february 2025: two of pentacles // trusting the growth

hello, friends. last month was both a thousand years long and went by in an instant, and this month promises new challenges as well as needed pleasures.

a quick note that CARD TALK is finally back! after an unintentional but necessary hiatus, i'm shifting to an every-other-week schedule moving forward. i have a lot of great episodes coming up, so give the latest a listen and send your favorite to a friend! you can also listen to (or watch!) our latest CALL YOUR COVEN forecast for this month on your favorite platform.

now, let's get into our card of the month: the two of pentacles.

my wife (will that expression ever get old?) and i got married last month, a quiet but beautiful affair that was only possible because of our community ties and incredible chosen family and the generosity of neighbors.

the plan, quickly assembled post-election in about 24 hours, held true: we got married in our favorite neighborhood bookshop, surrounded by people who love us. afterwards, several dozen well-dressed queers with rainbow bubbles headed to our apartment for a casual, self-hosted reception. i had prepared a variety of appetizers, we had purchased fancy boxes of wine and a truly obscene amount of seltzer, and jeanna had curated a perfect playlist. we had an altar for people to leave blessings, a guestbook for folks to sign, air purifiers and nasal antiseptic galore. we were ready.

because we were hosting ourselves, the first few moments of the reception required some assembly: pulling food out of the fridge, organizing it onto our biggest table, getting wine into a central location, all while helping guests put away their coats and shoes and bags. it was loud and hectic, but the food was my job, and i wanted to get the appetizers squared away as quickly and efficiently as possible.

i'd already spent the afternoon cutting each type of cheese into a distinctive shape so that it would be easy to identify on the board; writing paper signs for the table so that everyone would know what they were eating; putting all the extra bits into labeled containers so that we could easily replenish, and so much more. i had a vision, which meant that as a dozen friends immediately asked how they could help, i turned them all down.

this is, unfortunately, a consistent pattern for me. raised as an eldest daughter, heaped with responsibility from a very early age, expected to serve as a confident leader in some contexts and a humble, submissive follower in most others, as an adult i am independent to a fault. i know how i want things to look and feel (5H venus in libra), and i know that i prefer for others to relax and be served (6H sun/saturn in scorpio). hosting and entertaining, keeping people fed and happy, handling everything by myself even when there are skilled and generous helpers available, is a habit i've cultivated my whole life.

but to my chagrin, friends just started helping anyway — asking what they could fetch from the kitchen, grabbing containers and dumping things out on the board, serving as hosts for those who hadn't been to our home before. i was initially horrified that our guests were working, that i couldn't do everything instantly by myself and let everyone else relax.

but i quickly realized that having help wasn't terrible, that it was in fact gorgeous: a messy, love-filled, chaotic tangle of eager voices and willing hands and patient laughter. the people who know and love me, who understand how instinctively dismissive of help i can be, insisted on doing things in spite of my protests — and the work went faster, and i was able to get myself a glass of wine, and we had a delightful reception packed with some of our favorite people who all had every single thing they needed.

sure, i'd done a lot of planning and preparation — but in the end, i didn't need to do it all by myself. it made more sense to trust that others could do things well, to surrender control and accept the help in order to ensure that we actually reached our goal: a kickass party.

and a kickass party was had. the reception was disorderly, and also perfectly organized. people were everywhere, yet quiet pockets were found for a precocious child and her tarot cards, for a wonderful teenager and her craving for calm, for me and the other introverts who would find empty corners and just breathe as needed. my not-from-here bestie took it upon herself to solicit local pizza recommendations and order half a dozen pies, my brother-in-law made an unprompted run for beer and extra drinks, a dear friend's husband insisted on doing dishes and oiling my beloved wooden cutting boards. our d&d group even made sure they were the last to leave so that they could help with the final cleanup, which was almost unnecessary (but deeply appreciated) since everyone had been so conscientious.

the reception wasn't just about me and jeanna putting together a perfectly curated event. it was about all of the hands that made it possible, about the chosen family stepping in without being asked, about the ways that we all choose to serve and show up for each other on a consistent basis.

it was about people taking COVID tests beforehand, wearing face masks at the ceremony, helping set up and put away folding chairs, buying books to support a local queer-owned business, picking up garbage as they saw it, putting away their dishes, checking in with each other, building connections for future gatherings, sharing rides home, and so much more. it was about care, and respect, and devotion. it was about love.

and maybe this scenario isn't what you think about when the two of pentacles comes to mind — but for me, it feels just about perfect.

the two of pentacles so often gets described as a card of juggling resources and responsibilities, of balancing what we want to do with what needs to be done. after the big dreaming and grounded imagination of the ace of pentacles, the two can resemble the choosing of the path: integrating new tasks into old routines, working to keep our head above water, figuring out what to do and what to discard. there can be a real pride and power in this early part of the journey, in managing to keep all of those balls in the air at the same time— yet this is rarely a sustainable energy for the long-term, and often calls us to let something go so that we can focus on what we want to grow.

there's pleasure in this process, satisfaction in carving out space in our life and routine for a new project. and because of that pleasure, i don't typically describe two as a number of conflict or challenge. but making a decision to prioritize one thing over another can be difficult, frustrating, even painful. it can stir up regret for the road not taken, the desire left unexplored.

what grief comes from recognizing our own limits? how does choice sometimes feel like the closing of a door, the firm but quiet "no," a decision that might feel like a little death? there can be pain or sorrow in saying "not yet" or "not right now," in choosing a path forward at the expense of others, at identifying where we want to spend our energy.

and also: what love lives in our daily acts of building, tending, nourishing? how do we offer our present and future selves grace and devotion when we show up consistently, when we commit ourselves fully to the good work that we are doing? how does love live in the things we delegate or step back from, in the ways that we trust others to handle something for us or allow it to be something we might eventually return to?

this is the duality of the number two: the existence of opposites simultaneously, the knowledge that several things can be true and real at once. and with the two of pentacles, we hold the knowledge that we cannot do it all, and all of the grief and pain and frustration that goes with that awareness.

the ace of pentacles offers us glimpses of all that can be: what we might grow, what we might root into, what we might become. we hold a seed in our trembling, eager fingers, dreaming of how it might eventually blossom and fruit. but the two of pentacles that follows the ace begins that process of planting, and holds space for the discomfort of the labor, the necessity of patience, the knowledge of what we are neglecting.

gardening is not a quick satisfaction kind of hobby. it’s one of slow, steady effort, and also of faith: that the things that we’re doing will work, that the seed will sprout and take root, that the magic combination of ingredients plus that elusive quality of new life will all combine to make something new and beautiful.

remember that two is not a number of solitude or independence. two instead is deeply aware of the other, embraces relationship and connection and intimacy. and so the two of pentacles is partnership with the act of growth itself, with the ongoing process. this is partnership with the earth, trusting the land and the air and the water and the sunlight to sustain this seed, to transform it into something that may one day sustain us.

the two of pentacles is trusting that we are not the only hands working, or the only hands capable of working; that our efforts do not have to be the only ones that count or matter or contribute. this is the wrestling with self around what we can tend and nourish, and what we can trust someone else to care for with the same intentionality. this is choosing where to invest our long-term energy and resources, with the knowledge that others are doing the same — and that their choices may be different than ours.

this is a card of humility, and cooperation, and remembering that we are not alone.

my social media feeds right now are wild. some people are frantically demanding that we do more where our leaders are failing us, urging us to step up and make change, acting like people haven't been working and fighting for decades. but others are despondent in their insistence that nothing we do can possibly matter, that those in power will never listen, that it's too late for change. i see the phrase "it's over, we're cooked" about a hundred times a day, even as someone who follows a lot of leftists and long-time organizers.

and sure, if you think that you have to save the world by yourself in one week or less, if you think that democrats are still capable of serving as an opposition party, giving up might feel like your only option. if you believe that there isn't a single other person on earth who cares about the unites states' descent in fascism or the rapidly warming planet or compounding pandemics or ongoing genocides or billionaire oligarchies or literally any other catastrophe, then i get it. surrender might feel like the only option.

but the two of pentacles is a necessary medicine for that feeling that we must do it all ourselves — because no matter how intense things become, no matter how many catastrophes we endure, no matter how many losses we face, trying to put out every fire alone is more likely to burn us out than anything else. we have to rely on each other, and trust that others are also planting their seeds and investing in growth. there is always something we can do, something that we are uniquely equipped to do, something that is our responsibility to do.

none of us can tackle every single problem or task or effort alone — and what a relief that is, what a gift that is, to recognize that we don't have to.

we glorify independence in this country, celebrate the so-called "self-made man." yet there is something so holy, so deeply magical, in the willingness to allow others to show us love through acts of care (even if it's initially uncomfortable). there is something sacred and profound in the exchange of tangible service, in committing to our steady and important work, in joyfully receiving the blessings that others offer to us.

i may not go to church anymore, may have been too irreparably harmed by organized religion to ever find comfort in a large sanctuary again. yet i've made sanctuaries for myself, groves and conservatories, places of rest and connection and devotion. i've built communities in various ways, digitally and physically, locally and internationally, so that i can keep growing and serving and learning and unlearning. and i've also joined communities eagerly, taking a backseat when it comes to organization and leadership, letting myself be one of many instead of the one at the front.

independence can be helpful at times. but interdependence is a long-term strategy that benefits more than just one person.

our wedding, our reception, felt a little like what i've always thought church should be: spaces of deep care, of lovingly paying attention, of co-creating a safe and joyful place for all, of making sure everyone has what they need and long for, of trusting the hands who are doing other jobs. it was a much-needed taste of the life and world i am endlessly striving for: one filled with laughter and accountability, of care and intention, of magic and mess, of filling a beloved space with powerful, lasting joy.

tending the soil of our collective growth, knowing what our sacred tasks are: the two of pentacles is devotion and duality, a commitment to trust and compassion and showing up. an understanding that we all have our own work to do, and that this work will intersect and co-exist, and that this is a feature rather than a bug. a willingness to get our hands dirty, to be honest enough to grieve what we cannot do, and to be hopeful enough to celebrate what we can do.

so my question: what are you offering to the growth? what are you patiently cultivating? and what are you trusting others to do, with their own willing hands and open hearts?

as we move into this new month, consider which seeds you're choosing to plant, what they might require, and where you might need help nourishing them. how are you in relationship with this seed, and how will this impact the relationships you have with other projects and dreams and desires? who are you learning from, looking to, leaning on? how is this seed part of a larger ecosystem, contributing to a greater whole for you and for your communities?

and what will help you find joy in this process, even in the moments of mess or uncertainty? who do you trust to offer you their strength, their generous hands, so that you can keep going?

wishing you a devoted, joyful, patient and connected february, friends.

and remember that if you're eager to dive more deeply into your tarot studies and join a sweet, clever community of fellow seekers, the conservatory doors are always open.