It’s September 13th but I forget. I forget. I remember. And then let it wash away.
I pull two cards this evening. They fall out of my hands, so I read them together. I’m still learning what tarot means to me but I like pulling a card midday, or in the afternoon, or when I need to reset. My body was tired and my mind was spinning and I pulled these cards looking for the work narrative. Career has been pressing on my temple.
But I pulled the Lovers followed by the Eight of Cups.
I will not pretend to know all the interpretations, but here is one for each:
The Lovers: the choices surrounding who you want to be and whom you want to be with.
Eight of Cups: the card of abandonment. Of it being time to go. Of leaving a person, a love, with some cups shattered and some cups whole and moving on to the next journey.
I looked at the cards for a moment, looking for work, and then it hit me like a truck again. It’s September 13th. And what I pushed to the back of my brain slams forward. It’s been six years, so it’s not like I need to fall apart on my divorce anniversary anymore. And I don’t. Or rather, I do, but just for a moment. Tears at the surprise. Head in hands. Deep breath.
Tarot cards are not fortune telling, but I do think it is telling about what stories I see in them. So maybe it was a hard day and week for all the work reasons. And maybe it’s also a hard day and week because my body remembers what September once meant. Relapses. Courthouses. But not all my cups were broken. And there were mountains ahead.
With Love,
Natalie