Two of Blades
Balance. It’s all about balance. Walking on the wire, where a step to either side carries a risk. And you can’t see what lies ahead; how long the path is, what lies at the end. You only know where you are, what you are holding in tension.
When you can’t see, your other senses are heightened. The roar of the ocean, the slightest change in the breeze on your skin. At first it’s disorienting. You move slowly, cautious reaching sense. But as time passes it becomes more sure. It’s easier to find the clear spaces, to move quickly. It’s easy to imagine you can almost see. But you can’t.
The Two of Blades often shows up at a time when you need to stay the course. Because no matter how much you think you have the lay of the land, you don’t know all the details. You don’t see the big picture and it’s not a time to change direction, not until you do. Because that’s when you fall on the knife edge.
Being blindfolded is an exercise in trust. Then to let someone place sharp blades in your hands takes more. To put your hands close, trusting direction, so close the metal is a cool whisper against your skin.
When the world fades away from sight, when your movement is limited for safety, you go to a place that’s still. Dark. Inside. To rely on other senses and something else. That inner sense of balance and equilibrium, that part of you that knows things you shouldn’t, you can’t possibly know. Yet you do.
The two is about that. About balance. About patience. About trusting your connection to the universe. To listen to your inner voice and stay the course. To wait. Because you will know when the time is right.