As of today, I've completed ten of the Major Arcana. The Hermit doesn't offer opportunity for the kind of detail that some of the others do, like The Devil or The Heriophant. But I know this one, this hermit, and as I worked, I talked to us, and something was understood. I sat for awhile yesterday and just listened to the wind. It sounded as though it meant to carry the world away with it. And it did, to a point. It scoured away the surfaces, redistributed every small thing that wasn't tied down and left everything we possess, both inside and out, covered with a layer of fine sand. All our efforts at a shiny clean living space are undone. Most of our citrus blossoms are torn away. There will be few oranges this winter. Art, bowl, bed and book all covered in dust. No seal can keep it out. Dust tells us that all that we make, in time, will be undone.
These desert storms are always humbling. They remind me that I'm only a visitor here.
I own nothing.
They remind me that, like The Hermit, the best I can do is explore this space and try to understand what it is that lasts.
That, I can and will continue to do, some days better than others.