Hyperion is the fictional Tarot reader in the imaginary Beanblossom's Tea and Tarot room.
Authority. Embodied will. Father issues. Organization and structure.
My father doesn't understand me. Trite, no? But true. He's a scientist for a government lab so well known you may have heard of it, though I'm not supposed to talk about it. He is a top dog, a big poobah. And he didn't get there by frittering his days away dreaming about magic and the subconscious and the esoteric meanings of Tarot. Even at home, he was working. He had a lab in the garage for his own private experiments—the full mad scientist's kit, though his was organized with frightening precision. Given the things he worked on, he had to be precise. I can't count the times he looked at me like I was one of his experiments—a curiosity to be puzzled out, a phenomenon to be dissected. He's cold. Unyielding. And he never let me get away with any crap. But he also provided me with a stable childhood and room to grow into the person I was meant to be.
He reminds me a bit of my business partner, Abigail. When I first met her, she was armed with a full-color business plan and five years' worth of projected financial statements. I had... some vague ideas for a Tarot studio. She seriously annoyed me. But a part of me felt comforted by her schedules and plans. They felt... familiar.
In the end, neither of our plans (and I use the word plans loosely in reference to myself) worked out the way we expected. (Our realtor died horribly, then we learned he was a conman... the usual drama). But I have to admit, her budgets and worksheets have come in handy. Not that I follow them, but when things go wrong, or when I'm unsure, I do pull them out and let them guide my decision.
If Abigail ever reads this blog and finds out, I'll never hear the end of it.
The point is, though I'm not the most structured or organized, there are times when those traits come in handy. The dance between creative spontaneity and structure is one I'm still learning, and it's worth it. The Emperor at his best provides us with a kingdom to flourish in.
In the Rider-Waite-Smith deck, the Emperor sits upon his symmetrical throne and stares squarely at the reader. No waffling or fiddling about for this fellow. The arms of the throne are decorated with rams' heads, symbols of authority and leadership. He holds other symbols of his authority—an orb and a scepter shaped like an Egyptian ankh. When this card appears in a reading, it asks how the energies of the Emperor might be at play (or need to be at play) in the situation. Should the issue be approached in a logical, orderly, and structured fashion? Or are you somehow resisting authority, and if so, how is that playing out?