I saw his face across the rows of markers; he called to me. About my
height, slender and white, the marble stone of his body were pitted
by years of rain, grime and moss. The unblinking eyes, perfect hands,
even the folds of his garment were beautiful.
Out came the camera. I
shot him from many angles, full length,
and then just his face. This was his most
striking feature, for the elements had
perfected him like no sculptor could, darkening
his cheeks, lips and eyelids so that one
half of his face was black, and the other,
a creamy alabaster. The Saint. Both human
and divine, somewhere between perdition
and absolution. Apathy.
Tomb sculpture speaks
to me, as it does to anyone who loves roaming
in graveyards. On the day I found this
statue of St. Anthony, a mist hung over
the tiny cemetery of St. Joseph like a
silvery veil, making the objects caught
in its folds all the more mysterious and
haunting. It also made me forget that this
little haven is right across the street
from a Costco. Despite its industrial niche,
this small patch of sacred earth has the
serene silence that all graveyards possess;
an atmosphere that has drawn me through
the gates season after season, year after
year.
Because cemetery imagery
elicited emotional responses, not just
from me, but from other people who looked
at them, I felt that something should be
done with the pictures I had taken. I wanted
to go beyond a photo essay, and eventually
the idea came—a cemetery Tarot. I
started playing with photographs, arranging
them like puzzle pieces into the framework
of a Raider-Waite Tarot. They fit neatly
enough. Obelisks would be Swords, and Urns
would do very well as Cups. Then the project
faltered. Years later I discovered Leilah
Wendell’s Gothic Tarot (Westgate
Press, 1998), a majors-only deck combining
New Orleans cemetery imagery with collage.
Feeling that my own project was compromised
because this avenue had now been explored,
I bemoaned my fate to my mentor and friend
Katharine Clark (An Irish Book of Shadows,
Galde Press, 2001). She replied, as she
had when I had first told her about the
work, “You know, it doesn’t
have to be a Tarot deck.”
Over the course of my
relationship with the Tarot, I've seen
numerous decks. Many are variations on
the Raider Waite-model, illustrated with
symbols systems or significant works of
art and literature posed in the various
tableaus of the Pamela Coleman-Smith drawings.
Cemetery imagery could be plugged into
this platform, but the questions arose:
Could it stand on its own? And if so, how?
Is it, like a DaVinci painting, the poetry
of Blake or the plays of Shakespeare, “divinely
inspired?” Does funerary art touch
the face of God, and then reflect it back
like a mirror, revealing a touchstone to
the viewer?
I think so. Even at the
most lucid of moments, (for no symbol is
absolute or interpreted with perfect clarity),
we see “through a glass darkly.” Yet,
looking at those ivy clad statues and carvings
trigger for me, and countless others, personal
memories and awareness of those intangible
facets of life shared by all people: faith,
family, fellowship, and hope. I've seen
similar reactions from both readers and
querents to the Rider-Waite imagery. Who
does not inwardly smile when the Ten of
Cups shows its face in a reading, or cringe
when the Tower looms in the future?
Any body of work that
carries symbolism that resonates on a personal
level can lend itself as a tool of meditation
and divination. It is not necessary to
plug each image into the Tarot formulary.
They will create their own and, in doing
so, potentially open a wider window for
vision. But where to begin? We started
using the Tarot as a springboard.
One of the first things
Kat and I did was to go through the tarot
and make a list of all of the possible
feelings, situations etc. that each card
conveyed. Next, we looked for those things
expressed in cemetery art. As images were
added, patterns emerged; there were light
cards and shadow cards, there were stones
and settings and shapes that spoke of the
Divine, Physical, Mental, Social and Emotional
state of humankind. One by one the pieces
found their own suits. The end result was
a deck of 71 cards depicting cemetery imagery
that is not necessarily famous, but accessible
and familiar to most people. It has capabilities,
like the Tarot, of tapping into the Divine
in order to seek direction, guidance, and
answers. As with the Tarot, our Oracle
deck is a journey. As Kat has written in
the text that accompanies the cards, “If
all the cards are laid out in a circle,
the progression of the meanings can be
seen as you move from spirit, to physical
and beyond.” In their own unique
way, the cemetery images conveyed aspects
of achievements and disruptions. The process
will work for any symbol system.
Another point that emerged
in creating the oracle was this: lack of
conformity to set formulas allows the creator
to incorporate innovations. For us, it
was a card depicting headstones flush against
a church which we named The Wall. The graves
in this photograph are in their original
positions. Unfortunately, the building
of a new annex wall nearly engulfed or
eclipsed those markers. They are so close
to the church structure that it is almost
impossible to read the inscriptions. The
Wall is an indication to stop the reading,
as there are influences present making
the information in the other cards tainted
and unreliable.
There is always the argument
that cards have set meanings. In a sense
they do, but it is also true that both
querent and reader will bring individual
experiences, feelings, and memories to
the images, whatever they may be. When
working with a divination tool, the querent
never looks at the symbols as she mixes
and selects them. Her part is to meditate
on her question or situation, put her energy
into the tool, and allow her hands to order
the cards - a sign of the Divine aspect
at work. It is primarily the reader to
whom the cards “speak”. When
choosing a divination tool, a reader will
naturally gravitate towards a symbol system
to which they can relate, utilize traditional
and textbook interpretations, and incorporate
their own knowledge, affinity and experience.
Allowing the symbols to evolve organically
makes an oracle a living tool, one that
is continually expanding, creating unlimited
meanings. Querents and readers are encouraged
to draw their own conclusions.
No divination tool resonates
so soundly as one that you have made yourself,
or in which you have invested your energies.
Look around you. What imagery sings to
your heart? Listen closely for the guidance
and wisdom the Divine will whisper into
your ear, and then like the Fool, follow
it merrily to a new beginning.
2007 © Natalie
Zaman