Day of Venus (XV)

This is the 15th Friday of my Day of Venus Posts, where I let wash up what is present in the undercurrents of my mind, heart and spirit. I am honored and deeply grateful for your readership as I cultivate my writer voice blindfoldedvertebrae by vertebrae, all chrysalis and soil.

This particular entry is more self-study and diary-like compared to recent posts, but it was all that wanted to come out and as I promised to myself in doing these, I am not going to edit or alter or hide out of shame or any resistance. As a warning, there are mentions of abuse and childhood trauma, so if you think that would make you uncomfortable for any reason, please do not read ahead. It’s been an intense week of therapy and solitude, so this is what is brewing in the aftermath of an eclipse. Writing is often a participation in an alchemical process that allows for healing and restoration, and with this post that is very much the case. As I write it out, I dispose of it and am lighter because of it taking a form outside of me, and I encourage others to try the same. Write out your fears, your torments, your confusion–from a place of seeking solace, understanding, peace. Particularly if you have been silent about pain for survival or out of fear–writing is liberating and allows for courage and a boldness to replace the silence and hesitation, and this more often than not trickles into every aspect of your life.


The translucent embryo of the empty space around the wic, the indigo ring at the basin, the voltaic scarlet, steady and tall, the smoke ringlets that are pulled into the air–I am made of all of the flame. Steady and enveloping, even when I am unaware, or forgetful, I still am. Patient and whole; dancing and still. May I act, speak and maneuver myself through time like I know I am burning. May the knowing replace all eagerness, all illusion of void, all hallucination of lack.



Relationships are spiritual work. All kinds of relationships, yes, but right now I am speaking on the romantic kind–the kind where the same side of your bodies ache at the same time, and they say what you are thinking and you sing what they have going on in the undercurrents of their psyche. So much work, yes, but let us excuse ourselves from the chambers of mirrors from time to time, and why not for most of the time? Let’s take a gummy and take off our heads. Let’s take off our words and our explanations of why we are the way we are. Let’s watch the rabbits and their white tails jump ahead of us and into dark green. I’ll put my playlist on shuffle while your hand is in my hair. I’ll rest my hand on your thigh and you’ll watch the sunset out the window. Let’s remember to be with one another while we are with one another, without wanting to consume or be consumed by. Let’s remember that while there is work to do, there is also loving to be done. Let’s take off the weight of commitment and unknowns and the uncontrollables of our mind’s antics, to just be companions for awhile. Let’s remember we are also friends.

In this work if we are not careful, we paint one another as villains, as the same people who have caused us harm. Because it has been those closest to us who have caused us the most harm, our closeness brings hallucinations of times past. We are learning to untangle ourselves and come undone while being close to one another. Our very closeness triggers the fears we unknowingly let run rampant. Alchemy: Let us remember to observe the impulses to make one another the enemy–the thing-to-be-conquered and put into place, the studied opponent you need to prove yourself as more-than to, the hijacker of light who hovered around you as a child. “I am not them; you are not them”–let this be our mantra. May we wrangle the hallucinations of our mind and pull it’s eyes to our own. In the middle of the flame of my existence is this anchor, and let it be your own: I wish you peace; I wish peace for myself. You wish me peace; you wish peace for yourself. When this is at the core of our being, our intentions, our motives, we have nothing to lose, nothing to fear, nothing to hide. May we grow and grow and grow–more soft, more light-footed, more joyous, more free.


We ask of the world: Please do not take my weaknesses and use them for your momentary gain. Please do not extract the lighthouses of my soul’s sailing and scrutinize their glow. Please do not take from me more than I can afford to give without becoming lost. Please do not delight in my sorrows, my insecurities, my losses, my illusions of inferiority. Please do not hide your true desires and regard me as a play-thing, a stepping stone, a cute little afterthought of a doll. We ask so politely, then we demand, then we sit and wonder how the world could be so cruel. And so it is we learn that we have to sometimes be “bad”, be a disappointment, excuse ourselves, and learn that the world will not always know how to honor this for us, will not always comprehend the value of peace and of wanting peace for another–we have to do the honoring for ourselves; we have to create the peace by being picky, selective, territorial, wolf-like. It is by creating the peace inside of ourselves we are able to view the world from this place and not be fooled. It is by actively honoring ourselves that we are unable to interact with energies that are dishonoring of us.


When you experience peace you value it. You become picky. You become attracted to peace and attractive to peace. It becomes the most valuable thing in the world, worth cultivating, worth holding a lot of space for, and worth excusing yourself from arenas for. May I attract more people who have experienced peace, and who are experiencing peace. May my being be what guides me.



I am made of every woman I have ever admired, and they are made of me. All of the winged and rose-aura’d-the-fuck-out women; all of the this-is-my-truth-and-I’m-sticking-to-it, stubborn-ass torch-holding women; all of the singing sly-foxed & winking women I worked with who became my mothers; all of the faeries to ever join me in studying leaf and rock and birdsong by a water’s edge. Every woman I have ever hummed alongside, and every woman whose humming put me into trance. In me is my very own castle ground–garden and stream and terrace greeting the sunlight.


May all of my exchanges with everyone I ever meet be without a sense of greed, without motive, without hidden pretentiousness. There is a richness in exchanges where nothing is being sought or hoped for. When there is a lack of eagerness both people can communicate without words, and the exchange is more a walk through the woods than transactional. I remember me–light stepper. I remember me–praise freely thrown around without hesitation, and sourced from the highest octave of my heart. I remember me–headphones blaring and weaving laps around churches and park-gatherings on Sunday morning–waving and smiling and leaping over puddle and pothole. I remember me–the I’ll-see-you-when-I-see-you and still-stays-true lover. I remember me–the while-we’re-here-we-might-as-well-enjoy-ourselves lady at the bus stop, singing opera in the rain. I remember me–pareo loose around my waist and baggy t-shirt right-out-of-bed and headed to the cliffs for a few jumps, before social media was a thing, before thoughts of capturing moments existed.

I remember me before I became so fearful, so hesitant, so unsure, so critical of myself, and I invite even more of me–more than I have ever experienced before. I invite more of my loudness, my spontaneous gestures of glee, my open and affectionate smirk, my eyes closed and singing for the neighbors to hear, my dancing and my gliding and my proposals to dance. I accept invitations and actually attend. I come out to play and become a part of a grand festival for a lifetime. All alchemical processes where peace is my anchor and my home allow for this. “You have nothing to fear honey. You are so beautiful and everyone can see it, and there is no need to feel a nervousness.” I accept words like this I have recently been gifted, and I let them permeate in my being to become me. More words I hold close to my heart said to me recently: “We see you and you belong here. You are welcome here.” “You belong with those who take your gifts seriously–not with those who spend their time merely marinating. The more you trust in the steadiness of your peace and make that your home, the more you are able to differentiate.”

To know patience is to know peace; to know peace is to know patience. All eagerness and all outward seeking vanishes when there is this knowing. Less and less you feel a need to defend or prove. Watch as you become less interested in whether or not someone else sees you, favors you, values you. There are things that matter less and less, as room is made for more more soul-sparking exchanges.


How appropriate that during the start of Gemini season I hold all truths as equals regardless of the fact that many of them are in opposition to one another. The truth is that the truth is contradicting. I’ve become tired of trying to take sides or place one as “more-true” than the other. All of them are true, and when I am able to walk along the place where they meet, there is a peace on that in-between bridge that I am learning to linger on for longer durations of time. It is better to walk along the walls that separate the voices in this way, being able to peer in and admire or observe, rather than to jump in and be consumed by. Writing is easier to do when I am this watcher of a being, and not in the midst of being tossed about in a basket of clanging mirrors. And even then that is not entirely true–I am able to write from that basket place, but everything I write from inside of that basket will then be an instrument of that place–kind of a disruptive place to be in. So a lot of my writing over the last week is this way–kept in drafts to observe later when I am not filled with voices other than my own, yet here are some recorded clips from inside of the maze:

It is my responsibility to make myself safe. The cop-out is always to blame–what they lack or do or have done that makes me feel unseen, unaccepted, rejected must be the reason I am this way–why I cannot.. what I do not… where I am unable to… There is no responsibility for myself when I place my life into the hands of someone else’s doings and un-doings. There is no redemption to be had while in a seat of blame–all victim and small-voiced and withering in the hands of my own hallucinations. Waiting around to be accepted, respected, seen or acknowledged does me no good. Do I admire myself? Yes. Do I enjoy what I exude and put out into the world? Yes. Am I proud of who I am? Yes. Do I like who I am? Yes. Remembering that the void is an illusion is what allows me to move and speak and make decisions in ways I haven’t before. And

When we are in relationships we sort of “plug in” to what they have going on inside of them, and in this we can lose pieces of ourselves that are important for our well-being if we aren’t careful. We have to learn to be territorial over what matters to our spirit bodies, while also allowing the other to have their own world and do what they want with it. There is a merging-of-worlds that naturally happens–a psychic sense of knowing when something is unsettled in their heart, even when they are miles and miles away. Suddenly the same sides of your body ache around the same time, you think a thought they speak and you sing a song they have in the undercurrents of their psyche. I find myself wanting my body back, my mind to go un-stirred, my movements to go unnoticed, unquestioned, un-critiqued–even though it is all under the surface I can still feel it being done and I feel a fight in me, a resistance to being consumed. I am learning how to remain a steady flame while being misunderstood, unfavored or disregarded, and ultimately that is a lesson worth acing.

There is a “you-stay-over-there and I-stay-over-here” which is healthy, and it is only healthy if this allowance for sovereignty is given from a place of deep and sincere respect for their personhood and soul as an individual, apart from you and sacred on it’s own. I am learning this is a love language for me–can you let me be me even when that being has nothing to do with you? Can you let me drift into myself and create a world for myself without it causing you to lose interest, seek another, or become scornful toward me?

When `I am abiding by unconscious patterns I become small and quiet and convince myself that I am smaller-than, less sacred, less important than the person I am with. What a heavy lesson to learn and what a gross learned-pattern to become aware of–to trace this pattern back to a long period of time where I sat in spaces where my abuser boasted and ranted for hours about his loftiness, his successes, his more-thans and better-thans, as well as his blood-daughter’s–my own sweet little sister–telling me that she is more-wise, more-sacred, and showing me this is so by making me a play-thing, an object, a dumping ground, while she is taught and shown sweetness. Creating envy in my heart where there was adoration. How cruel of an act–to convince a child they are not as innocent as they are, as Holy as they are, as special as they have been born. And then it is my responsibility to now see I am no longer a victim, and the things people close to me do and say are not efforts to tear me down, pin me down, show me they are better or more. I suppose even if someone is expressing something in an effort to trump, dominate or prove–if my perception is “they are in a world of their own and it has nothing to do with my world” it serves everyone involved–setting me free and letting their own intentions dance in the air around them, in a muck of a game where they are the only player. It ultimately better serves me to decipher everything around me the same way I decipher a child’s statements, and this is an inner alchemical process that is serving me well these days. When a child comes to me and exclaims “I practiced the songs for my mom all weekend”, “I went to .. before and my mom gave me..”, “Look what I did–I made a…” they are seeking acceptance, approval, validation. So in a human being’s statements of show-and-tell, including my own, there is an innocent quest for acknowledgment and praise. Remembering this sets me free. Then I trace this back to the wound–for a grown man to be parading himself and exclaiming his superiority in an unconscious attempt to gain power over, make himself above and take power from, must mean he suffers from a deep perceived sense of lack of power, a soul that had forgotten it’s wholeness, a hungry void he had been living from–never satisfied, never having an experience of peace. And in this way I rise above the hallucinations and allow peace to permeate. Everything is alchemical when it comes to healing–you cannot shove away the monsters or you become cold, mean, resentful toward God. By seizing the moment when the angry shadows come swaying in your perceptions of the world, we shed the skin of old phenomenon and enter into new experiences.



Connect to and be entranced by something other than me–something greater than human and more sky than rubble, more winged than the oil of the earth, or become a devoted follower of The Earth Herself. Show me how you pray and tell me who your teachers are–what poems? Which stories? Whose mothers? When you feel yourself slipping into shadow, tell me about your anchors–the pillars that remind you that the dark is the illusion of the absence of light. Show me how you spend your time alone–what you feed yourself and the sounds you allow inside of your mind.

May I build a world of my own and still be loved? Without my attention on you do you lose interest in loving who I am? Does knowing you are not what or whom I live for make me less appealing? When I am not privy to your every move and motion, am I boiled down to only a mirror of all of the faces who have hurt you? When I am taken by the sky do I become less attractive? Do you suddenly fill with scorn and critique and smugness when I am hypnotized by wonder? Do you scoff at my thirst for and enjoyment of something greater than you and I? May I have my world and have love too? May I go to the event, and stay out all night long? May I sing a song with all my being about a love story from another lifetime? May I be excused from the order of things for a longer period time than you think realistic? May I play? May I be happy to be alive simply because I am alive? May I be proud of who I am just because I am? May I be at peace with myself without needing an external accomplishment? Am I less wise because I don’t know the name of the theory, the doctor, the book? Do I have to wither and die and be made the loser in your story in order to come alive in mine? Are your thoughts menacing things like “Ha! We will see if you actually..” “Ha! What do you know about…” “Ha! I have.. and you just have..” “Ha! You think you’re a .. but you are..” “Ha! I am.. but you are..” “Ha! Ha! Ha!” Because sometimes mine are. Are you bold enough to bring these to the light? Because I am. I am ready and en route. Will you come? Do you want to be lifted into the sky with me? Because I want you to come. But I am going–I am going and I am going.


I allow the perceptions of others to be the world they live in, and I stay in my own. I eject myself from the need to defend, prove or steer another. I steer myself; I lay my anchor down deep. I am unmoved; I am slipping into the horizon line.


You call it pulling away; I call it saving my life. When I return I’ll be washed anew. When I slip into the sheets beside you at 3am I’ll be a petal you can rely on. Let me go be a storm sometimes. Let me save my life.


The Day of Venus (VI)

Today and right now I feel like sharing stories surrounding religion and spirit in my life. I remember being in elementary school in the 2nd grade, where most of my classmates were Mormon, and a boy in our class started from one end of the lunch line to the other as he individually asked “Are you Mormon?” and if the person said “Yes” he said “You’re going to heaven”. I had no idea what it meant to be “Mormon”, but I assumed in that Elmer’s-glue-n’-glitter of a moment in my life, it was something I was since most people seemed to be it, and they also seemed so proud to be whatever that was, so, surely, I must be that too. There was commotion in a few parts of the line where, from what I could tell the answer was confusion or a “no” (basically not a “yes”), which caused that person to be severely, and loudly scapegoated. In a state of embarrassment to be in the spotlight amongst my peers, when the boy was directly in front of me, his question repeated for the delivery of my Tamagotchi-testimonial, absolutely strawberry-pink in the face I blurted, “what does it mean?” and was then given the same treatment as the rest of the other-than-no’s.

(These are tamagouchi’s–everyone cool had one. I found mine on the playground and said FINDERS KEEPERS which is something I did a lot and got into trouble for sometimes)

In kindergarten I was in a Catholic school, where we wore uniforms everyday and I dug my nose in the back of the classroom and apparently talked my little ass off, according to the reports my mom kept. Now that I think about it, nothing stands out in my mind about going to school there the way other schools stood out (I went to like 5 schools between the ages of 4-7 because of moving so much). I went to a pre-K on the Big Island the year before that, which I learned later was a Waldorf school. We learned to sew little blankets, had meals together on a long wooden table with fresh and tall flowers in the center, and we each said something thankful before eating. We played in gigantic trees whose branches swang low and long. There was a garden outside where we each had our own section, and I remember once experiencing a slight hypnotization gazing into the face of a sunflower as big as my head. Anyway, there is one thing that I vividly remember about being at the Catholic School, and that is a nap time where Jesus did not leave a goodie bag in my cubby for me because I chose to not sleep during nap time.

My mother taught me of the direct link between my heart and God through a few lessons blazoned in my mind. I remember her telling me about a voice inside of me that speaks, showing me to notice when something feels wrong or “off”. “The more you listen, the more she speaks; The less you listen, the quieter she gets–but she is always there for you, and always knows“, a subtle instilling of the inner awareness of an Inner Guide, God, of Consciousness. A web of ways to communicate were given directly and indirectly–to put my palms and fingertips together and pray, speak sweetly to leaves, appreciate the tastes of foods as I ate them.

I always wanted to be invited to church by Rhea and her family. Between the ages of around 8-10 we were neighbors, and we met because one day Rhea just starting darting rocks at me from her porch, so I started throwing them back until she was the one who got into trouble about it. Instant besties. Anyway, we would load into her mom’s lifted truck that had a/c and smelled like cherry jolly ranchers, and all the way to Hope Chapel we sang devotion songs, her mom’s gold Hawaiian bracelets glinting and tinking in the morning sunlight. Lyrics were displayed on the overhead screen, people were on stage in front of us crying and singing their hearts out–and I sang until I cried too, and it just felt good, and they usually got me a happy meal on the way home.

The Lotus Sutra has a character resembling a heart in the center of the scroll–a place I was told to rest my gaze as we chanted Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo. When I was around 5 my mother started chanting, and it may have even been before then–I’ll need to ask and research. When we were still in Dallas (I was born in Grand Prairie, Texas) she had been chanting before moving to Hawai’i, so may have received her Gohonzon there. A Gohonzon is where the Lotus Sutra is kept–a cabinet that opens to display the Lotus Sutra. There are 2 smaller drawers beneath that, which nestle prayer beads, the tiny sutra recitation books, incense, and then a few other folded pages my mom had in there. It is a flock of birds gliding across my mind to simply remember the red-toned gohonzon we had for years and years. Anyway, I don’t know if the Lotus Sutra Scroll is given at the same time as the Gohonzon, or if she had it before. When I take a deep breath in, and let the words follow the pace of my exhale, the vibration of Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo inside of my body is like giving my arteries, nerves and mind a spa treatment. Before I left Hawai’i in 2017 she gave me beads, a book and a gong bowl, without me asking and without having ever mentioned anything about chanting for a long time since then. It has become a tool I keep close to my side, and I continue to learn.

(The Lotus Sutra–see the heart in the center?)

My mother had two books laying around the house that greatly influenced the way I thought of the bible–The Red Tent by Anita Diamant, and The Women of the Bible by M.L. del Mastro. She did send me to vacation bible school for two summers, so basically I was taught the basics, but “basic” certainly ends there. I was also taught that Jesus’ life was partly spent amongst monks and holy priests of many places in the world–studying, learning, but most of all enjoying life. When missionaries came over, most times my mom would invite them in, bring food out or make them plates, and I’ve often heard her start discussing his life with them, them being left with questions of their own. I would actually do anything to be able to go back and listen with the mind I have now. She had a painting of Jesus next to our Gohonzon, completely throwing them for a loop, but also intriguing anyone who noticed and asked. At Christmas time there our tree would be, right next to the Gohonzon, and there my friends would be asking, “Wait, so do you believe in Jesus, or do you believe in Buddha?” I’ll never forget in college when taking a “World Religions” class, learning that the passages that were in place during the time of his life would have made it highly likely Jesus journeyed with traveling Holy men far and wide, learning techniques, meditations, all forms of prayer–not to mention then being exposed to many herbs, medicines, songs, dances, cures, expressions of love and compassion. Time spans of his life left out of biblical texts, compared to texts written during those same times suggest the high probability he was in India learning from Brahmin priests, and then spent time in Tibetan Buddhist Monasteries. I remember studying this with my peers, feeling a deep respect and pride for what I was once slightly embarrassed by when it comes to knowledge of Jesus and the interconnection of faiths.

I started reading The Autobiography of Malcom X when I was en route to Texas to be near my sister and nephew as he was being brought into the world. It was one I had been carrying in my to-read box for a long time, and I had time to kill. I remember telling people “It has been so long since I obsess-flipped through a book that fast!” Not only did my mind expand in learning about history, I became captivated by The Quran and learning about Islam. At that point in time I was doing research on schools to teach at abroad for the following year, either in Thailand or Japan, but the agency I was working through sent me an email asking if I’d like to teach in Abu Dhabi.

(to be continued..and probably further edited)

The Science Behind Tarot

The Tarot of The Old Path Deck, by Sylvia Gainsford,
a member of The Fellowship of Isis, with the assistance of a coven of 8 witches
[Image Description: The Sun card from The Tarot of The Old Path deck laid face-up on the grass next to a citrine crystal]

All things occult are trending, and tarot has continuously been taking flight, with fresh gusts of wind propelling its utilization from all corners of the earth. Regardless of one’s religion, spiritual practices, or cultural background, tarot is a psychical tool gaining more and more utilization with every passing year. Industry trends in the US report an annual increase of 2.6% growth in the year 2021 alone, with no signs of slowing down any time soon.

Tarot is used for guidance, like an extra set of eyes giving insight into a situation, connection, conflict, exchange, relationship–any and every setting in our inner and outer worlds can be reflected upon. Within a single deck there is the totality and complexity of the human experience, and our specific place in the cosmos. As more people are benefitting from and taking delight in the addition of tarot to their spiritual practices and routines, let us take a moment to peak into its emergence, and first, its birth.

The Scattered-Seedling Start of Tarot

Tarot has its origins in what we know as the standard sold-at-the-corner-store deck of 52 four-suited playing cards. With time it became a divination tool, much like the way figurines, birds, stones, words on pages, dreams and sounds have been used for prophetic insight and spiritual symbolism across cultures and religions throughout the span of human history. Card games evolved into fate and destiny games, similar to MASH, the who-will-you-marry game played at recess, (where you end up divorced with a Cadillac, a tree-house for shelter, and 23 children).

Despite it’s start as a playful pastime, tarot gradually became fused with more characters, ancient symbols, and religious ideograms specific to the time and place of each deck’s creation. Tarot took shape and was added to by way of whatever existing beliefs, materials and symbols were swimming in the air.

Multiple Independent Discovery is the phenomenon of multiple individuals on earth, completely independent of one another, discovering and/or inventing the same thing, at the same time. This concept is parallel to and much like the origins of tarot. Robert M. Place, in his book, The Tarot: History, Symbolism, and Divination, eloquently unravels the path of its genesis, and seamlessly reveals that its dawning is not from one particular time or place, but rather an entity in and of itself, being birthed in waves across continents.

Wealthy noblemen, and high members of societies across Italy and France, commissioned artists to create elaborate decks made just for them, based on specific roles and people they live under, amongst, and above. All classes in society used 52 cards of 4 suits and a 5th suit created by their own means, or created for them, but in decades to follow the Renaissance there were tides of lent and periods of scrutiny by the ruling class where many decks were destroyed. The particular deck that was produced and dispersed the most was the Tarot of Marseilles, by French manufacturer Grimaud, which is still the number one, as well as original producer of this deck today.

Today there is an endless array of choice and preference available for us, catering to our precise interests, aesthetic likings, beliefs and cultures. From Gummy Bear Tarot, to Cat Tarot, then all the way to Neoconservative Tarot, really nobody is being left out of the practice of tarot.

Tarot as Therapy–Why It Works

As human beings we have been applying meaning to the world around us, creating stories and symbols to make sense of and connect ourselves to existence, for a very long time. Navigating matters of the heart and spirit–what is right, what is harmful, whether to stay, go, say yes, sit still–has always been on the human experience agenda, and there are endless schools of thought to help steer us into places of emotional, mental and spiritual fulfillment. Tarot is just one of an infinite amount of instruments we have at our fingertips.

Sharing and listening to stories is the way we create meaning in the world, and differentiate between what feels right, and what we are doubtful of. Stories in the world tell us about ourselves, mirroring to us what we are more of, and showing us where we possess all that what we think we do not. Every character we have ever read or heard of, whether fiction or non-fiction, comes with clues as to who we are. In this way, the archetypes and images reflected back to us in tarot reveal where that particular energy lies in ourselves, allowing us to participate, or step away from that force. The same way our favorite childhood stories tell of heroes, and racing rabbits, and generous fairies–all in the name of planting morals in our hearts, oftentimes tarot calls us to rise to our truths, and step up in ways we have been downplaying our abilities. Then other times we draw cards telling us to be humble, to remember a higher purpose, to call upon help.

Then there is the mystical aspect, the mysteriousness of why it is, that in the entire deck of 78 cards, we draw the same 1-3 cards in rotation, sometimes those particular cards even falling out into your lap face-up. While many are understandable skeptical of the validity of tarot, we can liken its positive effects to many researched-based theories. Psychoanalyst Carl Jung explains that archetypes that come up in our dreams and waking world as a collective, circulate and pop up in our culture, from art to politics to world-wide movements, likes and dislikes. Projective tests, used in both the clinical and forensic world today, use images to bring out the unconscious emotions, desires and fears of individuals. Since they are not able to spend time thinking of what to say with their conscious mind, this is the most effective way for the assessor to extract truth from the querent. In this way, tarot reveals to us that which is hard to look at, often times opening the floor for us to confront that which we bury.

I believe that whether we have a tarot deck, a book of poems we received as a gift in the 8th grade, a collection of rocks, a playlist on shuffle, or we get out in a canoe and paddle into the horizon every morning, the world is teeming with tools available for us to listen to, observe and connect to our inner worlds. We are able to navigate by way of spirit, or you can call it intuition, or your inner compass, or whatever you want really, because no matter what the tool, language, activity, the truths that sweep over our lives will continuously reveal themselves to us, no matter how hard we try to shove them into a corner. That being said, as the truth-seekers we are, we might as well enjoy ourselves as we bloom and unfurl from these shadows! I recently received my first deck, as shown above, from my sister and have been using it for 2 months as means of reflection and guidance, and it has been extremely enriching as I embark on new ventures of every kind imaginable. I cannot think of a better time than now for me to have received one of the most delightful tools to draw inspiration and insight from, and I hope you enjoyed reading about some of the wonder I am diving into!

Thank you for reading if you made it this far, and remember to subscribe if you feel it!