october 2024: where there's smoke

hello, friends. before we dive in, i want to highlight a few aid organizations that are doing incredible, immediate work to support those impacted by the devastating storms and flooding in florida, appalachia, and many southeastern towns in the united states. if you have funds to spare, or are looking for places to volunteer, check out operation airdrop, mountain projects, and this hurricane relief doc with compiled resources. and of course, our country continues to give away truly obscene amounts of money to fund genocides, so if you're donating, please also consider the lebanese food bank, operation olive branch, focus congo, sudanese american physician's association, and doctors without borders.

i know that the weight of suffering and grief and rage right now is almost unbearable. i urge you to take action where you can, rest when you can, and do what you can. i'm sending you love, lighting candles, and grieving alongside you. and if you'd like to hear my voice talking about tarot and hope, i recorded an impromptu episode of CARD TALK today that you can listen to here.

today we tackle the final card in the story of fire: the ten of wands. classic interpretations of burnout notwithstanding, i want to offer some alternate perspectives on this card, some ways to work with it beyond the norm, and some insights that might shift the way you view the ten of wands in the future.

standardized meanings are wonderfully helpful, and give us a shared language for talking about tarot. but i'm a big proponent of developing personal meanings too: of weaving our own stories into the cards; of allowing the tarot to help us see parts of ourselves and our living, breathing histories within these stagnant images. through journaling, through essays, through experiential and sensory activities, we can deeply connect to every card in the deck, building relationships with these ideas beyond keywords or generic definitions.

whether working with the star, the magician, the court cards, or one of the pips, i encourage you to consider how aspects of every card in the deck live within you. and as you read today's essay, ask yourself: what does the ten of wands mean to you, for you, from you? what might this card help you recognize about yourself? let's find out together.

smoke doesn't exist on its own.

it's always a clue, a sign, a beckoning to look further. a hidden burning, or something recently extinguished. you don't have smoke without also finding flame, or ashes, as its origin.

smoke, like water, can be meditative to watch. gentle, flowing movements, curling edges and expansions, dissipations and absorptions. fire finds its form in the air, water laps in gentle waves and sinks into the earth, elements fading into one another in a way that is both deeply mundane and consistently unique.

where fire is rapid, crackling, endlessly moving, the kinds of smoke i most often engage with are slower: a concentrated burst from an extinguished candle, the reedy columns from burning incense, a subtle smolder from the end of a cigarette. one of my favorite morning rituals is lighting incense and watching the smoke tentatively explore the room, slipping in and out of soft beams of sunlight while i sip my coffee and enjoy the quiet.

but not all smoke is so soothing. the kind of cooking error that sets off fussy home alarms, heartbreaking house fires that displace and consume, wildfires and destructive weapons that devastate entire communities and ecosystems — this is the kind of smoke that brings dread, terror, deep and wretched uncertainty. the kind of smoke that hangs in the air, tinting the sky, choking out the light.

the duality of smoke and of fire, the many ways this pairing can show up in our world, is deeply relevant for our card today: the ten of wands. this card also lingers and twists, holding secrets in its depths.

standardized meanings of the ten of wands usually point to one particular energy: burnout. no sparks left, no flame in sight, nothing but ashes slipping through our fingers. we have been consumed by our own flame, have gotten lost in our own ambition and passion, have surrendered fully to ambition. even if we reached our goals, there's a very "but at what cost?" vibe to this interpretation.

the other common reading of this card is recovery: the work is over, and now we stand gazing at the smoke and ashes of our long-burning fire, honoring what we have accomplished and allowing ourselves to rest in the aftermath. maybe the embers are still slowly cooling, or maybe all is dark — but the only thing left to do is rest.

standardized meanings like this are valuable, but i've also been thinking and writing about personal meanings for cards even more than usual lately; the ways that we find ourselves in the tarot, the glimpses of self that we learn to see within each of the cards. through experience and investigation, we find new layers, explore new depths, discover new connections. and as our relationship with the tarot grows, it can feel like smoke is clearing, like there's more to uncover — especially with cards like this, where the meanings are so often overly simplified or flattened.

to be clear, there's nothing wrong with reading the ten of wands as a card of burnout, or as a cry for rest — these meanings often deeply resonate, and simple keywords can get right to the heart of the message without a lot of fuss. but in my personal relationship with the tarot, the ten of wands sometimes means something else: the flames that we can't yet see, the magic buried within the ashes. the phoenix, quietly preparing to rise again.

the nine of wands might technically serve as the final card in the numerological story. but for me the ten of wands is the liminal space, the threshold, the connection point that completes the tarot's cycle. those in-between moments before the next spark reveals itself. smoke hovering in stagnant air, curling quietly, slowly fading into invisibility.

there's magic in this reading: a bittersweet satisfaction, an uncertain anticipation. the knowledge that there's nothing more to do in this journey, paired with the simultaneous awareness that something new is already preparing to reveal itself, even if we don't yet know what shape it may take. a necessary hovering between worlds, a psychopomp's slow journey through the planes, an unlocking of a new door with no light to see by (yet).

remember that fire transforms. from first spark to final gasp, fire itself consumes and refines, a planned metamorphosis. fire cannot burn without a cost of some kind, whether intentional or accidental. it's why fire as an element is considered so dangerous: in the wrong hands, it will consume something too precious too lose. but with skill and deftness, fire's transformative properties can make and remake new, beautiful things.

the question from the nine of wands is a simple one: is the flush of victory worth the price we'll have to pay? with the ten of wands, we have our answer. we stand on the other side of the ending, looking backwards and forwards simultaneously. we celebrate and contemplate, relax and contract.

this doesn't have always be a story of loss and grief, though it can be. if we allow the wrong things to be recklessly consumed, if we sacrifice something we weren't actually willing to lose, the ten of wands can serve as a time of quiet mourning or a harsh lesson learned. and grief is worth respecting, worth holding space for. grief reminds us of our humanity, reveals what matters to us.

but what if we heeded the wisdom of the nine of wands and slowed down, let others support us, honored our limits? what if the story of fire and wands is one of learning when to let our passions burn wildly, and when to practice restraint? then the ten of wands is simply satisfaction. a job well done, a hunger fully sated, a victory truly earned. an early morning observation of gently spiraling smoke, simply curious for what the next day will hold. this card may serve as the true end of the story — but it's also a portal to the next one. it's the final moments and a twinkle in the eye, the transitional space between a conclusion and an initiation.

what magic might you find, if you were willing to sit in that stillness, that strangeness? what spark might you discover by slowly sifting through the ashes, by patiently waiting for the smoke to clear, by opening that dark door and waiting for your eyes to eventually adjust? what power and strength is there in allowing a moment to be liminal, rather than forcing it to be an ending?

as we move into october, remember the lessons that come from endings and beginnings and every moment in-between. remember the wisdom that comes from completing something, the satisfaction and grief that live in the transient spaces. and remember the possibilities that become real when we are willing to look into smoke and shadow, to see all that is preparing to emerge, to let things slowly find their shape on their own time.

what is your story of fire? what have you completed, and what did it cost you? who are you now, on the other side of this ending? what are you glimpsing through the smoke ahead: starlight, flames, or something else entirely?

and as you stand between one journey and the next, what threshold are you preparing to cross?

wishing you a restorative, inspiring, anticipatory october, friends. if you love this liminal energy, if you'd like to transform the way that you view the world and the possibilities that you're able to see, if you'd like to reconnect with your sense of hope and potential, remember that i'm running a live round of magician's lens starting later this month! we begin on october 26th, and you can join us by clicking right here:

and if you're eager to build your own meanings for all 78 cards in the deck through journaling, correspondences, spreads, and more, check out the expansive, rich resources available in the 3am.tarot conservatory. get immediate access to over $1500 in original tarot resources, all to explore at your own pace: