The Leaning Tower of Alchemy
To be an alchemist is to be a pioneer. To go to the places where nobody else has the courage to go. A spiritual alchemist sees opportunities where others see challenges. Finding a flicker of hope in hopelessness, a drop of inspiration in a puddle of tears, a creative spark that raises the spirit from its defeated resignation on the floor.
I believe it’s true that you don’t need to hit any sort of rock bottom in order to make a major change in your life, which could simply (significantly!) be shifting your normally accepted self-beliefs and habits (change your story, change your life). But sometimes we find ourselves hitting that elusive rock bottom anyway, something we’d always only just heard about, a very painful…well…pain in the ass. The rude awakening. The slap in the face. The rug pulled out from under you. The moment of truth. And, a choice to make.
The Tower card from the Ethereal Visions Illuminated Tarot Deck by Matt Hughes
In tarot, a divination tool I’ve been studying alongside my healing journey in the past year-ish, this moment is encapsulated in The Tower card. The traditional imagery of this powerful Major Arcana card typically depicts a sturdy tower that’s being struck by lightning, causing a fire within its walls—the moment of its sudden and unforeseen destruction. Divine intervention from the Universe—an unstoppable event. In other words, you made plans and God laughed. The moment of, huh…didn’t see that coming.
It is associated with big unexpected change, and although this card’s meaning can instigate anxiety, the true alchemist knows this moment is an opportunity for liberation. A choice to change your perspective. Encouragement from Spirit to realign. Plot twist! A chance to start over. An invitation to create something new. Rewire a new mindset. Write a new story. Build a new foundation. Follow a new path. Literally become a new You.
We may all have experienced different levels of tower (life-changing) moments in our lives that help define who we are (who we’ve become and are becoming). Sometimes they’re baby towers. Sometimes they’re gigantic ones. It’s funny, I remember trying to read for myself some time last year and when The Tower card showed up in my spread, I thought, yeah, yeah, I know, I’ve already been through that. And my guides were probably like, oh that’s cute, she actually thinks she’s been through the worst. Hold on child, there’s more!
I’m being somewhat facetious here, but it’s interesting to think about: we don’t really know the worst until we experience the worst, do we? Therefore, we don’t really know our scope of strength until it’s put to the test. So until then, are we only operating at half of our fullest potential? If a portion of our most vulnerable and genuine creativity comes from hitting rock bottom, are we only creating at a fraction of our abilities until our butts hit those rocks? The stubble from the fallen tower. The ashes from the fire.
The tower moment is significant, sure. It’s thee moment (or moments). But the aftermath of the tower is where the true test lies. Healing is like a cardiac monitor, the electrical signals of the heart bouncing up and down, sometimes shooting up sudden and fast, and sometimes moving slow and steady. Change can happen quick but it can also feel like molasses, a process that can give the illusion of being trapped, like it’s not even a process at all, but rather a stagnant page you’re stuck on and can’t seem to flip to the next chapter.
We all want to feel good. We all want to get through the crap so we can “break on through to the other side” (I’ve been listening to The Doors a lot lately!). But I’ve learned that you can’t rush the process if you really want to heal from roots to branches. Self-care is often quickly associated with bubble baths and treating yourself to a nice glass of wine. But true self-care—deeply and compassionately entrenched tenderness and responsibility for your inner spirit’s growth and well-being—is a lot more intentional than that. And it ain’t pretty. It can be brutal. Sometimes lonely. It’s not about just getting over something. Everything is energy and all energy has to go somewhere. You can’t get over energy. That’s only a quick-fix. It will arise again in another form if you avoid it. You must transmute the energy. This is bona fide self-care. This is healing. And it requires dedicated self-love and a raw commitment to a courage you must believe that you possess.
The Devil card from the Vice Versa tarot deck by Lunaea Weatherstone and Massimiliano Filadoro
My thoughts seem to be riding on a tarot train, because I’m reminded of a Tweet I bookmarked about The Devil card. Besides The Tower, The Devil card can often spur anxiety when it pops up in a reading because of its association with living in fear and bondage. Jessica Dore, one of my favorite writers on tarot, has a series on her Twitter feed called “Today’s card” where she writes enlightening perspectives about a tarot card of the day. She posted The Devil card one day with this description: “When you avoid a feeling you experience temporary peace or relief from the thorniness of that feeling but you will also be reinforcing the avoidant behavior and the belief that the feeling you’re avoiding is dangerous. Feelings aren’t dangerous, how we react to them is. ‘It is the elaborate ways in which we turn away from pain through psychological defenses that leads to the increase and elaboration of pain.’ -Delia Kostner.”
So while indulging in a bubble bath and glass of wine after experiencing a tumultuous tower moment can be peaceful, it’s merely a temporary escape, and not honoring the grittiness that’s often overlooked in the valiant journey of healing and transmutation. We tend to avoid facing our shadows, scared of the dangerous monsters that hide in the dark. Well, I can at least speak for myself. That’s what I did anyway. I ran away from the devil instead of facing it.
Just like we don’t know our true strength until we’re called to put it to use, we don’t really receive the clarity that reveals the monsters aren’t dangerous when we finally stop running, turn around, and stand in our power and radiance to face them. The danger is actually in the ways we trick our minds to run in the first place. The shadows are not chasing us to hurt us. The shadows are reaching out to be embraced. (See Buddhist mythology story “Inviting Mara to Tea,” which illustrates befriending one’s darkest parts on the road to enlightenment). We are not broken in the negative sense of the word. Sometimes towers fall to break us open, so we can become stronger, softer, more compassionate, more patient, more aligned…more creative. We’re broken open to let the light in that has been desperately waiting to shine on those shadows with love. But again, this is a choice. True messy and transformative healing is a decision.
As artistic alchemists, some of our rawest creativity can be birthed through these breakthrough moments. I really believe the key word is through. We don’t tend to tell ourselves, “we’ll get to this.” We assure ourselves, “We’ll get through this.” I used to logically understand not being able to skip from point A to Z in a single step. Intellectually, of course it made sense. But the human spirit (well, at least my stubborn one!) sometimes nevertheless likes to think that it can. I often thought awareness was enough: Oh! I’m aware of that thing now, so that thing is healed, cool! (*puts hands in pants pockets and whistles as I stroll along). But jumping from A to Z is the illusion of The Devil card. It’s the temporary fix. It’s self-care romanticized. Although awareness is the first step, it’s rarely the last. Alchemy is in the through part (“Break on through to the other side”). “BREAK on through.” Breakthrough. Wisdom is gained through the broken bits. You must go through it to grow through it. And the pot of gold on the other side? Too much to dissect in this post. But as an artist, I believe newfound creativity awaits after the storm, offering strange and beautiful colors each time the rainbow of creative inspiration appears.
That collapsing tower might bend you till you break. But it is in the through part that makes you. Saves you. Changes you. Resurrects, transforms, and recreates you. A mystical condensation process from air to liquid matter, so to speak. A revival and rearrangement of your state of being, positioning you to receive radically new powerful gifts of creative insight.
So instead of avoiding pain, what if we encourage ourselves to lean into it? Feel what we feel. Honor it. Instead of resisting or running away from the crumbling tower, go down with the sinking ship. Let the wreckage drift to the surface. Surrender and allow it to break your heart wide open. Embrace the shadows that hide under your bed—the beds we keep making the same way, only to toss and turn night after night. Create something different out of what haunts us so we can sleep in peace. Turn nightmares into sweet dreams. Decide to see a harrowing situation as a transformative opportunity. Look at the tower from a different angle and shift your perspective from catastrophe to creativity.
The Magician card from the Angel tarot deck by Radleigh Valentine
Because God might laugh at our plans, but it’s less of a malicious “muahahaha,” and more of an all-loving “tee-hee” when you say, “But I thought…” and God chuckles responding, “I know, but I’ve got something even better in mind!” The Universe might strike our tower with lightning, but it also always gives us the tools we need to rebuild a stronger, more loving one too. In sticking with my tarot talk, this is the beauty of The Magician—the ability to zoom out to see the bigger picture. Detaching from the pain to concoct the perfect potion for reconstruction. He/she’s the healing inventor archetype. The Magician energy IS the alchemist. The Magician card “points to the talents, capabilities and resources at the querent's disposal to succeed. The message is to tap into one's full potential rather than holding back, especially when there is a need to transform something” (Wikipedia).
Perhaps this is part of the co-creation process—handling tower moments with grace and trust. We can allow emotions to take over (“Why, why, WHY?!!” How I often tended to react to tower moments—not gonna lie—whoops! Meanwhile Spirit is just standing there like, “Ummm…you good? Can I get back to planning these blessings for you or…?”). Or we can tune in to our inner wisdom and poise like, all right, I see what’s going on here. Let me fire up the cauldron from a position of surrender and see what magic I can create from this mess while the Universe does its thing.
Tower moments can be scary as hell. All the sudden you’ve landed on that rock bottom and you don’t even know what hit you. Sucker punched. Shocked and lost. Crashed and burned. The only thing you can see through the dust and debris is the void of the unknown. What a terrifying place to be. And what a magnificent one.
Creative alchemy awaits.
// After writing this entry, I thought I’d share a little piece of creativity arisen from my own alchemic metamorphosis (c/o post-tower), a poem I wrote called “Dear Heart”:
Dear Heart
Sweet Heart,
I thought you were made of rubber
Stretched you out
Far and wide
Always theirs, never mine
Pulled you like putty
Spread you so thin
Took you to the limit
Over and over again
Rubber soul
Always dependable to be flexible
Girl next door
Don’t mind her
Cool to keep it together
Make it all stick like glue
Tried to be everything to everyone
Stretched till I could see right through
Steel Heart,
I thought you were made of metal
A thing that couldn’t break
Unfazed by the heat of a flame
Protect me and keep me safe
Hurled you like a rock
Believed you were indestructible
But you were too warm to be cold
Too real to be robotic
Handle with care
I threw out the warning label
Nothing could break us
If it didn’t know us
Hard to keep it together
Make it all bounce off
Thought you’d be bulletproof forever
A pastel painted cement block
Broken Heart,
I thought you were a castle
Guarded walls up, up, up to the sky
But he whispered words you wanted to hear
And the walls fell down, down, down with a sigh
This is why we made a promise
An open door is dangerous
You thought he saw you, still
It was just my dream and just his thrill
Purple haze
I heard you sing, “Finally! Finally! Finally!”
But it was a psychedelic moon spell
Now we are broken because you fell
I can put you back together
But we won’t be the same
Now we know nothing really is forever
Now lay to rest the songs you sang
Wistful Heart,
I thought you were made of flowers
Something delicate and pure
Too fragile for the wind
Tiny soft petals scattering
You wince like a plucked feather
I hold you like a rare crystal
Tell me what to do
Something must get us through
A new world record
How many oceans will you cry?
I know what to do!
Let the music take your ruins and residue
We are in this together
Season breeze lifts you like a kite
I put back your broken pieces reversed
So the dark sides could feel the light
Dear Heart,
I think you are strong
I am finally right
