IV OF SWORDS
It is only when we focus that we see the boundaries of our consciousness are not just safe-holds but also ruptures. Collateral crevices. Cracks in the cement that block us from true freedom.
X OF SWORDS
There is a fine line between genius and madness. A narrow gap between not enough and too much. A thin veil between desperation and divinity.
DAUGHTER OF SWORDS
Miracles present themselves to those whose minds are best prepared to experience them.
VII OF SWORDS
The Seven of Swords speaks to self-deception. Judgement and criticism masked over faces too fearful to show their truth, even to a mirror.
IX OF SWORDS
Why do we so often rush to run away from anything ugly?
V OF SWORDS
Virgo season promotes the practicality of pruning. Stimulates the strategy to simplify. Makes us minimize.
SON OF SWORDS
The Son of Swords is quite the camper. Quick to find the trail and just as happy to lose it.
DAUGHTER OF SWORDS + XVIII THE MOON
The Daughter of Swords offers an ability to hear with heart and soul. She pours the simplest syrup into her divination, attaching no meaning to her visions because there’s so much to see when she’s not meddling with her mind.
FOUR OF SWORDS
The Four of Swords represents the structure we need to hold our minds accountable to the mess it might make.
SON OF SWORDS
Your heart is a muscle that is dying to live. Muscles require work.
SON OF SWORDS + SIX OF CUPS
We all have a responsibility to our healing. To sharpen our knives so we can slice open our fears and get clear with our keepsakes. We hold tight to wounds, wearing them around necks like warning whistles. Sometimes, that state of emergency no longer suits our style...
SEVEN OF SWORDS + 0 THE FOOL + ACE OF PENTACLES
Recent circumstances have left a sense of stalemate. Of almost, but not quite. Of getting everywhere but going nowhere. Of doing and understanding but not embodying. A stalemate always incites me to get out the big guns and start a search party for something better...
SEVEN OF SWORDS & FATHER OF WANDS
Yesterday Mars entered Cancer, its least favorite sign. Mars thrives on fighting, on stirring up, sticking out, burning bridges and causing commotions. More than war, Mars simply wants action. But Cancer will cut and run at any sign of conflict...
SON OF SWORDS
This week is full of snark, sass, and sword savvy Mars getting a lot of action in many places at once. Mars is in Gemini, the sign of the twins. Think sibling rivalry. Think lots of questions and half answers. Think information inhalation that needs way more time to...
SIX OF SWORDS
We were fighting again. It felt like nothing compared to the tiny orchestra in my mind. Thousands of miniature violins hosting a renaissance fair of hysterical historical arguments and pity parties. The howl of a bull frog through the window snapped me out of it. Calmly now. “I need some space,” I said...
FOUR OF SWORDS & THREE OF PENTACLES
All my life I wanted to fit in. I wanted a bff, a bf, then a gf, and a crowd of pals. I wanted you to like me and I thought I had to be like you. I became a master manipulator and sometimes I did fit in – miserably. There is a difference between fitting in and belonging...
TEN OF SWORDS
We sat close, sinking into your mattress, pouring over the spread. Plants and frames adorned your wall around a large circular mirror. If I glanced up I could see see us in the dimming light of a summer sunset soaring through your window. It was the first reading you ever gave me...
THREE OF SWORDS
I lay like a five pointed star on the black hardwood floor, trying to think myself out of feeling or into crying. I was dying for catharsis and considering how much I wanted to die. It is terrifying to be an intelligent person and feel as if your mind has been robbed from you...
FOUR OF SWORDS
In moments of upheaval and confusion, shock and fury, it is natural to want to react. To do something. To fight and to fix. To cause a ruckus and a storm. To enlist in war when deep in our guts, we hunger for peace...
FIVE OF SWORDS
I sat on my heels, knees spread, shoving slate grey socks into a crevice in my overpacked bag. You were gabbing away, Indian-style legs sinking deep into my mattress, words lost in the stream of sage smoke floating above...