The Greater Trumps

I am reading Williams again, and, like fire, he is pulsing in my blood. May we all "rise to adore the mystery of love" (108).

There had come into her life with the mystery of the Tarots a new sense of delighted amazement; the Tarots themselves were not more marvelous than the ordinary people she had so long unintelligently known. By the slightest vibration of the light in which she saw the world she saw it all differently; holy and beautiful, if sometimes perplexing and bewildering, went the figures of her knowledge [. . .] and she too, in a dance that was happy if it was frightening. Nothing was certain, but everything was safe--that was part of the mystery of Love. She was upon a mission, but whether she succeeded or not didn't matter. Nothing mattered beyond the full moment in which she could live to her utmost in the power and according to the laws of the dance. (191)

"By the slightest vibration of the light in which she saw the world she saw it differently . . . holy and beautiful" -- this reminds me of Lewis and Tolkien's argument for the power of fantasy: we see the world transformed into the mystery it truly is.