june 2025: six of pentacles // companion plantings

hello, friends. before we dive into this month's essay, a little gift: i'm running a special one-week flash sale on new annual gold subscriptions!

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ICYMI:
🎧 CALL YOUR COVEN june forecast (which is very relevant to today's essay)
😈 the rebis devil issue (which i guest edited!) contributor list
💦 tarot & tropes! check out my new, totally free trope-themed tarot spread series on instagram and tumblr june 1st-12th
🚥 i made you an old school style crossroads quiz for finding your best tarot resource — grab a pen and paper and dive in!

i am busy these days, so thank you for being patient with all of these announcements! now, let's spend some time with our card for this month: the six of pentacles.

back in 2014, the first year i lived in new york city, i ran into moving traffic on 11th avenue to save a runaway puppy.

a terribly reckless thing to do, if i'm being honest. i was walking home from chelsea market, a cursed, tourist-filled place that also happened to have a fantastic butcher shop. the playlist blasting through my headphones was in the brief gap between songs, which is the only reason i heard the man across the avenue cry out in alarm as his tiny puppy tugged the leash out of his hands and leapt out into multiple lanes of traffic, running straight toward me.

i didn't think, which was my first mistake. i just dropped my bag of meat and shot towards the little dog, throwing up my arms to signal that the cars should all stop. and bless nyc drivers, because they did — at least six cars slammed their breaks, allowing me to scoop up the puppy and keep running across the street to the man, who looked absolutely horrified. he apologized and thanked me, the dog licked my face, and without another word i turned right back around to recover my abandoned shopping bag.

barely aware of my actions as i scooped up my silly package of meat, i heard someone say "oh my god, that girl just saved that dog" and i realized they were talking about me. me, the only person who instinctively decided that the puppy was worthy of rescue. even the dog's owner hadn't chased her into traffic — just me.

it took a block or two of walking before my body started shaking, as the adrenaline raced through my veins and i realized what a truly dangerous thing i had just done and how badly injured i could've gotten. but knowing that the dog was okay, and that it was because of me, meant that i didn't really regret my actions. the puppy was okay, and so was i.

and hopefully that guy keeps a tighter hold on the leash these days.

i tell this story not because i think this was a smart thing to do, but because it reveals a lot about what i value. i'm generally an empathetic person anyway, but animals in particular are a deeply tender thing for me, in a way i can hardly articulate. even the idea of animals in pain absolutely guts me. i can't listen to hozier's abstract (psychopomp) without crying — can't even read the lyrics without getting emotional. i can't go into animal shelters without getting wrecked, can't make it through videos of wildlife fleeing from fires without sobbing. (just writing this paragraph literally got me going. i wish i was kidding.) animals are one of my softest, most vulnerable spots, and probably always will be.

we all have tender bits like this, people and creatures and places and events that activate our desire to do something, even if that something isn't the safest or most sensible choice. if you also cry at animals in pain, or starving children in gaza, or the absolute nightmare of adriana smith, then you know what i'm talking about. our compassion has instincts, which can be revealing in many ways. and when we think about what we're willing to show up for, to take risks for, to put our health and safety and resources on the line for, it can indicate a lot about what we truly value.

last month i wrote about the five of pentacles and the necessity of making change where we can, to impact the future in the way we want. this kind of long-term physical change can be uncomfortable, requires courage and stamina, may even push us to our limits. but the next part of the pentacles story assures us that we can do what must be done — especially when we feel deeply connected to the work, to the effort, to the ideals, and especially if we're willing to stay in the risk and see what happens.

this is the work of the six of pentacles: acts of service, caring for the vulnerable, and showing the fuck up.

sixes in the tarot always point us back to the lovers, an archetype of choice and constancy, of community and relationship, of attention and devotion. and pentacles, as we've been discussing all year long, is about the daily, physical lives we live: the tangible, the resources, the experiences. this is a slow, purposeful journey through the cycle of earth. and in the process of planting and trusting, rooting and organizing, we also learn what we are devoted to.

with the six of pentacles, we are finding a rhythm of appreciation, creating an ecosystem of care and compassion. we bring others into this work, allow them to not only give and receive but to be involved in the daily efforts, the thoughtful choices, the longer-term dreaming and dedication required to bring something fully to fruition.

i often talk about this card in terms of reciprocity, especially since it's so commonly thought of as a mutual aid card. there's something to the exchanging of resources, the giving back to those in need, that can be really nourishing. and it's a powerful thing, to be able to help someone who once helped you, or to have something extra to offer those who could really use support.

but it's also a timely, necessary reminder that no matter what you care about, no matter what you're invested in, no matter what you value, you are not actually alone. there are others out there who care just as deeply as you do. and when you take the time to find those people, to share the burdens and the joys, it makes everything just a little bit easier.

some plants are besties. they grow better together, their roots tangling up underground, their leaves mingling and supporting each other above the soil. if one plant is particularly susceptible to pests, a good plant pal can help drive those insects away. if one plant needs a lot of a specific nutrient, the right friend can help supply it naturally. some plants even famously grow best when they're growing together, like the three sisters of corn, beans, and squash.

companion planting is good for the whole garden.

it's also a very loud metaphor: we each bear different kinds of flowers and fruit, each blossom at different speeds and in different ways, each maintain our own cycles of growth and rest. we each need our own sets of resources to thrive, and we each need unique kinds of support in challenging times. (this metaphor was literally the inspiration behind our naming and design of the grove!)

your companion plants, or your personal support systems, might be people who can point out when you're making a really courageous choice. they might be folks who remind you to rest or play or drink water, who encourage you to leave the house every once in awhile. they might be peers who co-work with you, who inspire you to do check-ins on your personal goals. they might be comrades who meet up with you for protests or phone-banking or other kinds of direct action.

they might also be the friends who insist on bringing you a meal when you're sick, or who watch your kids so that you can have a night to yourself. they might be neighbors who shovel the snow off your stoop without even asking if you need them to. they might be chosen family who gently but firmly point out when you're making a mistake, causing harm, or missing something important.

yes, perhaps you could grow just fine on your own. but humans are social creatures. and just like plants, we grow better, stronger, when we grow side-by-side.

when we share values and resources, when we carry the load of devotion and dedication together, it's not only easier to manage — it lets us celebrate the wins and navigate the losses together, lets us breathe into moments of sorrow and moments of joy together. it increases our resilience. and it helps us keep going, even when it feels like nothing is going right.

if you've been telling yourself lately that you just need to work a little harder, push a little further, make do with a little less, let this observation be a medicine and a reminder: you might just need a little more support.

we live in a time of loss and fear, a time when grief is a part of daily life. some are still choosing to keep their heads buried in the sand, refusing to look directly at the suffering that many others are trying to navigate. but others of us are determined to bear witness, to keep showing up, to grow and share our skills, to fight back in whatever ways we can.

and that means that beautiful things are also happening. new networks are being born, and existing networks are being fortified and strengthened. people are communicating their needs more clearly, and other people are stepping up to offer aid. groups are fighting back, raising their voices, demanding to be heard. neighbors and friends are reimagining home and community and co-living, challenging the status quo, developing systems that aren't dependent on government and politicians.

and folks are also celebrating together, grieving together, protecting each other. we need all of it: every bit of joy and sorrow and care. and we all need it: people who have our backs, who show up and show out, who give and receive in equal measure.

that's not to say that any of this is easy. sometimes, someone may ask for something and in spite of your desire to help, you absolutely cannot say yes. sometimes, you may ask for help and realize there's no one available to support you. sometimes, you may find yourself grieving that you don't have more people that you can rely on. sometimes, you might feel like there are too many people in your world, and crave some solitude or privacy for your own ideas.

there is vulnerability in asking for help, and in extending it.

balancing the ways we give and the ways we receive, our own needs and the needs of others, is a constant negotiation — and is a very personal one. but the six of pentacles reminds us that we always have the choice to extend a hand, or to accept one that is being offered to us. that networks of care are built slowly, not overnight. and that every time we invest in our community, we create opportunities for our communities to also invest in us.

as we move into the month of june, and approach the midway point of 2025 (!), i want you to gently consider: who are you blooming with? who is supporting your roots, protecting you from pests, pushing you towards the sunlight, strengthening your soil? who is a resource for you, and how do you show your appreciation for that resourcing? who can you really rely on, and what does that look like?

and conversely, who are you extending care to? who are you always willing to show up for, even if it costs you something or requires a risk? who are you a resource for, and what does that mean to you? who are you looking out for, checking in on, shielding and cheerleading in equal measure? who is relying on you? and what kinds of appreciation feel good for you to receive when you show up for others?

what or who would you run into traffic for? what are the systems of care that you are building, relying on, investing in, and reinforcing? what are you fighting to protect? what, or who, activates your courage, your willingness to engage, your capacity for sacrifice? and as you look to the future, how do you want to continue showing up, to continue shaping the kind of world you want to live in someday?

wishing you a celebratory, reciprocal, well-supported june, friends.

if you loved this piece, share it with a friend or on social media! and if you're in a position to financially support my ongoing work, remember that annual gold subscriptions to this very newsletter are on sale for the next week.

thank you for reading, and i'm sending you so much love, safety, and care.