THE CHARIOT
-VII-
The Prince stands firmly grasping the reins of his steeds, blue curtains on the canopy of his Chariot billowing in the wind as he travels the open road for this journey he calls life. Two horses, one black, the other white, pull in opposite directions, their spirited natures locked in by the yoke that fuses them into a single force.
The Prince's only connection to this furious power is through the leather thongs that travel from his hands to the bit at their teeth. He's aware of each tug pulling at the reins, wrenching him in one direction then another, to experience the dark terrors that control him, the sunny security which envelops him in a shroud of certainty. He's barely aware of the scenery as it speedily unfolds, imperceptibly changing as the years advance.
Occasionally there are fleeting moments at breaks along the journey when the Prince finds himself alone in the deep-forested night, the voice in his head having lost its power over him. These moments are his only connection with a life that quickly dissipates behind him as he enters deeper into it. He longs to possess it, to hold it in his hand and examine it at leisure, but he cannot and must satisfy himself with glimpses and these only because he behaves like a warrior and holds fast the reins of carelessness and fear.
Upright: The joining of opposing forces united to work in concert.
Reversed: Controversy, imbalance, defeat.
Hell llooo! New York Citt ttee!!! Off comes the plastic from the porch window and the tape sealing its seams, then I lift up the storm panel and she slides right in. The sultry bitch enters with fire alarms screaming, horns tooting, Chinese men in the street below talking back and forth in high pitched, whining voices. Her parfum on this muggy day is Street Tar & Earth. The woman likes to make a dramatic entrance.
I wouldn't have it any other way.