The Muzoracle Addenda

Traditional Tarot and Direction in Muzoracle Castings

2012-02-19T20:27:00.000-08:00

In traditional Tarot, reversed cards – cards that appear upside down – are controversial: some readers give reversal a great deal of weight, while others disregard it entirely. This is especially true in the case of the Minor Arcana – indeed, many decks use pips instead of images and are identical in either direction, like our modern playing cards.

Using Tarot in conjunction with the Muzoracle has been explored elsewhere here in the Addenda; generally, after the Muzoracle is cast a Tarot card is drawn for each position in the casting. In this context, the direction of the Tarot cards relates them to ascending or descending scales: upright Tarot cards travel upward in the direction of intention, while reversed cards travel downward as part of the flow of nature. Neither direction is inherently positive or negative; reversed Tarot cards in Muzoracle castings don’t become their opposite or more intensified, they simply take on a different role.

Things can become especially lively when, within a position, the Tarot card travels in the opposite direction of the scalepoint and its attendant Muzoracle card. In the example at top right, a Major Seventh of Brass was cast over the point of so, followed by the Six of Swords reversed drawn to the same position. While the Seventh of Brass is interpreted over so, the point of Challenge, the Six of Swords is traveling in the opposite direction, and so is interpreted under ra, the point of Vitality: ra is the tritone, or “opposite” of so. (If you haven’t yet wrapped your head around the delicious ambiguity of tritones, finding a scalepoint’s “opposite” – it’s tritone – can be easily accomplished by referencing the red connecting lines in the drawing below, found also in the Muzoracle Reference book on page 38.)

Another example: at right we find The Sun drawn into the axis position of a casting under le. The Sun, though “reversed,” is congruent with the position: everything within the position is flowing downward, and is interpreted under le. To the right of the axis we find a Conductor of Percussion over fa, with the reversed Nine of Pentacles drawn above it. In this case, the Conductor’s going up and the six is coming down: the Conductor’s interpreted over fa and the Nine under ti. Of course, the marvelous madness of tritones gives both fa ascending and ti descending the same definition: revelation. But revelation in two flavors: in the case of the Conductor, we find the results of our intentions and efforts revealed in the form of leadership in the realm of the physical; in the case of the Nine of Pentacles, we find success and inner knowing newly revealed and coming into manifestation.

Called to Improvise

2012-01-20T11:51:00.000-08:00

At first glance, the Improvisation Card may seem to be about facility and technique, about being able to “take a solo” or “hold down a groove” that impresses. While these things – facility, technique, self-confidence, razzle dazzle – can certainly come into play while improvising, they are not at the heart of it; successful improvisation is about listening and maintaining a flow. In a group situation we must maintain an awareness of what the other musicians are doing; if they are listening in return, a meaningful conversation can take place. If indeed we are “taking a solo,” then yes, what we create is for the moment in the spotlight; nevertheless, we are not an island – as we all know, there’s nothing like a loudmouth who doesn’t listen and is “always on” to spoil everybody’s fun. If we are improvising entirely on our own – solo at the piano, for instance – listening and flow still are foremost: we have to be continually aware of what we just played and respond accordingly; our soliloquy must be coherent.

Drawing the Improvisation Card, I am called to listen and respond. Yes, my aim is important, yes, the big picture is important, if I have one in mind; but what’s here now? What is called for now? What can I bring to this conversation with Life that is meaningful and appropriate – now?

The image on the Improvisation Card is a Flower of Life Labyrinth. Within the flower, much is possible: from the points within the centers of its individual circles emerge all five of the Platonic Solids, which are equated with the five suits of the Muzoracle: Brass/Fire/Movement; Strings/Water/Feeling; Woodwinds/Air/Intellect; Percussion/Earth/Body; and Voices/Aether/Wholeness. Upon entering the labyrinth I am immediately confronted with questions: which way to turn? The point of the labyrinth is not to get out, but to be present while within.

What is here now? What is called for?

Unisons and Unity Within

2011-09-28T09:55:00.000-07:00

Do I contradict myself?

Very well then I contradict myself,

(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

–Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself”

In music, the term “unison” usually applies to two or more instruments. A unison refers to two simultaneous instances of the exact same pitch, and even instruments that can play multiple pitches simultaneously (like a piano) can’t play the same note twice at the same time. (A guitar is one exception to this – a string can be fretted to double the same note on another string.)

In the Muzoracle, unisons represent unity, most often of two or more people – because musically it usually takes two or more people to play one. A Unison of Woodwinds represents agreement in the realm of ideas, for example, while a Unison of Percussion refers to a kind of physical accord, as when people work together to accomplish a task.

In addition to referencing accord between two or more people, though, the unison can also speak of unity within. In a recent casting, I came across a Unison of Strings over ti. In the context of the querent’s question, I interpreted this as a need for unity of feeling in order to transition to the next level. This brought me to a question that has been with me since: What is it to have a unity of feeling? Is it possible for all of these shifting personae within, these reactive modes that so quickly and invisibly change in response to circumstance, to share a single feeling? One moment something pleases, the next it frustrates, the next it doesn’t matter – how can we get all of those guys to agree?

I don’t think that’s possible. What might be possible, though, is a remembering of something core. There is a kind of feeling that does not give way to whim, that in moments of shock or inner silence can appear – a finer, more grounded kind of feeling. It’s like the love one has for a partner or a child: not the assumed everyday version that’s all wrapped up with duty or a sense of self, but the extraordinary feeling that comes like a realization, that’s felt down to the bone, that’s a kind of knowing. This is the kind of feeling, perhaps, that’s called for in this casting: a kind of pervasive remembering.

The Unison of Strings in this casting was actually a part of the casting’s axis: it was crossed with a Perfect Fifth of Voices, which speaks of the Active Force, of a kind of assertion at a spiritual or core level. Once again, remembering is indicated: in order to act from a core level, we must be at a core level, we must know what that means. A Unison of Strings crossing a Perfect Fifth of Voices over ti: it would seem the transition at hand cannot be accomplished from a small place.

An actor, yes ... but I want to direct!

2011-06-03T14:47:00.000-07:00

Directives Directing

Divisi under Ra; Diminuendo under Te; Risoluto over Ti; Ritardando under Se

The above directives all occurred in one casting – which is pretty amazing considering that there are only 13 directives in the entire 89-card deck. This “coincidence” – and I use that word without implying randomness – inspired me to wax a bit on Directives and their meaning.

The Directive cards are derived from directives in a musical score, where they appear here and there as instructions. Say, for example, the violas in an orchestra are all playing a single-note melody. Then, at a certain point in the score, the single-note melody becomes two notes: either the melody is being harmonized, or two separate melodies have begun to take place. At that point the directive divisi appears in the score, instructing the viola section to split in two: half the violas take the top note, the other half the bottom one. In terms of both music and metaphor, divisi indicates an increase in diversity and a decrease in force: "Each of you may now operate independently, but neither will be as strong (loud) as you were when you were one."

In the Muzoracle, Directives are also instructions. The difference is, of course, is that we are composing the “score” – our lives – as we go. Any instructions in a casting essentially come from ourselves: we can choose to follow them, ignore them, or alter them. Always interesting, though, is why these instructions are appearing in the first place; what within us is giving the orders? Sometimes, a Directive may actually point to someone else giving the orders: a boss, for example, or a friend with judgements. In that case, what within us gives a hoot?

The first Directive that appeared in the aforementioned casting was indeed divisi, under the scalepoint of ra. This points to division as a source of vitality. Moreover, the position is an instruction: “You're going to need fuel to get through this – division is it.”

Next appears the Directive diminuendo under the scalepoint of te. This points to a lessening of force – a quieting – as an opportunity. In conjunction with the divisi card in the previous position, this might mean, “Yes, divide – but for best results, don’t push your agenda too hard.”

Third in the casting we find risoluto over the scale point of ti. This points to resolve at a point of transition. There’s obviously a transition taking place, or at least on the table, involving a split of some kind; in order to navigate it, we mustn’t be too pushy, but we mustn’t lose our resolve, either. Note that the risoluto card is a darker grey than the others; it is an Expressive, one of the directives that particularly deals with emotional tone.

Finally, three positions later, we find ritardando under the scalepoint of se. Se is about inception: it speaks of what has already begun. Ritardando is a directive to slow down. This position might indicate that the entire enterprise at hand is already under way: don’t rush it. Stay calm and quiet (diminuendo), but stick to your guns (risoluto).

Of course, the other non-directive positions are key as well, and they’re juicy. An Accompanist of Percussion crossed with a Minor Seventh of Brass over the scalepoint of re: servitude in the physical world coupled with creative retreat as a habitual response. And Form over do: an intention regarding the form our lives take. But all that for another blog entry – this one’s dense enough! —Peace, jsk

Descending Scalepoints in Ascending Castings ... and vice versa

2010-04-16T09:11:00.001-07:00

Scalepoints in the key of C Ascending. Note that the chromatic points

form a descending major scale a tritone away, in the key of Gb.

In the Muzoracle, ascent and descent represent two very different flows of process. The ascending flow involves processes we intentionally initiate, or try to; the descending flow involves processes initiated outside of us, or within us unconsciously. Ascent is the upward flow of will; descent is the downward flow of Nature, of what comes down around us and through us.

It’s not difficult to find examples of ascending and descending flows within ourselves. I wish to make breakfast, and conscientiously set about doing so: ascent. While doing so, last night’s dream keeps running through my mind unbidden: descent. Focusing my attention, I carefully flip the eggs at just the right moment: ascent. Meanwhile my legs support my shifting weight and keep me balanced: descent. The phone rings: descent. I choose to answer it: ascent. In a descending process, I am part of the flow; in an ascending process, I make the flow. Ascent is purposeful; descent is grace.

Ascending processes from one perspective are often are descending processes from another, and vice versa. I intend to make breakfast: why? Because I’m hungry. Do I intend to be hungry? No, but my body is insisting. At whose bidding does my body insist? We see that ultimately we are in a descending flow: ultimately we serve; we are of and for Nature. From nature’s flow, though – for all things come to us through it – desires arise that move against or in spite of this downward pull, and we are called to act: to wish, to intend. Descent is realized through ascent; ascent arises from descent in turn.

The scalepoints in the Muzoracle are associated with either ascent or descent. If a casting is ascending – if the black Musician’s Die is pointing upward – do, re, mi, fa, so, la, and ti (the diatonic scalepoints) are traveling upward, too. The other scalepoints, the chromatic ones – se, me, ra, te, and le – are traveling downward, against that upward flow. If a casting is descending – if the black Musician’s Die is pointing downward – things work in reverse: the diatonic scalepoints, like the Musician’s Die, travel downward, and the chromatic scalepoints travel upward against them.

In the ascending casting pictured above, the diatonic scalepoints speak, of course, of the ascending process. It’s important to remember, though, that the descending points speak of the descending process, even though the casting as a whole is an ascending one.

The querent in this case was a young woman asking about a future career as a singer. She started by rolling an Ab pointing straight up, indicating that the perspective of the casting was to be that of an ascending scale. Understood: she wants to sing, and this casting is going to look at what she wants, what she intends. Right out of the gate, though, she rolls a descending point: le, the point of Dependence. Now, in an ascending casting, le is the bottom point in a descending scale: it's like the weight at the end of a pendulum, pulling things down. Even though the whole of this casting – according to the Musician’s Die – is about the mountain she’s trying to climb, she’s confronted immediately with something that’s pulling downward from below and draining her energy. So… what is this drain? She draws a card and places it below le: a Major Seventh of Percussion, Lack in the Realm of the Physical.

Gee whiz, I think. Could it be that this gal can’t carry a tune? I ask her about the nature of this lack that drains. It’s not so much a voice problem, she says. It’s a more of a vitality thing: she likes to think about singing, but actually approaching it wipes her out, like she’s trying to “run underwater”.

Interestingly enough, the next die she rolls is ra: the point of Vitality, and another descending point. Now, the point of Vitality is about energy sources and driving forces: of what here is it speaking? The source of the downward pull that’s draining her? Or an energy source she might draw on in her quest? The card she draws: Performance, which is crossed eventually by the Tritone of Strings. A paradigm shift in emotion crossed with the act of performing: a deep change in attitude, perhaps, a new emotional posture. Has she taken such a posture that’s spinning her down the tubes? Conversely, can she imagine such a posture that could take her where she wants to go?

As the rest of the casting plays out, the second position remains key: a fundamental shift in attitude is available. Position 3 and 4 are both ascending points. The Broad Challenge at hand – so – is Timbre: inhabiting her destiny, filling her shoes. The Effort Required – mi – regards “Ease in the Realm of Spirit,” the Major Third of Voices: all of her efforts need to cleanly serve that which feeds her soul. The last position contains another descending point: se, the point of Inception. Underneath it she drew the Conductor of Percussion: Leadership in the Realm of the Physical. I asked her about this. It seems she’s thinking of starting her own band – as an instrumentalist. Perhaps the seeds for such a venture have already germinated.

The Influence of Gurdjieff on the Muzoracle

2009-09-17T15:07:00.000-07:00

Today I received a letter asking about the connection between the ideas of G.I. Gurdjieff and the Muzoracle; specifically, I was asked about which texts I would recommend to learn more about his influence on the system. This is not the first inquiry I’ve had along these lines. Honestly, I’ve been reticent about answering them. My experiences with Gurdjieff’s teachings have been so rich, so multi-faceted, and so interconnected, I haven’t known where to start; and I’ve been apprehensive about selling those experiences – and the work itself – short.

First, let me say that Gurdjieff’s cosmological ideas – and it is his cosmology that figures most overtly in the Muzoracle – do not and are not meant to exist in a vacuum. The cosmological ideas are thoroughly intertwined with other sorts of ideas: psychological ones, philosophical ones, alchemical ones. More importantly, the ideas as a whole function as only one part of the much larger endeavor that is “the work”; it is in the context of the other aspects of the work – the subtle forms of self-observation, the sacred dances, the music, the meditations, and above all the working with others of like intent – that the ideas bloom.

It is said that over time the combination of study and practical work can lead to a kind of inner restructuring. Personally, I believe it has for me. It’s not like I’m a different person than when I began – it’s more like I see more of the person that I am and have been. That’s not always pretty: what I see most is one set of pathologies giving way to another, precluding anything essential coming to the fore. In the process, though, I’m also gaining a sense of what that essence is: somewhere in midst of this magnificent, somnambulant machine I am. And this fleeting sense and occasional appearance of a deeply present self, a self with a place in this world, engenders hope; and that is a most precious thing.

It is from a broad and subtle experience, then, that the Gurdjieff work enters the Muzoracle. That being said, that experience is relatively limited: I am a novice in this work, an undisciplined greenhorn. I am compelled to reiterate here as well that the Muzoracle is first and foremost a musical project; that it is, esotericism aside, simply another song that Jeff wrote. To answer the question at hand literally, Gurdjieff’s influence on the Muzoracle is via my subjective experience as a novitiate, artistically applied.

Recommended Reading. In terms of learning more about the Gurdjieffian laws and concepts that the Muzoracle touches upon, I know of a few good places to start. First is certainly P.D. Ouspensky’s In Search of the Miraculous – that’s where I started. It’s a chronicle of the work presented in the way that Gurdjieff himself presented it to his students, and it articulates many of the principles that found their way into the Muzoracle, such as the Law of Three, the Law of Seven, and the Ray of Creation – for a start. The depth of information in this book seems to go on forever: I’ve been working with it for decades, and I'm still always finding things I haven’t seen.

As far as the writings of Gurdjieff himself, his second book, Meetings With Remarkable Men, is probably the best place to start; the film version of the book is a great introduction to the music and movement that is such an integral part of the work. My favorite biography of Gurdjieff is James Moore’s – it chronicles the great drama of events in Gurdjieff’s life without overshadowing what he was trying to teach. Many of the students of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky had student groups of their own, and were prolific; I was initially attracted to the writings of Maurice Nicoll, and still find much inspiration there. There’s an excellent collection of essays written by various luminaries in the work called Gurdjieff: Essays and Reflections on the Man and his Teaching, edited by Jacob Needleman and George Baker.

A Matter of Style

2009-06-18T07:43:00.000-07:00

In the Muzoracle literature, the Style Card is said to refer to "manner and presentation". It seems to imply a kind of superficiality, a way of being or behaving that is somehow divorced from content – something "put on", something we wear as opposed to something we are. And in a casting, the Style Card can indeed point to this "divorced superficiality" – over the point of broad challenge, for example (so or ra), or over the point of unconscious behavior (re or le).

Style can, however, run deep, even though its surface is what commands attention. All surfaces derive from something, and the reasons for them tell their own story. Using a musical analogy, we might play in a jazz style because we think it's "cool"; jazz, however, has a vast history and cultural significance, and that we find it "cool" speaks of our relationship to that history and culture, to our understanding of it and biases toward it. Beyond that, of course, is the question of why we want to look cool in the first place. Apply those kinds of analogies to a real question and you might find something juicy.

In a recent casting, the Style Card appeared crossing a Perfect Fifth of Voices over the scalepoint of te: "Manner" crossing "Initiative in the Realm of Spirit" at the point of "Effort Required". This spoke of a need for the querent to align their manner with what they want at a core level, to allow what their soul is working for to be more readily seen. Here it seems that presentation was divorced from content, and that needed to be rectified.

Muzoracle Casting with Traditional Tarot

2009-05-27T16:10:00.000-07:00

The question. My question this morning dealt with money and location. I need to bring in more cash in the short term. The possibilities for accomplishing that are more numerous in the city – where I’m staying – than in the country, where I live. I love my home and its close proximity to family and friends ... but a fella’s gotta make a living. What shall I do about this? Like many folks these days, I’m anxious about money – when confronting these issues, I run into a kind of confusion and muddiness regarding how to proceed. What assumptions and fears are operating unseen within me? What am I buying into?

The casting. The Musician’s Die landed on Gb, pointing absolute south, which indicates the general perspective of the casting was to be about “what’s coming down” – or coming through – vertically, in terms of being. The first Solfége Die I rolled was fa, which indicates a time of transition.

The card I drew underneath fa was a Minor Sixth of Woodwinds: longing or hunger in the Realm of Mind. I think of this card as the "thirst for knowledge" card – and indeed, I'm dying to know what to do at this time of transition ... I am constantly distracted. Gotta know, gotta know, gotta know.

I rolled again: le, the point of mechanicality, of unconscious behavior. The card I drew above it: the Conductor of Woodwinds, a Leader in the Realm of Mind. Now, conductors, especially when operating unconsciously, can point to control issues; an unconscious Conductor of Woodwinds can indicate an attachment to being right. These first two positions together, then – the Minor Sixth of Woodwinds under fa and the Conductor of Woodwinds over le – speak of a kind of mental obsession with having things figured out.

The next die I rolled was fa again, which created a double at the first position and so formed the casting's axis. The card I then drew to cross was the Orchestration Card, which I placed horizontally across the Minor Sixth. The Orchestration Card deals with delegation and managing resources – sometimes within, sometimes without. In forming the axis, the hunger of the Minor Sixth, this need to figure things out, had become bound up with deciding who's going to do what and when. Which of my many irons in the fire should take precedence? What can I hand off, and to whom? Figure figure figure, clickety click click – put all this in the hands of a Conductor obsessed with control and you've got a guy who isn't sleeping much.

So what do I do with all of this? Get out of my head, certainly – but in what way? As sometimes happens, the casting has accurately telegraphed a situation and seems to suggest something, but hasn't pointed strongly to a particular course of action. When this occurs, I'll sometimes just roll and draw again, or maybe do a separate One-Up. The axis of a casting usually signals its end – sometimes, though, it just signals a pause, a time to take stock and do some interpreting before continuing on.

Adding in the Tarot. The course of action I decided to take in this instance was to break out my Universal-Waite Tarot. I shuffled and pulled a card from the center of the deck, and placed it face up below Position 1: the card was The Fool. What might this card mean at a time of transition, in combination with intellectual hunger and delegating responsibility? The Fool's striking difference to the Muzoracle cards above it suggest to me a balm to all this obsessive thinking, a kind of return to innocence, a simple and childlike following of one's heart and conscience. It seems a call to lighten up – the white prancing dog on the card even looks like my Havanese! The Fool also suggests the presence of the Trickster, that this pickle I'm in is a kind of cosmic joke, which, if taken correctly, can really show me some things I'd otherwise not be able to see.

I then drew another card from the middle of the deck and placed it over position 2: it was the Seven of Wands reversed. Now, last night one of the questions on Jeopardy! was "What is Pyrrhic victory?" When this card turned up, this question rang in my head. Sevens are about victory, and the Seven of Wands is about relishing the fight; but it's upside down here, and joined to an unconscious leader. The Conductor here is Pyrrhus himself: this is a battle I don't want to fight. Again, there is a call to relinquish control, to loosen this mental grip.

Looking at all this, I had an intuition to cap what I had so far with a One-Up. I rolled te ascending, and drew a Major Triad of Percussion over it: Fulfillment in the Realm of Body at the point of Effort. I then drew The Emperor over that. This position was most helpful: the triad was a call to examine what I want as an endpoint in the real physical world, and also a call to ground. The Emperor I drew next indicated order, but on the terms of the Major Triad adjacent to it; an anathema to the tyranny of thought found in position 2, it spoke of kingship over a bounteous land.

Musician's Notes. In the first position, the Minor Sixth built downward from fa creates an open voicing of a Major Triad: if we sound our Gb and then add below it Cb and the Eb below that, we hear an open Cb triad with an Eb at the bottom – very consonant, very rich. The second position in our casting involves just the one note D; in conjunction with our droning Gb, we hear an implied D Major Triad. The third position is a E Major Triad; the droning Gb sounds like an "add 2."

This casting is extraordinarily triadic and consonant. Although its key center is Gb, the key we really feel is Cb, the key of fa, sounded at the first position. Harmonically, Cb Major is the source of Gb Major; musically, this casting is centered around the notion of returning to source, as exemplified by The Fool. The E Major Triad in position 3 lifts you right out of your boots. This casting was very healing and soothing to play.

The Soloist and Boundaries

2009-05-20T09:41:00.000-07:00

This last weekend we exhibited the Muzoracle at the New World Fair in Pasadena. It was a pretty crazy event with lots of scattered energy, especially on Saturday.

I cast for a couple of people that can only be described as energy vampires: they bring all of their drama and baggage to the table, and seem hell-bent for leather on dragging you into it. One person in particular seemed just this side of the nuthouse, barely listening to what I was saying, grabbing cards and dice when he felt like it, and essentially yelling things like, "I WANT ANSWER! SHOULD I DO THIS OR NOT?! SO THIS THING DOESN'T WORK FOR FUTURE, ONLY FOR PRESENT AND PAST?! AAARGH! I TAKE OTHER CARD! I'M A VERY SPIRITUAL PERSON!" Oy, it was exhausting. By the time the day was done, I'd have rather ate from the catbox than do another casting. "I'm just the piano player, dammit!" I'm thinking. "Leave me alone!"

At the day's very close I had one more casting, and it was with another intuitive reader -- and she was present, immediate, and grounded as can be. Hallelujah! She gave me some very valuable tips -- stuff I'd heard about, but had no practical experience with. Most helpful was her advice on maintaining boundaries, about not making other people's stuff yours; and also about maintaining a certain authority while casting. Yes, the authority in terms of meaning belongs to the querent – but the form and flow of the casting is my job, and it is not up for grabs.

The next morning, while sitting at the booth before the show began, I cast for myself regarding the day ahead. The axis of the casting was the Soloist of Strings crossing a Perfect Fifth of Strings over the scalepoint of so: Initiative and Autonomy in the Realm of Feeling at the point of Challenge. It couldn't have been more clear: take charge of your feelings by remaining autonomous. Shortly thereafter I cast for my partner Hugh, who was also working the booth and was pretty frazzled himself. Two of the cards in his five-position spread were also Soloists: the Soloist of Woodwinds and the Soloist of Percussion.

In the Muzoracle literature, the Soloist is described as " autonomous, independent, a loner, a maverick, a star". The notion of boundaries is also implied: that which is self-contained has borders. Returning to this idea as Sunday ran its course, I saw that, in terms of energy drain, it takes two to tango. Something needy in someone else wants my support; something needy in me wants to please them, and we are drawn to each other like magnets. If I wish to avoid vampires, perhaps I should show a little less neck.

The scalepoint of so refers to broad challenges, to "life-lesson" kinds of challenges. The implications of the axis in my casting reach beyond the issues directly at hand, and beg deeper exploration of the Soloist within. When are our boundaries enforced, and why? When are they nonexistent, and why? What exactly is "autonomy", and what in us desires it? What is a "star", and who wants to be one?

Mechanicality in Castings

2009-05-10T15:05:00.001-07:00

I have come across some confusion among users regarding the scalepoints of re and le, especially in their ascending aspect. What does mechanicality mean, and how does it figure into a casting?

In the Muzoracle, mechanicality refers to unconscious behavior or beliefs. It speaks of what's operating within us without our intent, consent, or even knowledge: our habits, our reactions, our compulsions, our automaticity. Cards drawn above re or le speak of hidden forces driving things – sometimes within us, sometimes without.

Not all unconscious mechanisms are harmful. Indeed, they form as practical responses. Baby burns hand on stove; 20 years later, Baby doesn't have to think about it -- there is an unconscious mechanism that keeps its hand off the burner. If, however, Baby learns to equate abuse with love, and 20 years later finds itself in a string of abusive relationships, there may be an unconscious mechanism that needs to be addressed. When mechanicality appears in a casting, it simply speaks of things that are operating unseen; they may or may not be obstacles to what's at hand.

Sometimes the appearance of a card over re or le signals something repressed and of value coming to light: yes, it's been hidden, but the fact that it's sitting in front of us on the table means it ain't hidden no more. Cards over re/le might also indicate something that needs to be brought to light.

In the greater scheme of things, mechanicality looms large. Unconscious mechanisms within us give rise to behaviors, which in turn affect others, each of whom has their own set. How much of life is really one plane on autopilot bumping into another? What assumptions do we unconsciously make as a culture, or as a species? Who's driving this bus?

Sunday's Casting

2009-05-05T18:43:00.001-07:00

As you may know, we've been really hustling around here at Philomuse to get Muzundrum, our new music theory game, released. I've been planning on packaging the game in a triangular box – getting someone to make a triangular box, however, has been like pulling hen's teeth. You wouldn't think so – I mean, they make all kinds of weird-shaped boxes for things. Anyway, after yet another bout this weekend with flake-outs and unanswered e-mails, it occurred to me that maybe the universe was trying to tell me something: maybe I should go with a square box with an insert, save some bucks, and keep the price point down on the final product. I decided to cast the Muzoracle and see if anything helpful came up. The above is what I cast.

As you can see, the casting was an ascending one: the black Musician's Die, which I rolled first, landed pointing up. The casting, then, was to build upward, with the white Solfége Dice building up from the Musician's Die, and the cards building up from the Solfége Dice in turn. In terms of meaning, ascending castings refer generally to things we're trying to accomplish, to uphill climbs, like... like trying to get these damn boxes made.

The first die I rolled was fa, which speaks of what is being revealed, what's coming to light, what's bubbling up. The card I drew above it was a Minor Seventh of Strings. Now, minor sevenths refer to retreat, return, withdrawal... or attachment. The Suit of Strings refers to the Realm of Feeling. Hmm... could some kind of emotional attachment be coming to light here? Perhaps some kind of clinginess around my precious triangle design?

I rolled again. Mi, the point of "effort required." The card I then drew above it: Al Segno: "to the sign." Working with signs, looking for portent: a suspicion about all this peculiar flakiness I'd been encountering brought me to the casting in the first place. This position suggests that I might trust those suspicions, that I might "work with the signs."

Next roll: re, the point of mechanicality, of unconscious behavior. The card then drawn above re: the Conductor of Woodwinds. Conductors are about leadership; they can also, however, be about control issues, or even bullying, especially when they occur at the point of unconscious behavior. The Suit of Woodwinds refers to the Realm of Mind, the intellect. This position indicates to me a kind of hardheadedness, an unseen but powerful pushiness in terms of ideas.

And the next roll: te. Now, te is a chromatic point – it's not do, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti, do, in other words. That means it goes at the top of the casting, and the card we draw subsequently will go underneath it: chromatic points always travel in the opposite direction of the casting at hand. In terms of meaning, that means that this point is opposition to our upward climb: it's about what's coming down. And what is does te descending mean? Opportunity. This card's going to be about opportunities presenting themselves in the face of my difficulties. Oh boy!

The card I draw: A Major Seventh of Strings – Lack in the Realm of Feeling. How could a lack of feeling be an opportunity? It seems kind of obvious how it could be now, but at the time I had no idea. I moved on, and rolled again. Sometimes you have to do that – just let things sit a bit and come back to them.

The die I rolled next: te again. When you roll a die for a second time, it's position becomes the axis of the casting, it's center of gravity. The doubled die is placed adjacent to its mate, a card is drawn and placed across the one already there, and the casting is complete. The final position in this case, then, this point around which my story is revolving, is about opportunity in the face of adversity.

The final card I drew: Ossia, the "alternate passage". Ossia under te: opportunity in taking an alternate path. A potential meaning of the card underneath Ossia, the Major Seventh of Strings, then began to emerge as well: perhaps the lack of feeling referred to could be a letting go of the emotional attachment talked about in the first position, which is also in the Suit of Strings. The axis of my casting, then, the center of gravity of my story? Emotional Emptiness and Alternative Passage at the Point of Opportunity.

I decide I like this story. Letting go of my emotional attachment and hardheadedness regarding my original design, paying attention to an emerging intuition, exploring alternatives: I think I'll work with that.

Now: did the oracle tell me what to do? No! I used the perspective it provided to help flesh out a creative response to my situation. Will my response bring good fortune? Dunno! Prediction, fortune telling: bad! Creativity: good!

A Note for Musicians. At first glance, we might think of a Minor Seventh and a Major Seventh together – those are the two string cards in the casting – as a musical train wreck. Looking closer, though, we see that building a minor seventh up from fa and a Major Seventh down from te makes a not-so-ugly chord at all: a G Major 7 with a flat 5 (Db up to Cb, crossed with a Gb down to G). This dreamy, open chord – especially considering we're in the key of Ab – makes for an interesting exploration regarding attachment emerging and opportunity coming down. More pertinent, perhaps, is the simple relationship between the scalepoints of the first and last positions: fa and te create between them a Perfect Fourth, which points to a kind of conscious yielding that further emphasizes a need for letting go. (On a more esoteric level, the Perfect Fourth is a manifestation of the Divine Feminine; if we include our key center and think do-fa-te, we hear two stacked Perfect Fourths between three notes: the triple Goddess. Our dreamy chord is similar: it's also built of two stacked fourths, but over the fiery tritone.)