The cups will flow according to the tides; its course lie beyond our control. If in Jahanam, what appears to the naked eye seems to defy reality as we know it, perhaps it is because what we know as reality may in fact be the illussion we accept as reality.

I have a friend who is living a heartbreak even as I write. Plagued by nightmares where monsters come to life; it is my heartbreak to know another feels such pain.

So I wrote her a message and sent it on butterfly wings; so it may reach her and sooth the wound where the heart once resided.

I told her that sometimes what we cannot accept in reality, we live out in our dreams;

Our psyche is trying to protect itself so we process our pain through our dreams;

And numbness is a painkiller that shields us from our heartbreak;

For what is pain but beauty disguised within our human experience;

'Tis a pity we cannot bear to feel the touch of beauty in all its horrible glory;

Instead we shrink in denial and we cower behind the petals of illusion hoping for salvation that will never come;

Until we stare the sacred beast in the eye.

**Send a prayer out to my friend if you can; that she may heal from this experience a stronger person.**

8 of Cups

Before the conception of the 9 of Cups, I was working on this image. Late into the night, I received a call and the caller asked what I was doing. I jokingly replied that I was drawing the monk climbing up a mountain.

A moment of silence passed before I was told of the Night Flower's plight. An entity was very unhappy with the Night Flower's employers and wanted it made known to them. My sister, the Night Flower refused to get involved because it implied that she was mad.... Seeing things noone else could. Those with such gifts bear a burden much greater than we can perceive; both psychologically and emotionally.

It did not end there... in one incident recently, the entity pushed the Night Flower and threatened to harm her if she chose not to help.

So I dropped the 8 of Cups and started on the 9 of Cups. When the image was finished, I called home and told Mom about it. Two days later, she called and the story finally unfolds;

Weeks ago, a taoist monk was engaged to perform prayer rites at the hotel where the Night Flower works. The entity began asking for a message to be passed to the management right after. When push came to shove, the Night Flower finally did what was requested of her and the monk who conducted the rites was asked to return to the highlands and finish what he started. :P You think I'm making this up, don't you? I wish I were...

When he came back, he was also asked to do a life reading on the Night Flower. He told her she was born with the gift to see them (spirits and what not); her life lines indicated that she was supposed to be a medium... :laugh: but the Night Flower adamantly refuses to entertain such nonsense.

The 9 of Cups was a petition for peace; the 8 of Cups is the journey one makes to attain that peace because in reality, things do not happen on its own. Even wishes have to be manifested before they become a reality. Like the 4 of Cups, its not about focusing on what makes us unhappy; its about seeking and maintaining peace of mind and heart.

9 of Cups

I never did get the message of the 9 Cups. I mean.. what does an over prosperous merchant hoarding all those cups have to do with a wish card? I never quite got that one. So this is what I did... I drew my wish card.

I learned that in Jahanam; one does not ask for selfish favours so let this be a wish for the One Who Listens To The Cries of the World to grant solace to whoever asks for it. I ask it for the Night Flower; and for the spirit to find rest wherever it is.

6 of Cups

There is an old soul trapped in the body of a 7 year old; sometimes he's a lil' boy who love climbing walls; other times he keeps quiet, deep in thought. I showed him my picture and asked him to tell me a story so he did. Bless the ones who share their wisdom regardless of their age.

The lil' man told me that there was once a scary ghost... no, it was Gary Ghost (I heard wrong) who set the stars on fire. And when the stars came crumbling down around like a house of burning cards, Gary Ghost had to cross the bridge that is made up of swords to get to the other side [i]because[/i] on the other side was a door that would lead Gary ghost to a new place.

So I asked the lil' old man why would Gary Ghost set the stars on fire? He replied that it was because Gary Ghost was sad.

"Why was Gary Ghost sad?" I asked and he replied that it was because Gary Ghost was lonely and had no friends so Gary was also one bored Ghost! He said that Gary Ghost will cross the bridge, "if only Gary Ghost can get over the fear." Finally I asked if this story had a happy ending and he nodded, "...But it all depends on Gary Ghost."

I asked him why he didn't pick a girl's name instead and he said he didn't like girls :laugh:... Not now.. }) Wait a couple of few years and then we'll see.

Well, he's a sweetheart and he gave me flowers. Insisted he did not want his name made known but he would love to have his story published and I promised him I would share it with the world.


Ash

Story of 5 Cups

The halfing is deep in thought; should she go after the fallen cups or not?
NOT

The river is wild and her hooves weren't made for swimming. What would the others say if they knew she lost 3 of them?
NAG, NO DOUBT ABOUT IT

So she gathered up her skirt though she is reluctant to step into the river for she knows she cannot swim; if the water people came, they would pull her into their watery realm and there is no coming back.
What??!! Are you out of your MIND???!!!

Ooohhh, the drama!! Well, have no fear, Dajjal is here! })

Dajjal is the hedonistic Warrior of the Earth, hero to the earth-bound creatures and he told her to come away from the edge... for the cups were lost the moment they fell into the river. Besides, her dress is tattered enough; the river would certainly not improve what's left of her rags...

He said that remorse is a complicated thing and it is made-up of so many components that they blur the mind to the past and the present. We become confused between "what was done that cannot be changed" and "what is not yet done".
Pray, kind Sir. Speak plainly so I may understand. Cryptic messages really don't help right now."

The cups are already swept away by the currents into the past. You cannot go back. Drowning in the process... well, that seems futile and quite counter-productive, doesn't it? ***.... Thinking hard....***
Yeah, so?

"Is there another way?" he asked the halfling.

I dunno... is there?"

}) There's ALWAYS another way...

Keeper of Cups

On the last day of the 8th moon; a prayer was sent out. I know not what I wrought, only that he came to me, shrouded in obscurity, asking for a face that he may have a wish granted; a meeting of souls longing for each other. He knew not where the other was; only that they wanted to be together. So I gave them both a face; the gentlemen rogue and his mistress... and now the wheel has turned once again.

I have been absent, in another place amongst long lost friends so news did not reach me as quickly as I wish it would. When I came back, I saw the Keeper of Cups and she spoke of treachery in Jahanam. It was I who brought it here and I begged for her to tell me more.

But as with all water creatures, she was in no hurry, indulging in the delight of withholding her little morsels of secret from me.

Instead she asked that I follow her. With long graceful strokes, she took to the waters and swam out into the open sea. It is not safe telling secrets in Jahanam, the army of the Storm under Lytta are everywhere but I knew where she was going... to the place where Lytta (Warrior of the Swords) feared the most.

Through waterways only the people of the water know about, she took me in circles until we came to... the lake where Lytta was once held captive by the Harvester (Warrior of the Cups); before he was freed by Samiri (Warrior of the Wands) with the help of Dajjal (Warrior of the Earth). Lytta would never step foot here and secrets are safe. There would be noone else listening if she told me what she knew.

So we hid in the shadows; the Keeper and I; as she whispered the story into my ear. Languishing in her favorite seashell, taking slow sips of the Harvester's own brew (stolen from his celler no doubt!!), she had a devilish glint in her eyes as she told me all that happened since I left.

The Empress has taken a lover and the Emperor MUST NOT know!!! The prayer was petitioned by the Soothsayer because he was looking for his love; he didn't know who she was, only that he needed to find her. **AWwww, Cr*P!!**

I drew them not knowing who they both were (like I said, the gentleman rogue was shrouded in obscurity) and now there is hell to pay... if the Emperor ever finds out. And I asked how can they keep such a secret when the Riders of the Storm are everywhere?

The Keeper smirked and told me that I had hidden them in the one place Lytta would never step foot on and she was here to guard the secret; a toast for new found love. So I took a peek over at the spot where they had hidden (or rather I had hidden them); in Harvester's own backyard no less.

Lo and behold, the Harvester himself was sending out smoke signals even Blind Justice could not possible miss, then looked at the Keeper of Cups completely indulging in her glass of intoxicating wine. So much she does not know; of intrigue and politics, deceit and the seedy shadow underworld. The Keeper is still so very young, really, by Jahanamiam standards so I left her to fantasies of fairytale romances.

My last thoughts as I looked back at her smug little smile is that no secret stays hidden forever but I think I have done quite enough. In the distance, I thought I heard the sound of rolling thunder but no... it was Lytta's laughter. A storm is coming...

Imprisoned Instincts

Turning to Ash

Monday, February 4, 2008
Posted by *samiri at 4:05 AM

The child is the father; the child is the son; the child is the unholy one searching for holiness in a world corrupted by lust.

Fear not, child of the earth, all that is created of the earth returns to the earth. Let it turn within itself and taste the sweetness of its hospitality while you are a guest.

Beware the perilous turn of the clockwork wheel though; it catches the unwary in its shackles and when it does; the wheel slowly poisons your veins with rusted gold.

Sometimes I hear the scream of grinding metal, when the chains pull in opposite directions. Sometimes I think I can outrun the wheel but that's just my mind playing tricks on me.

Tuesday, February 5, 2008
excerpt of a conversation
Posted by *samiri at 12:21 AM

**Samiri to Malaikat : The child will beget another born out of wedlock and the infant will tear the web apart. Then the child will rebuild from the ruins another web.

His firstborn son will taste bitterness in his tongue and in his heart; his second born... she will tread the path of the ones before her.

Can the tides be turned? Of course it can... when the child and his bride unwrite the ancient text, it can be averted.

**Malaikat to Samiri : It is not in me to care if the web gets torn asunder by the rash actions of a child or his litter; I have seen this happen before.

Written in space almost a year ago, the prediction is coming true. How can the course be turned; when the outcome is foretold to the child and his bride yet they would not listen.

The bride has abandoned her young and the child is enraged for betrayal tastes bitter upon his tongue yet I cannot help but wonder if the bride ran away because she discovered his faithlesness.

Perhaps Adultery is an angel of lust laden with burdens of morality.

The Empress, The Emperor and The Soothsayer

Not that long ago, the Emperor found himself a laden with the responsibility of being a father before he himself was out of puberty. Not knowing what to do, he passed a decree to slay his heir even before the child was born; to rid himself of a burden he did not wish to have.

To save her child, the Empress ran away and raised the first born son on her own but a seed of hatred was planted alongside the unborn child when they broke faith; and it grew as he grew.

In his old age, the Emperor summoned his first born to his side and it was then that the Soothsayer came to see his father though they spent years carving a great gaping chasm of animosity between them.

The Soothsayer saw that in his mother's absence, the Emperor had taken for himself a new bride. As the young heir struggled to make amends with his father the Emperor; he found himself ensnared into the web of seduction that the new Empress had spun for him.

Strange how Fate has a way of dealing us the hand that turns the ties of blood into chains of obligation; how would soceity perceive the Lovers under such circumstances?

While the Page of Cups offers a toast; the Harvester listens to the lonely old Emperor speak of his regrets as he gathers the shattered pieces of his broken heart; and Lytta's crazed laughter echos across Jahanam like rolling thunder in the distance.

Did you know that when the Soothsayer first spoke to Lytta before the wheel turned; he told the lunatic knight of his intentions to meet his father and Lytta told the Soothsayer, "Do not touch your daddy's new bride." but the Soothsayer scoffed at the idea then, claiming it gross.

Until we face the crossroad of choices, we know not what we are truly capable of. Perhaps it is the enemy within we ought to be weary of.

A musician, a poet, a skeptic and a believer; all sitting under the stars after the rain. We took an ace of spades and cut it into 4, each holding a piece close to our hearts.

Then we tried to convince the other that the piece we held was not part of the ace; it was the Ace of Spades in whole.

After a while, I watched as Anger creep up on us and made us deaf; then, in curious fascination, I watched Arrogance dig out compassion and hardened our hearts; Pride came right after and gagged us so we choked on our garbled nonsense; finally, Ignorance arrived to blindfold us so we stopped seeing altogether.

We continued our game but I grew weary because we didn't know the sum of all parts though we insisted we did. We thought we were masters of the universe but in truth, we are one-eyed mortals playing God on a little piece of rock floating around the universe.

I didn't tell the rest of course because all the while we were playing our little game, I heard echos of his laughter inside my head; the one I call Lytta.

I have told this story somewhere else an eternity ago; a place where I speak a language that is dead to all others. And when I realized that it would never reach the eyes or ears of those who would truly see it for what it was, I left a barren wasteland filled with aeclectic trash despite a few rare souls who made an attempt to understand.

In serving confines imposed by the masses, they cannot afford to lose their masks for fear of persecution yet they become naked like wolves howling to the moon.

For how can the sane really understand insanity unless they searched within themselves to uncover their own madness that is cleverly disguised by social conformity? How does one understand Depression unless one has opened the door to it only to find it an unwelcome guest who refuses to leave?

But let me tell you, that it was Depression that first introduced me to my demons in a place called Jahanam. It was here that my demons first spoke to me about good and evil; of how they are the same notion twisted by man's skewed perception.

Before my eyes, demons became angels and back again; brothers and enemies; friends and foe in a span of a heartbeat. I swear upon my soul I have seen them bicker endlessly over duties and boundaries; the way corporate leaches nitpick over policies imposed by the same Boss.

The rules were, are and will always remain simple yet paradoxical because balance has to exist; only the ones carrying out orders cannot agree upon how it ought to be done. It was through the gates of Jahanam that I first stumbled upon a place where the damned roam free.

It was here that later brought me to the Prophets who would show me the many unhibited faces of madness. Consider this a prelude to a deeper, darker dungeon of the inner self.