The Sun:

The ancient Greeks loved them some Apollo, yes indeed.  There was about a metric ton of statues of him scattered all over Greece, even in states where he wasn’t the chief deity.  That’s not all that surprising, considering that he personified the perfect man according to ancient Greek standards: he was a fabulous musician, a brilliant athlete, a patron of the intellectual arts and he looked really hot in a short tunic.  He was also the god of agriculture, prophecy, medicine, dance, colonies and about a hundred other things. 

In other words, Apollo was one of those guys you’d just like to slap.  If, you know, he hadn’t also been a god with vengeful habits who would probably kill you in some imaginative way for the insult.  But still, the guy bugged.

Even when things didn’t go his way, they went his way.  For example, as amazing as it seemed, the most beautiful of gods occasionally struck out with the ladies.  Daphne, a river nymph, made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him after Eros, the little scamp, made him fall madly in love with her.  Of course, Apollo decided that she was only playing hard to get, and pursued her tirelessly.  In despair, Daphne finally requested help from a river god, who turned her into a laurel tree to allow her escape the egotistic prick.  Apollo was sad for a few minutes, until he remembered that he didn’t yet have a sacred tree.  So he made himself a crown out of her branches and went merrily off to find his next conquest. 

The Sun card indicates that things are about to go completely, utterly and totally your way.  That promotion you wanted?  You got it.  That guy/girl you’ve been chasing?  All yours.  That lottery ticket you just bought?  A sure fire winner.  For a short time, you are the darling of the gods.  Just try not to be annoyingly smug about it.

The Sun Reversed:

The sun reversed indicates a period when the querent is acting under false assumptions.  Like an overly bright light, something is blinding you to the reality of the situation, and lulling you into a false sense of security.  Everything seems fine—even wonderful—but the reality may be very different. 

Take the story of the satyr Marsyas, for instance.  He was hanging out in the forest one day, trying to think up some new way to impress the local nymphs, when he happened across an elegant double flute.  Unknown to him, Athena had made it, but thrown it away after the other gods made fun of the way her cheeks puffed out when she played it.  Always so mature, those ancient gods. 

But silly looking or not, anyone playing the flute produced the sweetest music in Arcadia, as Marsyas soon discovered.  He quickly developed a loyal group of fans who followed him wherever he went, listening to him play.  It must have seemed for awhile as if he had it all: the adoration of the masses, more nymphs than he knew what to do with, and a hot new sound.  Marsyas was the ancient Greek version of a rock star.

But then some of his devoted followers dared to say that his music was so good, it outdid even Apollo’s.  Of course, as the god of music, Apollo wasn’t about to let that pass, and immediately appeared to challenge Marsyas to a duel—musical style.  The Muses were the judges and the prize was to be whatever the winner wanted, as long as the loser had it in his possession. 

The duel went ahead—because you don’t say no to a god—and Marsyas gave it his all.  He played the flute while Apollo plucked his lyre, both of them really going for it.  In the end, the Muses were torn.  They announced that both contestants had played beautifully, and that they were going to have to declare a tie.  But Apollo wasn’t having any of that crap.  He’d shown up to best this presumptuous satyr, and that was exactly what he intended to do. 

So he started singing, adding the beauty of his voice to the melody of his lyre.  And, of course, Marsyas couldn’t follow suit while playing a wind instrument.  Despite the fact that this was hardly fair, the muses—always Apollo’s bitches—declared him the winner.  Marsyas gracefully accepted their decision, probably just glad to have the whole thing over--until, that is, he learned exactly how petty the gods could be.

The bet had been that the loser had to give the winner anything in his possession.  Apollo’s choice?  Marsyas’ skin.  And he meant all of it.  He tied the poor satyr to a pine tree and, in front of his horrified fans, skinned him alive. 

Likewise, the Sun Reversed is telling you to be careful.  Things may seem bright, but take another look around.  Make sure you’re not about to get skinned.