Gemini III: The First Rule….

10 of Swords

We leave the anxiety-driven insomnia of Gemini II and land at the completion of the Gemini cycle, here represented by the 10 of Swords—the card everyone hates to get. While the Tower may strike fear, there’s a finality to the 10 of Swords imagery that is somehow more frightening.

Remember that we are in the land of swords—the death illustrated in the cards (what T. Susan Chang termed as “dramatic” — really, one sword would have done the job) is mental. The death we’re looking at is a death in a form of thinking, a pattern or pathway. The major arcana associated with the card are the Sun and the Lovers. The Lovers here evokes choices. It’s historically associated with twins and the narrowing of two to one. Combining what Chang calls “the hyper-rationalism of the Sun” with the “analytical power of Swords,” you can end up thinking yourself into catastrophic choices.

10 of Swords Rider-Waite Illustration

Take, for example, the myth of Castor & Pollux – the constellation with whom this decan is associated. Faced with the death of his brother, Pollux begs Zeus to let him share his immortality with his brother. In a rare moment of compassion, Zeus gives each brother a half measure – they split and alternate their time in the underworld and living realm.

Gemini III is all about acknowledging our duality and the recognition that we can’t have it all–all the time. We must choose. 

It’s Fight Club. Wait, wait – hear me out. (Also, spoiler alert!) The narrator (we never actually get his name) experiences a traumatic event that splits his personality into two. His alter ego–Tyler Durden–is bombastic, dangerous and has zero regard for conventionality. In short, he’s the exact thing the narrator thinks he needs to move him out of a life where he’s faced with no good options. He’s bored, frustrated and can’t see beyond his 8 of Swords prison. In comes Tyler–seemingly a prophet, a Hierophant in leather pants, who has a whole new world order that at first dazzles the narrator.

But Tyler is a false Hierophant. A figment of the narrator’s imagination, the life he espouses is insane. His edicts (we don’t talk about fight club) and the hierarchy of Project Mayhem scream church structure. There’s an interesting parallel here, too, in the 10 of Swords imagery that Chang points out. The two fingers of the victim are similarly positioned to that of the Hierophant (reportedly representing the figure of an archbishop slain by King Henry). 

In the end, the narrator wakes up to the illusion and, faced with the consequences of what he and his alter ego set in motion, he makes the decision to end it with a shot to the head that exorcises Tyler. This choice is the real turn towards the 10 of Swords. The narrator survives. He has chosen to be his incomplete, messy self, over the aggrandized hallucinations. He’s left to watch the catastrophe of Project Mayhem’s plans unfold around him. There’s no escaping the consequences of what he has wrought. 

That's the part the Lovers card is actually pointing at. For most of the film, Tyler made every decision for him, and certainty felt like freedom. The moment he puts the gun in his own mouth and pulls the trigger, one twin falls so the other can keep standing — Castor for Pollux, all over again, except this time it wasn't fate doing the choosing. It was him. 

The 10 of Swords serves as both a completion of the cycle and a warning. When we let the fear and anxiety of the 8 and 9 of Swords make our decisions, we are left with the dramatic ending of the 10 of Swords. It’s a reminder to use our logic (Swords being focused on the mind) and our discernment in choosing the path that leads us to our true, authentic selves.