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The Three of Swords — Sorrow, Binah, and the Intelligence of Faith

Once again, the Rider-Waite-Smith Three of Swords offers a more exoteric and mundane interpretation than what we find in the Western Hermetic Qabalistic Tarot. This is not surprising, as A.E. Waite was bound by oaths not to disclose deeper arcane lodge secrets, and thus his deck often veils the Mysteries rather than unveils them.

In the image, a dark, weeping sky—representing the element of Air—cries over a heart pierced by three swords. The symbolism is stark, but potent: this is not just romantic heartbreak, but a metaphysical sorrow that strikes at the very core of the soul. The heart represents the Psyche, or the Soul-consciousness, which is here wounded across all three planes of mind: the conscious, the subconscious, and the superconscious. These three divisions also align with the ternary Goddess—Maid, Mother, and Crone—revealing a feminine matrix of perception, feeling, and wisdom in the experience of sorrow.

In previous writings on Binah, the Great Mother and Womb of Consciousness, we examined her as the Third Sephirah on the Tree of Life—Understanding. Binah is called the Sanctifying Intelligence, and the Parent of Faith. This is crucial: Binah does not represent faith itself, but the archetypal intelligence that gives birth to the possibility of faith. Just as Mary is called the Church in Catholic dogma—Mater Ecclesia—so too is Binah the secret foundation upon which all structures of belief, sanctity, and organization are built. Without her, no temple—whether spiritual or psychological—could be raised. She is the Great Womb of structure and the silent matrix behind all forms of meaningful devotion.

Thus, sorrow is the parent of faith.

This seemingly paradoxical assertion becomes clear through Hermetic contemplation. The sorrow expressed in the Three of Swords is more than personal pain—it is the Universal Melancholy, an existential grief that arises from deep Understanding. This is the sadness of Binah: the recognition that all form must eventually dissolve. All beauty, no matter how radiant, must pass. The soul, in order to grow in Self-awareness, must undergo a series of deaths—shedding outdated identities, illusions, and attachments to become what is "now".

This constant cycle of becoming through destruction is not nihilistic; it is the alchemical dissolution (solve et coagula) that all true initiates must endure. It is the sorrow of the Creatrix herself, who births the form, watches it evolve, and then must—by necessity—dissolve it. The Great Mother not only gives life, she also reclaims it, and in this sacred act lies a sorrow deeper than that of mortals. For she does not merely suffer the loss of a loved one—she is the one who must enact the ending.

In this light, the Three of Swords is not simply about emotional pain or betrayal. It is a card of soul initiation—an invitation to grow through grief, to accept the holy wound that opens the heart to deeper faith, and to know that every ending is an act of divine Understanding, the silent hand of Binah shaping us anew.

In the Archeon Tarot, the Three of Swords presents a haunting and evocative image: three swords stand embedded in the ground, while a fourth pierces a delicate, heart-shaped doily—a symbol of tenderness, now torn. In the background, a spectral blue silhouette of a woman covers her eyes, shrouded in grief and contemplation. Her form is barely distinguishable from the muted, melancholy tones that saturate the card—washed in cold blues and grays that mirror the emotional atmosphere.

These swords do not merely wound; they act as daggers of deception, slicing through the fabric of intimacy, trust, and once-sacred bonds. The pierced heart is not just symbolic of romantic loss—it speaks to the wounding of faith itself, whether in love, ideals, or spiritual conviction. This card becomes a visual litany of heartbreak: betrayal, infidelity, grief, loss, quarrel, rupture, and separation all find voice here.

However, as in all Tarot, polarity must be considered. When inverted or approached through the lens of healing, the Three of Swords reveals another dimension: the end of sorrow. The worst, perhaps, has already passed. The wound is no longer fresh, and the ache begins to subside. What remains is the potential for release, for the courage to forgive—not just others, but oneself. This card becomes an emblem of emotional resilience: the act of gathering one’s scattered soul pieces and stepping forward into the light again.

To draw this card is to be invited into the alchemy of sorrow—a painful but necessary passage of the soul. True courage, it teaches, is not the denial of grief but the willingness to feel it fully, without suppression or avoidance. It takes great strength to sit with heartbreak, to hold the pain gently rather than push it away. Yet it is through this vulnerability that we evolve. The heart, having been broken, grows stronger in its capacity to love, precisely because it has suffered.

As any mystic or lover knows: to love deeply is to open oneself to sorrow. These are two faces of the same Mystery. To flee from one is to flee from both. The Three of Swords reminds us that to love anyway—to continue opening the heart after loss—is the essence of spiritual maturity.

Astrologically, the card is assigned to Saturn in Libra—a weighty placement where the lessons of time (Saturn) confront the ideals of harmony and relationship (Libra). Here, Saturn imposes the laws of karma and accountability upon the domain of partnership. Difficult truths are revealed. Contracts may be broken. Yet through this ordeal, we learn to love with both wisdom and boundaries. Saturn does not allow fantasy; it insists that love must be rooted in reality, even if that truth wounds us first.

In astrology, when Saturn is in the house of Libra, it influences the individual's approach to relationships, partnerships, and the pursuit of balance and harmony in their life. Here are some characteristics associated with Saturn in the house of Libra:

1. Serious Approach to Relationships: Saturn brings a sense of responsibility and seriousness to the realm of partnerships. Individuals with this placement tend to take their commitments seriously and may feel a powerful sense of duty within their relationships.

2. Focus on Fairness and Justice: Libra is associated with fairness and justice, and Saturn's influence emphasizes these qualities. People with Saturn in Libra may have a strong desire for fairness in their relationships and may be drawn to social justice causes.

3. Challenges in Balancing Relationships: Saturn's energy can sometimes create challenges in finding a balance within relationships. There may be a need to work on maintaining equilibrium and avoiding extremes in the give-and-take dynamic.

4. Structured Social Interactions: Individuals with this placement may approach social interactions with a sense of structure and order. They might be cautious about forming new connections and may prefer quality over quantity in their relationships.

5. Commitment to Self-Development: Saturn encourages personal growth and self-discipline. In the house of Libra, this commitment to self-development may extend to improving social skills, communication, and understanding the dynamics of relationships.

6. Long-Lasting Partnerships: Saturn's influence can contribute to the formation of enduring and stable partnerships. These individuals may be willing to invest time and effort into building a solid foundation for their relationships.

It's important to note that the overall astrological profile, including the positions of other planets and aspects, also plays a significant role in shaping an individual's personality and experiences.

The message that the 3 of Swords brings is that it is far better to consciously grieve a loss—feel it fully, understand its lesson, and then move forward—than to passively wait for time to dull the pain. Time alone does not heal; conscious motion does. Healing begins when we step into a new direction, claiming the next stage of our life’s sacred journey with courage and purpose.

We would do well to remember: we are Life itself, not merely beings in search of it. We are the animating Breath within the body, the Ruach Elohim that moves upon the face of the waters. The body is but the vessel, the vehicle for the Soul's expression, and its journey—fraught with trials, joys, and sorrows—is the heroic forging of a radiant Self. The Hero/Heroine within us is not the one who avoids tragedy, but the one who faces it with an open heart and still chooses to rise.

If this incarnational task were easy, none of us Celestial Sparks would have descended into form to undertake it. But we have—for the challenge is the crucible of transformation. Sometimes, the path requires tough love, an inner push that forces us to rise from the mire of sorrow and reclaim our momentum.

When I find myself faltering—wounded, weary, or sunk in the clay of my own grief—I speak to the fragmented mind and command alignment. I say:

“Get over yourself, and get on with you, for impeccability is what we do.”

And when greater purification is required, I invoke the flame of the Great Creatrix with this prayer:

“Burn away from me all that I think I am—
and leave only what You Know I AM.”

For what She knows of us is far more enduring than what we believe about ourselves. She sees the Solar Child within—the divine fire behind the mask. In surrendering to that Knowing, we rise anew: clarified, empowered, and impeccably true.

Dr. Paul Foster Case, founder of the Builders of the Adytum (B.O.T.A.), assigned the title Sanctifying Intelligence to the Three of Swords—a profound attribution that reflects a deeper esoteric truth: that sorrow, far from being a merely painful emotion, serves a sacred and alchemical purpose in the evolution of the Soul.

This doctrine—that sorrow sanctifies—is echoed in the mystical traditions beyond the Western Hermetic current. The great 12th-century Sufi poet and mystic, Jalaluddin Rumi, gives voice to this same truth in his heart-stirring reflection:

“Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow. Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place.”

Both Case and Rumi illuminate a central tenet of esoteric psychology: sorrow is not an accident, nor is it a punishment. It is the sanctifying fire that purifies the heart and clears the inner temple. The Three of Swords does not merely point to pain—it reveals an initiatory passage wherein the psyche is refined, expectations stripped, and the ego dismantled to make space for greater truth and joy.

The title Sanctifying Intelligence—attributed to Binah, the third Sephirah on the Tree of Life—reminds us that sorrow is not separate from wisdom. Rather, it is a mode through which Understanding deepens. As with the autumnal shedding of leaves, the pain of loss makes room for unseen potential, for rebirth, for a more authentic Self to emerge.

Sorrow, then, is a divine catalyst. When embraced consciously, it clears away illusion and deadened emotion, sanctifying the ground of the Soul so that the seeds of higher joy, wisdom, and love can take root.

You may wonder—what does a Sanctifying Intelligence have to do with sorrow?

To put it simply: She is the Crone in this card—the Wise Woman, the final face of the Triple Goddess. Her sacred animal is the Owl, the nocturnal seer who perceives through darkness, and her season is Winter, when the old must die to make way for what is yet to be born.

The Crone is the embodiment of Wisdom through experience, and she is intimately acquainted with grief. In the context of the Three of Swords, she is the one who must undo what she once midwifed into being. She is the sorrowful hand of Binah, the Great Mother as Understanding, who knows that every form built in love must one day dissolve—because evolution demands it.

The Crone does not destroy out of malice, but out of love that is willing to set you free from illusion. She watches with sorrow as she severs the bindings of falsehood, the false self—the indoctrinated persona you've mistaken for your Soul.

For what you think you are has been built of borrowed words: social conditioning, media-driven fears, and systemic definitions imposed by "the few who wish to rule the many." These are the architects of falsehood, the lords of language who manipulate identity through programmed narratives.

Thus, the sorrow of the Crone—of Binah—is the sorrow of a mother watching her children cling to lies. She must wield her sword of discernment and cut away these illusions, even as it breaks her heart to do so. This is the Sanctifying Intelligence: not mere grief, but grief wielded as a sacred blade that makes room for truth.

Only through this sorrowful dismantling can your true I AM arise—stripped of illusion, crowned in wisdom, and reborn through understanding.

Within your radiant and beautiful Celestial Soul resides a profound and ancient sorrow—the sorrow of knowing that you are both the life and the death of your own beloved body. The physical form is not separate from Spirit; it is Spirit’s most cherished companion, its vessel of experience, its garment of light clothed in matter.

To have life, to take it, or to lose it—especially the life of one you have intimately inhabited and loved—is a deeply sorrowful initiation. Even the most distorted or misguided among us, the so-called evil or perverse, harbor a secret love for their own body. For the body is more than flesh—it is the sacred co-actor in the play of incarnation, a friend, a lover, and a partner in becoming.

This is why all that creates is filled with sorrow, just as it is filled with love. These two forces are not opposites, but shadow and light of the same truth. Sorrow is the echo of love, the shade cast by the brilliance of affection, care, and connection. In this great web of time and space, you cannot have one without the other—for everything that begins must also end.

In the Hermetic view, the Divine Creative experiences all things through the rhythm of duality: life and death, joy and sorrow, creation and dissolution. These are not errors, but essential components of the Soul's unfolding. Every ending teaches love to deepen, to refine, and to recognize itself beyond the veil of form.

Thus, your sorrow is not a weakness—it is the holy grief of a Spirit who knows it must one day relinquish its most intimate creation. It is the quiet reverence of the Soul for the body it loves, and the universal truth that even in loss, there is sanctity.

Many of us believe that freedom of choice is the essence of happiness. And yet, we often overlook a vital truth: choice requires boundaries. To have freedom of choice, there must first be form—and form demands measurement. Choice cannot exist in the boundless; it arises only within a defined space of contrast, a spectrum framed by beginnings and endings. Life, as we know it in the manifest world, requires a lifetime—a measurable arc between incarnation and departure.

As pure Spirit, we simply Are—an infinite, undivided current of conscious Will, a boundless sea of potentiality beyond all measurement. In that state, there is no "up" or "down," no "in" or "out," no past or future. There is only being—timeless, omnipresent, and free of polarity. Spirit is everywhere and nowhere, an eternal frequency unmoved by time or form.

But when this boundless Spirit chooses to experience itself, it does so through the sacred contraction into Self-Awareness—by becoming a Celestial Soul operating through a planetary material body. This is the miracle of incarnation: the infinite steps into the finite, the eternal dresses itself in matter, and Spirit becomes aware of itself through the dynamic trinity of:

• Transmitter (Spirit – I),

• Transmission (Mind – Am), and

• Receiver (Body – Me).

In this threefold nature, we become the architects of our identity. We are empowered to choose—up or down, in or out, motion or stillness, sorrow or joy. We are granted the precious gift of self-definition: not because we are fallen from the Infinite, but because the Infinite desired to know itself through us.

Thus, freedom of choice is not the goal, but the sacred condition of embodiment. It is what allows the unmeasured Spirit to explore itself through measured experiences—and in that process, we awaken to the profound mystery: We are the I who Am Me.

What few remember—or are willing to accept—is that freedom has a hidden root in the Old Anglo-Saxon word freo-dōm, which can be interpreted as “I choose my own doom.” In its original context, doom did not mean tragedy or punishment—it meant judgment, fate, or destiny. Thus, true freedom is not just liberty of action—it is the sovereign right to choose one’s own death, one's fate, and ultimately, one’s own becoming.

Freedom, then, is a divine privilege—and a grave responsibility. It is the Soul’s sacred power to self-define and to self-direct the course of its incarnational experience. Whether that choice is made in ignorance or in wisdom, it remains the Soul’s choice. What we often call fate is simply the choice of the Soul, seen from the limited view of the personality.

This freedom carries within it both boundless joy and deep sorrow. For to be free is to walk the razor’s edge of consequence, to shape one’s own destiny, and to endure the beauty and grief that such power entails.

We have bodies not merely to survive, but to form the necessary software—the personality-mind—through which we operate the "wetware" of the living, breathing vehicle of the I AM. Our body is the instrument, our mind is the interface, and our Soul is the musician. Through these, we develop a discriminating, operational identity—the "Me"—a unique personal representative of the Infinite within the finite.

But incarnation comes with challenge. Often, when we believe we are "doing the right thing," we later discover we have been in error—misled by false assumptions, by misplaced trust, or by a lack of deeper understanding. Rather than face and correct these errors, many fall into shame, blame, or sorrow, resisting the very process that leads to wisdom.

Yet this is the process we came to undergo. This is called learning.

For 50% of all Wisdom is born from error. The other 50% is born from understanding—from the willingness to correct, refine, and re-integrate the lesson. And it is through this compassionate understanding that we transcend the fear of sorrow. We no longer see error as failure, but as initiation. Sorrow becomes sacred—not something to avoid, but something to understand, digest, and ultimately be empowered by.

In the Hermetic current, to understand is to transform. And with every act of understanding, we reclaim the throne of our own fate.

Spirit is Willed Energy—pure, undivided, and limitless. It does not discriminate or judge, for all things are of it, in it, and as it. Spirit is the Source behind all forms, and thus makes no distinction between “good” or “bad.” These are terms created by relative minds within the field of duality. From Spirit’s perspective, all experience—whether joyous or sorrowful—is simply in-form-action, the dance of consciousness moving through form to generate Knowledge.

This Knowledge is not moral—it is experiential. It is how Spirit comes to know itself. Not by passive observation, but by active embodiment. And so, the Divine Creative begins the process of Self-measurement with the sacred utterance:

“I AM.”

“I AM” denotes existence, the primal affirmation of Being. Yet what I AM—what that Being becomes—has not yet been determined. That which we call "Me" is not fixed; it is an unfolding assumption, a working hypothesis of identity.

Only through the integration of Wisdom (Chokmah) and Understanding (Binah)—the Holy Father and Holy Mother of the Supernal Triangle—can the Soul begin to crystallize a functioning, conscious, and authentic “I Am Me.”

And this is the great mystery: no one else can define you. No external authority, no tradition, no system of belief can rightly claim your "Me." That is your sacred work—the alchemical task of the incarnated Soul: to evolve through experience, refine identity through Wisdom and Understanding, and arrive at the realization of a self-chosen, self-aware, and divinely aligned I Am Me.

Until that time, every identity is provisional—an echo of programming, environment, and assumption. But with each cycle of life, each trial, each joy, and each sorrow, you shape the contours of your true Self. And in doing so, Spirit comes to know Itself through You.

Then we must consider the role of the Sephiroth of Chesed and Geburah—the twin pillars of Divine Architecture and Sacred Challenge.

Chesed, the 4th Sephirah on the Tree of Life, is known as Mercy. It is the sphere of benevolent design—the Architect of form. Here, Spirit begins to give structure to the formless, measuring and defining the parameters of manifestation. Chesed asks, “What is form?” and sets the blueprint for manifestation. It is Jupiterian in nature: expansive, visionary, generous.

But Geburah, the 5th Sephirah, known as Severity, enters with a necessary counterforce. Its ruling planet is Saturn, the Lord of Time and Boundaries. Geburah imposes restriction on Chesed’s design—not as punishment, but as refinement. Where Chesed gives form, Geburah gives function. Where Chesed dreams, Geburah tests. And through this tension between expansive Mercy and constraining Severity, progress is born.

Time, administered by Geburah’s Saturnian current, is the sculptor that chisels Spirit into living form. It is only through limitation, challenge, and the friction of change that the Soul evolves in its journey through incarnation.

To truly gain intimacy with Creation, the Soul must descend into physical form—a sensual, feeling, expressive body. The body is not a prison; it is a sacred garment through which Spirit feels, touches, and is touched. Through sensation, we encounter otherness, and through otherness, we discover Love.

But form has a beginning—thus it must also have an end. To enter form is to accept impermanence. To love is to accept loss. And yet—the courageous Soul chooses to love anyway.

To lose love does not make one a loser—it makes one human. The true loss belongs to those who fear love and avoid it altogether. These are the ones who retreat from intimacy, from vulnerability, and from the sacred wound that teaches us how to open the heart more deeply.

Love, like form, is bound by time—and that is its power. Its ephemeral beauty gives it meaning. Without end, there is no presence. Without loss, there is no appreciation. And so, through the architecture of Chesed and the refinement of Geburah, the Soul becomes both the builder and the breaker, the lover and the mourner, the eternal I AM experiencing itself through the measured, sensual mystery of being alive.

It is not only okay—it is sacred—to let tears of grief cleanse your face in the wake of tragedy. Tears are the waters of release, the salt of alchemical purification, flowing from the Soul as it mourns what once was. Yet while sorrow has its rightful place in the temple of healing, do not let it anchor you in stagnation.

The message here is clear: you are destined to be a progressive identity, ever-evolving, ever-becoming. This is not a punishment—it is a privilege of incarnate consciousness. To move forward, to adapt, to become more refined with each cycle of experience—this is the essence of the Soul’s journey through time and form.

The Three of Swords reminds us that not everyone will walk with you on this path. When others choose to evolve differently, or not at all, let them go. Love them, honor what was—but release the attachment to shared progress. Each Soul has its own rhythm, its own timing, and its own story to unfold.

But above all things, you must know yourself.

This is the core of the Hermetic maxim: “Above all things, know thyself.” Your true compass lies not in the validation of others, but in the deep inner knowing of your own I AM. When you are centered in that truth, even sorrow becomes a teacher—and every ending a new gate.

When thrown in divination, the 3 of Swords implies:

• Removal.
• Absence.
• Delay.
• Division.
• Rupture.
• Dispersion.
• Heart break.

If reversed:

• Mental alienation.
• Error seen.
• Loss understood.
• Distraction.
• Disorder.
• Confusion. 

Thank you for your interest, comments, and supportive donations. May you live long and prosper.

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