'You are his seed so stand up high
Who sired you points you to the sky'
The Father works on three levels: your own father, concepts of masculine energy, and patriarchal hierarchies. Thus the Father card in the Psycards deck is not unlike the Emperor card of tarot.
Today I return to my very corporate work place, where hierarchy and rigidity prevail. There is really only one direction in which we are allowed to shoot our arrows, so to speak, and that's in the exact direction the Father points. But as you can see from the illustration, the arrows are rather ineffectual -- no arrowhead! We're pointing at nothing but the sky -- no real target. We do it because we're told to. Perfect example of local government. The Father is not even looking in the direction he is sending the child's arrow...and by his facial expression, he is not really interested. Definitely a perfect example of how I perceive my work place.
It is hard not to take Emperor energy negatively. There are so many problems inherent in it. Probably the main thing we reject is being ruled over, because we know from experience that when we are ruled over, that when 'organisations' begin to be formed, the result is waste, mismanagement, power play and corruption, and all our good intentions and nobler goals seem to slip into the mist, forgotten. Maybe that is why the Father looks so dejected. He knows that arrow is leading nowhere. Maybe he's remembering how he felt when he first took up the bow himself, the idealism and hopes that were inexorably crushed by the 'system'. Could be.
Last night I dreamed that I was in a work place. People were dressed up in business way. I got told off for not being 'corporate' enough. I looked down and realised I was wearing a sari. It was a stark contrast to the others, and I felt self-conscious and spread it out to drape over my shoulder and cover over the bare midriff (which saris often leave). As the woman marched away from me down the hall, I shouted feebly after her that she was a fat cow. (Her dress had transformed into a skin tight white affair with sparkly sequins and a blonde hair-do like a Dolly Parton wig.) She turned and said something back, but now I can't recall what. Then several of us were called into a small room and the 'cow' set us a task, all of us in a line. I was number 8, the last in line. Apparently we were meant to be passing scrap paper down the line, and my job was to put the last paper on and run from the end of the line to the beginning and back again every time. 'You'll have to keep running back and forth,' the fat cow said. I felt quite put upon. My sari, which had turned into yoga pants, a sports bra and a large Mexican serape, kept sliding off my shoulders. I protested, 'This is stupid. Why don't you get some admin assistant to staple these together?' I was told this is the way we do things here. I realised that there was no actual intended use for these stacks of paper. We were just making them because we make them. Then the dream shifted and I was looking in the mirror, examining my teeth. Some of my lower teeth were in the wrong place. 'Oh, no,' I said, 'they really are shifting!'
I woke up, checking at once with my tongue the location of my teeth, and with a headache.
So, hi ho, it's off to work I go.