my destination, I was stressed enough that I called out (to nobody in particular), "Would you please just give it a rest!?" and immediately the wind stopped dead and was so calm that the leaves on the trees didn't even move. I was shocked! I sheepishly murmured, "Thanks," and continued my errand. The wind remained still until I had finished the delivery and returned: I opened the door and a massive blast of wind, as if to tease me, kicked me over the threshold. Ever since I turned my back on a materialist worldview some years ago, I have wondered if this was literally a spirit: now that I have the tools to find out, I figured I'd ask.
I'm quickly-fading Fortuna Minor in the I, while spirits generally are peaceful Albus in the VIII. The VIII perfects to the I through a conjunction in the II, indicating that yes, a spirit did come over and make themselves known. Albus also occupies the IV, hinting perhaps that the spirit was a local nature spirit. The reception of the I and VIII is Cauda Draconis: this figure indicates commitment to a predetermined course of action, suggesting I was bound to bump into the spiritual sooner or later. This story is mirrored in the court: my world (the RW) is materialistic Tristitia; the outside world (the LW) is Caput Draconis, the figure of wide horizons and many opportunities; thus, the overall situation (the J) is Conjunctio, the figure of contact.
I think we spiritual-minded people place too much emphasis on the role of karma, and too little on the role of destiny. Certainly, in the dozens of questions I've asked of the (very patient) geomantic spirits, karma and past lives have never been the answer, while destiny and future lives often are. (And, of course, many things simply have no deeper significance at all.)
I've noticed, over and over again, that when I do a reading for a time period or situation, repeat figures always seem to indicate a single event with far-reaching consequences. For some reason, when I did a year-ahead reading on New Year's Day, I didn't take much note of Carcer in the VIII, X, and XII. I should have!
Usually, it seems that when a diviner describes a reading, the more detailed it is, the higher our esteem for the diviner. I'd like to argue for the opposite.
In information theory, we speak of entropy as "how much information a message contains." This is actually a fairly complex concept, related to what it even means to communicate. But for the purposes of this exercise, we're just going to be talking about bits, which refers to the amount of information in a binary digit (a zero or one).
Geomantic figures are literally made out of bits: they contain one bit apiece for the head, neck, body, and feet. Since the four Mothers determine a geomantic chart, and each Mother (being a geomantic figure) contains four bits, then each geomantic chart contains sixteen bits of entropy. Great.
When a diviner gives a description of what a geomantic chart means, this conveys information, too! But English is far, far more complicated than geomancy, and so it's harder to determine how much information is contained in a given amount of prose. Experiments have been done and find English to contain 0.6–1.3 bits of entropy per letter, or (since there are, on average, 4.8 characters per English word) 2.6–6.2 bits of entropy per word.
This means that a geomantic chart is equivalent in information content to 3–6 words of English (!), or an extremely short sentence. This is the best we can do if we translate a chart into English. But, as Okakura notes, "translation is always a treason," and it's unlikely we can fully convey the same information so tersely. But should we not try? Limitation is the source of inspiration. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry famously said, after all, that perfection is attained not when nothing more can be added, but when nothing more can be taken away. And is not the time spent carefully paring down a reading, focusing on the essential and disposing of the superfluous, a form of meditation?
Being able to read greater and greater depth from a chart is the mark of a great geomancer, sure, but I think that it is the mark of a truly masterful geomancer to convey that depth as tersely as possible. How difficult this is, when one's audience is not literate in geomancy!
I make an effort on this little blog to do my best in a paragraph or two. It is my hope that, as I gain in experience, I can do so in a sentence or two.
I am always surprised when people say life is short. This has not been my experience at all: it is long; so, so long.
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