Five of Cups: Watery Rush
Above: a secret fairy pool in Midlothian, Scotland
(Please note that I am not working with the ‘standard’ Rider-Waite-Smith Five of Cups in this post, nor the usual symbolism associated with the dark cloaked figure and the turned-over cups. I am working with the Tarot of Marseille, which offers a very different Five of Cups!)
I walk past the ancient ruins of the Knight’s Templar Kirk, moving between elaborate gravestones dating from the 17th century, perhaps older in some cases; their lettering has rotten away completely, it is hard to tell. There is a secret and enchanted place around here, about a 10-minute walk away from my house, that few people seem to know about. Today I am called to stand here in silence.
I lower myself down behind the graveyard, where the land slopes away into the wooded glen. Yew trees dig their ancient roots into an old stone wall like long fingers grabbing at pebbles. The sound of the river gushes strongly as it curves around the edge of our little village like its main artery. I walk through a dark corridor of Yew crowns that reach over from the graveyard above, creating a dark passageway to another world, even on the brightest of days. After a short scramble up, down and over a twisting stream, I find my special place: the Fairy Pool.
Nobody comes here. In front of me, the river slopes down at an angle, a bed of slippery rock. The stone caves in before me to create a large oval shape at the riverbank edge, creating a small pool, not much bigger than an average garden hot tub.
Above: the secret fairy pool in Midlothian, Scotland
From the main, rocky riverbed above, little waterfalls drip down into the pool. I touch soft, bright green moss at its edges; it spreads its cushiony lime to cover the branches of fallen trees that lean into the pool and the river, earth meeting water.
On the other side, the riverbank is met by a steep slope, above which two roe deer make their way through the trees cautiously. Sensing the presence of another creature (but not noticing me crouching down on the lower side of the river) they move on ahead, chewing something nutritious and green, stepping lightly with delicate hooves.
As the little waterfalls rush and fall into the Fairy Pool, I inhale particles of freshwater and my nostrils feel refreshingly cool. My entire being is invigorated by the purity of the water as the scent of damp moss enters my system. I become the scene completely.
It is the sound of the water that is most powerful. It is the winter-spring cusp when I am here, not long after Imbolc. Rains have been pouring non-stop in Scotland and the sound of the overflowing river, spilling its waterfalls into the Fairy Pool, is deafening. During the summer, these wee falls are but trickles that fall from the bony rocks into the stony oval, creating a sound not much stronger than a bathroom tap filling a tub. But today, the power of these gushing falls is deafening, despite the height of their drop being no more than a metre or two.
The hairs on my neck stand on end as I simply am, breathing and listening. Endorphins rush to my brain. The slap of the strong water is felt in my chest as if I were floating in the water and the falls were pouring onto my ribcage. I am not thinking about a single thing: my senses simply experience, they come alive with the sheer power of water in this secluded, secret corner where I have rarely seen another human soul.
Above: anonymous old art of the Fairy Queen kissing Thomas the Rhymer in the Scottish Borders
I call it the Fairy Pool instinctively. I don’t know why; it’s just right. The lore of faeries in Scotland runs deep as a part of its history. The Faery Queen was here before Jesus. As a storyteller, I see and feel faery stories in the land everywhere here, but in few places are ethereal faeries sensed as clearly as they are here. I can’t and won’t explain any more about this phenomenon. You either feel it, or you don’t.
It’s rare that I share this place with my ecotherapy clients. But there are a few clients who I have worked with with for a long time, who I know will accept its medicine and appreciate its majesty. There is one young woman in particular who I used to work in the main forest glen with, on the other side of the Knight Templar ruins. Sometimes we would walk and talk about her life, sometimes we would stop by a giant tree so that she could perform a spontaneous ritual in honour of Nature with me as a witness.
When we arrive at the Faery Pool for the first time, she offers several Wows, and we remain in silence as she soaks in its power. I see her gathering natural materials and I give her space, taking in the amazing pool and wondering how the hell I ended up earning a living in such a beautiful and meaningful way. She throws several bits of loose lichen into the pool and watches them float around in the spinning, circular ripples before leaving the pool to rejoin the main flow of the slanting river. She later tells me that each little handful of lichen represented a special person in her life; it was her way of sharing this place with them, knowing that they too would have appreciated it.
The next time we visit this space, several months later, she refers to it as the Faery Pool. I have never shared my private name for this place with her.
In the Marseille Five of Cups, wild and colourful flowers grow in a sort of mania around five standing cups. Bursting with life, they capture the spirit of the energetic and chaotic number five, blending with the emotive, watery, spiritual aspect of the Cups.
Above: Five of Cups in the Jodorowsky/Camoin Tarot of Marseille.
In his spiritual masterpiece, The Way of Tarot, Alejandro Jodorowsky proposes that the number five represents an expressive drive in us to move into a more spiritual realm in life. That is precisely what my body experiences at the Faery Pool; a crossing over into something inexplicable, vibrant and very exciting. Every nerve seems to vibrate in this overwhelming push to reach for a new place. And yet, ironically, the effect of all of this activity on my body is complete calm, a coat of love for life itself.
A few of the decorative leaves in the Five of Cups create the kind of flow that a waterfall experiences: strong and healthy, yet leaning downwards rather than upwards (the usual direction of a healthy flower stem). It could represent the spiritual rush of a waterfall, or at least a fast-flowing river. Perhaps it represents the moment when an experience in Nature becomes something more than just a nice feeling, something Holy, in fact. Our awe pushes outwards and connects us to a Universe that, actually, we have never been separated from. At such times, there are no words to express the majesty of the moment; our spinning endorphins and standing hairs speak the language for us.
But even though the experience cannot ever be truly shared with others, we can enjoy the moment quietly for ourselves, knowing that the magic of the average fairy tale pales in comparison to the enchantment of reality itself.
The Five of Cups in the Rider-Waite-Smith Tarot – and the thousands of decks inspired by it — might have a spirit of misery running through them, but in the Tarot of Marseille, the story couldn’t be more different.
That’s all for now, friends. Thank you for being here – and please check out my Tarot Therapy Sessions if you’d like us to work together. You can also sign up for the Tarot Blog newsletter (different to my main newsletter) below to receive occasional email updates regarding new posts.
Smiles from Scotland,
Stephen
