I consider tarot to be the ultimate reflection of human existence in the journey called life. I find that while some card meanings come easily, such as the Magician, the Sun, and the Wheel of Fortune, others remain a mystery.
The Moon in its beauty and reflective nature is such a card for me. Perhaps it is the very meaning of seeing what is hidden, what lies in the subconscious, and the unspoken fears scattered through my nightly dreams or daytime anxieties.
The Moon – Pamela Colman Smith, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
The traditional meaning of the Moon includes illusion, deception, and truths that the self is not ready or willing to face. In a world where illusion is formed by a proliferation of artificial intelligence to the point where an art piece entitled “Théâtre D’opéra Spatial,” which used prompts in the Midjourney AI software, won at the Colorado State Fair in August 2022, I wonder what remains truly human?
In the much broader sense, my anxiety reflects a deeper understanding that anything created by a human hand or human creativity, including the basic programming for artificial intelligence could be considered “human.” However, my anxiety also engages my heart and brain at the realization that what I and many others have taken for granted – that what comes out of the human consciousness is unique and 100% individual – may no longer be the case.
When I draw the Moon card, I am asked to look around and see what I am missing, what I refuse to acknowledge, and what is hiding – often in plain sight.
The Moon reflects insecurity. It lies between two positive cards: the Star and the Sun. (Consider the saying, “the Sun will come out tomorrow” from the musical Annie. Reflect upon the joy and calm that arises after a cleansing rainstorm when the skies clear and a peace descends.) On some instinctive level as humans, we acknowledge the necessity of having both tough times of hardship or uncertainty and bright times of happiness and clarity. While I often wish for more of the latter and less of the former, being human comes with the understanding that we have the privilege of experiencing life on all levels.
Like so many people, stress has been a major issue in my life over the past several years. Loved ones who pass away unexpectedly, job changes, feeling as though just when life has settled nicely, chaos descends – all of these are common realities that make our time on this planet into a crap shoot.
Three months ago, I lost about 90% of my sense of taste through an NG (nasogastric) tube mishap. Looking back, I am grateful for the efforts of the medical staff who did what they needed to do; however, the aftermath crushed me. Immediate anxiety flowed through me daily: what would I eat?
Think about it. If you can’t taste anything, how will you know what is too salty, what has too much sugar, or what food item has gone bad?
I was reduced at first to two items: cherry Jell-O and fat free Lactaid. After a craniosacral treatment, a few weeks later, I was able to add spinach and hummus to the mix.
Items that once brought me pleasure were suddenly off the table. My unease at sharing a meal with others came to the fore: what if someone asks how the food tastes? Do I honestly say at breakfast that the orange juice smells delicious, but tastes like garbage? Do I admit that anything chocolate or in a processed format reeked of grease or oil due to the fats and artificial ingredients used in making the dessert? Do I admit that I only ate fish or chicken baked or broiled for the texture as neither had any flavor whatsoever.
If this sounds like hell on earth, well, it is.
However, a funny thing happened about two or three weeks in. As an adult, I realized that I had a ton of memories of food tastes, which meant that my past life could help me to recall what something would taste like in the future.
I could not give up hope that my taste would return.
The Moon requires that the self look to see what is hidden. My relationship with food has been quite tangled throughout my life. This experience called forth the qualities of the Moon that I least liked: facing my fears.
As a burgeoning foodie, what would life be like if I never regained a sense of taste – ever?
What would I or could I do instead of having social gatherings that involved food or drink?
Wine, a former love, also smacked of tangy gasoline rather than a full-bodied flavor.
Okay, toss the wine. Beer was nearly the same only slightly less.
Coca-Cola, abandoned for over two years, was my guide to what pepper might taste like. Yes, when your sense of taste is mostly missing, anything that has a reaction other than grease or cardboard is welcome.
Food for me is tied to adventure and to some of my biggest explorations in my lifetime: travel to India, China, and a variety of European countries. Each has memories in my heart surrounding food and the experiences experienced with new friends and strangers alike.
Humans are social creatures. We live, love, reproduce, and grow our families and friend groups in communities. These communities often rely upon gatherings where one is eating, drinking or both.
Sitting at conferences this summer, I reluctantly would admit to this mostly lack of taste while receiving pitying glances from those who slowly ate their chocolate mousse, brownies, and steak dishes.
Salads, a bit of salmon, chicken, and spinach were my go to items.
After six weeks, I tried to see the upside: at least what stayed down and didn’t repulse me were healthy foods. My sense of smell was off the chart, like that of a pregnant woman. I had to rely upon my memory of what would not work to avoid most of the foods offered.
The lesson of the Moon at any given point is understanding why a given situation might not be what it appears to be on the surface. Illusion is the keyword for the card, and it was in reality what I have been experiencing for all of three months.
Anxiety not understood can emerge as something else: anger. I was angry with my body, with my clearly injured nasal or cranial nerve passage ways. Was it a cut or a damaged portion that just was not able to heal? Why give the gift of taste only to take it away?
I was angry with the healthcare system that did not have a clear answer. Overall, I was upset that no one thought to mention that this could be a side effect of NG tube placement, even when placed correctly, which mine was.
The revelation of seeing what was hidden in the water was how this time period has forced me to look at what I take for granted: the ability to taste.
Taste is a human defense system that does not get enough credit for the job it does.
The Moon card forces the exploration of what we least like to face: the dark sides of ourselves.
The bright side of the Moon is that when we do so, we learn and embrace who we truly are.
Moonflower – Jebulon, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons
A few days ago, I finally got to say that cherry Jell-O is obnoxiously sweet again. Pringles actually contain salt for the first time in months, and chicken is more than just a white meat lying on the tongue.
The Moon is no longer a card that I resent or dislike. It has its place in helping the human self blossom on the journey of life. While my sense of taste is not back 100%, I appreciate what I do have, which is what life is about, right?
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