The Empress is the only archetypal being in the Tarot to literally belong to the-outside-of-the-universe. She was not created by her husband, the Emperor. She is not a product of Yahwism, but simply Hashem's other half. When the Emperor condensed himself into a point, to create the universe (also known as the big bang), the Empress was the antimatter that gathered around the vortex of condensation (...an eternal cameo herself, rearing her head outside the exploding mixture of space, time, and knowledge to get a view of the fireworks). Yes, indeed, the lace-like fabric of spacetime was specially crocheted by the Emperor's very best elves in order to allow her to appear in this manner. This explains why such a thing as feminism could still be an issue on planet Earth in 2021 AD. Women are systematically undermined in society because their very differences are supra-social. The divine feminine essence does not emanate from anything that has ever been part of Creation, but from somewhere so special that not even Hashem can enter it. And so women are systematically undermined because men choose to war with one another rather than working out those supra-social differences amongst themselves, to create a better civilization at large. And this kind of social reparation, in which women are allowed to be different from men simply because these truly galactic differences destroy the patriarchy -- can only be performed by a non-warrior mindset, that does not see weakness as a fault. For every type of difference between beings has implications regarding strength or weakness. As such, the Empress has a fairly dim view of the universe and the Emperor's many planets and endeavors. It makes her very upset that, after centuries of systematic mistreatment by men, anyone should think that a liberated woman should act, dress, or work like a man. She always wants more diversity of behavior and expression, not less. Femininity itself never systematically undermines women: only the undead warrior culture of this planet ever does. Boredly, she wonders out loud to the Emperor if there is any other way to populate a spacetime with living beings than using gender. Abstract ideas like Abbot's two-dimensional universe excite her. The idea of mating polygons together instead of these dumb jars of clay with their hollow, presumptuous voices. Why is it so impossible to populate a universe -- with enough variety? Why do the creatures all want to act like each other, look like each other, think like each other? Even when the universe rewards them for individualism, the creatures just want to go to sleep knowing that they are approved according to someone else's standards. What is the precise locus of self and other, that would allow her to divine the amount of difference one can feel with the Other? Without other-ization of differences? These questions completely perplex the Empress. Our Lady Green, who watches over her garden with its many points of light, takes a sip of dihydrogen monoxide (is it just water in that goblet? who knows...) -- her favorite thing that the Emperor has ever made for her.
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