Mary Shelley, the Major Arcanum number 13 of the Tarot and the idea of ​​Frankenstein or the modern Prometheus

Following with these supposed parallels between the artistic world and its possible relationship with the fascinating symbolic world of the Tarot, I remember the name of a woman, to whom History, after all, has not done justice to her. He deserved: Mary Shelley. In view of this, as well as examining the background of his immortal novel, I think it would not be so far-fetched to think about the possibility of Mary Shelley, a brilliant woman with a transgressive spirit, although unfortunately subject to the ironclad conventions of her time. -the Victorian- was inspired by another Major Arcanum of the Tarot, freeing the unconscious, through the keys of its no less rich symbolism, the plot of an argument, which was far, then, to imagine that one day it would become a masterpiece of universal literature: Frankenstein or the modern Prometheus.

The Greater Arcanum number XIII, Death, represents an archetype, in reality, little understood, whose vision, generally, induces a panic terror in a humanity that is conscious and at the same time fearful of its own limitations, that nevertheless, even knowing itself hostage to these, he keeps a glimmer of hope, with his eyes on the advances of a Science, which for centuries began a race against the clock, dreaming of reaching his most desired triumph: the fountain of eternal youth. Or what is the same: immortality. Far from attempting to initiate a philosophical debate, even aimed at suggesting that within a few centuries or less, Science will be the God of the future, I recommend observing with interest the letter that is being referred to, and stripping us of our fears and taboos, let's try to talk friendly with her.

It could be the case, that Mary Shelley - just like me, at the moment when I am writing these lines in the quiet of my room -, was sitting peacefully there, next to the splendid fireplace in the living room of Villa Deodati, a few meters from the shore of Lake Leman, holding in his hands the letter in question and observing that pathetic and at the same time sympathetic skeleton wielding a scythe, I asked, first, for his smile: an ironic smile, enigmatic and although it seems an exaggeration, so magnetic, in the background, like that of Leonardo's Gioconda, reveals the one of this or not, hidden incestuous feelings, in the opinion of Sigmund Freud. And perhaps, as it happens to me at this moment, to his mind came an answer, which could have been, more or less, like this: 'You do not know me, and yet you fear me'. It could also be that a moment later, noticing the mowing action that the skeleton is executing, think about the old myths of renovation and compare those creepy human remains that the scythe is disseminating in the field, with those wheat seeds that are replanted, giving rise to a process in continuous movement, where 'death', at the end of the day, would imply only a boring waiting process, like the one that penalizes the traveler in the customs of an airport.

From there, to fabulate with the possibility of creating life from fragments of deceased bodies, with a view to achieving an individual as perfect as possible - let's not forget, in any case, that history arose when the company in which he found, Lord Byron, his husband the poet Percy Byshee Shelley and the doctor John Polidori, among others, proposed a 'competition' to see who wrote the most spooky horror story, trying to have fun taking advantage of the scenario offered by the furious storm that I was developing abroad - there is only one step. And as the Tao Te King of Lao Tsé says:

'Has it become empty words
The old axiom
"What is incomplete
It will become whole "?
In truth, it is in this way
As everything returns to the origin
And it regains integrity ... '

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