Traditional Tarot and Direction in Muzoracle Castings

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 as they do in traditional spreads; they simply take on a different role. In fact, in the context of the Muzoracle, we don't even use the term "reversed" – Tarot cards are simply ascending or descending. Viewing Tarot through the lens of ascent and descent gives the Tarot deck quite a different feel, and makes an interesting study on its own.

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 left, 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 is interpreted under ra, the point of Vitality: ra is the tritone, or “opposite” of so. Finding a scalepoint's tritone is easily accomplished using the chart below, which can be found as well on the foldout flap at the back of the Muzoracle Handbook –  note so and ra, as found in the above example. 

click for larger image

Another example: at right we find a Tritone of Voices crossed with the Harmony Card under le, with the Sun  traveling upward from the opposite direction, from "re." Thus we have the following dynamic: a pervasive sense of urgency regarding a relationship is weighing things down, while an ubiquitous optimism may be keeping the core of the problem from being addressed. In the following position, we find a Conductor of Percussion over fa, with the Nine of Pentacles traveling downward from... fa as well. Due to the ambiguous nature of tritones, the "opposite" of fa ascending is fa descending – same deal with ti, check out the chart. (If you're interested in the whys and wherefores of that, go here.) What we see with the Conductor is a time of real, physical leadership being revealed, coming to the fore; the Nine speaks of a relaxed, enjoy-life confidence needed in order to navigate a transition.

Happy casting! –jsk

Called to Improvise

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

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!

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

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

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

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.