
29/07/2025
#56 When I look at my completed Arcana of Opening (Revelation), I recall that the first image to emerge was Tutankhamun holding a large serpent in his hands. I immediately understood—it was the very snake whose skin I would later need to use to decorate the Arcana. I had such a skin, gifted to me by a woman who had withdrawn from our group, as if passing the mantle for this work on to me. She offered me the shed skin of her snake, which I kept in a small box for a long time, treating it as something deeply precious and symbolic.
From that gift, I learned that before shedding its skin, a snake’s eyes become cloudy, veiled by a milky film. I recognized the same sensation within myself—a state difficult to name—a felt sense of inner dimming, as if the world outside had turned slightly opaque, its contours softened. That mist, that fogginess in perception, became a signal. It marked a threshold: the moment when my inner serpent was preparing to molt, when I was entering a time of renewal.
The Arcana, centered on the theme of bareness, of shedding protective layers—how to remove the outer armoring, the masks concealing our true form—posed a painful question: how do we open the chest, expose the heart not only for deep healing, but also for the terrifying vulnerability that healing entails? From the very beginning, this arcana was guided by a dream—a dream in which we were told that deep within the heart lies a labyrinth, or perhaps a spiral. I felt how crucial the image of the labyrinth was, and the teaching of the white-robed figures in that dream: you must learn to draw this symbol with precision. Only then can you find your way out.