Above, cloudless sky shone as cielo de luz; sun concentrated orb surrounded in white aurora sensed with edge of eyes as one was unable to stare direct upon the light. Through the air, winds shifted. Uncertain of direction and purpose, it turned inward, currents in cyclic sweeps that blew open covers of books and loose stacked deck of cards as if spread by invisible hand across the table.
Across the open landscape, emptiness beyond medieval walls of ancient town, dust devils rose in narrow column carrying ochre earth high into sky, dissipating in their ends, phantoms of shadow cloud at peak before falling back into settling over open earth.
The air was warmer than the sky, arid and drying, adding to presence and power of the fire sun.
Once, the hills were the land of shepherds, purposeful wanderers through living desert; and too a place for mystics, secret keepers and harborers of wisdom in the recesses and conclaves of God-carved temples.
Maybe they were still there, somewhere in the desert, or maybe the days were gone and all that was left was an ideal—phantoms of something more, like grey cloud at wind column’s peak.
He stared at the cards and wind-opened page; looking on highlighted passage to which it turned and settled into rest, and then he looked to her; wondering on symbolisms in land and words.
To him, it was a history of discernment, affection and interjection of active and engaging spirit through world veils and mystery—San Juan de la Cruz, and others like, who in asceticism found revelations in the deserts and isolations of world and spirit.
He wondered, contemplated, gazing over landscape before examining table of cards, face-down, spread before her in seat by invisible hand of wind. He wanted to know, and asked, “You use the word. What does it mean to you?
“Is it Wisdom, revelation, discernment? Is it fortune-telling and fates, soothsaying, magic? Truth? Suggestion? Is it of God, Universe? Are they one and the same? Is it ancient or modern?”
Without understandings of association, words hold little meaning absent insight to the meaning another places on those employed in speech and write. Once, according to a Book, there was a Universal understanding; but since the beginning, and the many languages created and lost since, such Universal has been lost.
He wondered, waiting for response. Skies stilled and air and hair settled into ochre rest in fore and distant views, as she smiled, moving hands in paradox of focused indifference, idly touching the backs of cards, wandering one to the next, as she contemplated question.
She looked to the sky stilled of wind, only blaze and aurora of fire sun remaining, and spoke sign to question’s answer.
“The air has cleared,” she smiled behind sunglasses that permitted her gazing upon sun. “It didn’t know where to go, but now it does. It’s made a decision and is settled. I always find it strange the way it settles, in a moment, with a decision; and all the movement falls to still. I’m sure it has its reason, just as we, when we resolve to be at peace.”