june 2026: six of cups // raising our glasses

hello, friends. we've made it through the messy middle in the suit of cups and now, this month, we're going to spend some time with the six of cups. if you're new here, or your inbox is like mine and seems to be completely overflowing at all times these days, you can catch up on the whole cups series right here.

ICYMI: june CYC forecast | NYPL readings for queer magic night | morgan library readings for tarot exhibition | card clusters presentation for summer solstice summit | hermitage membership program | crossroads quiz

take a few deep breaths, and let them out slowly. grab some water, a snack, something cozy, and let your body relax. let's dig into the six of cups together.

CW: this essay includes discussions of wine and alcohol.

some of my fondest memories of being a teenager are of learning to drink and appreciate wine with my parents and their friends.

i didn't really party with friends in high school, at least not like the kids on euphoria or gossip girl do — the only alcohol i had until i went to college was literally given to me by adults in my life, who loved good wine and enjoyed teaching me about it. i would be given a small glass of whatever they were having, was encouraged to swirl and sniff and taste and experience, and loved the challenge of trying to describe what was in my glass. i even got to go to a few wine tasting parties with them, blind tastings where we would all get a glass of the same thing to drink and discuss. and while there were absolutely people at those events who could identify grapes and origins, who made intelligent and educated guesses about vintage and growing conditions, the fun part was in trying to identify tasting notes, trying to find the best words to capture what we experienced with each sip, and seeing who tasted the same things that we did.

wine (oenology if you're nasty) is one of those subjects that seems to have a lot of rules, a lot of snobbery, a lot of bars to clear, and a lot of elite bullshit. it's got a high barrier to entry, and is easy to dismiss as a rich people hobby or something that only folks with more money than sense can get into. and like tarot, it can feel like you have to do a lot of work up front just to even participate in the basics.

but one of my favorite realities is that different people experience wine differently, regardless of experience or education. it's part of the deal: not just the winemaking, that delicious combination of landscape and climate and tending and blending that makes up a wine's unique terroir — but also the ways that we each have a specific kind of palate, a particular way of tasting, an individual collection of sensations and memories and experiences that might be activated with certain flavors or textures.

what i smell is not exactly what you smell. what you taste is not exactly what i taste. this is not an accident: it's a truth, that also feels kind of like magic.

what drinks to me like a flat, heavily floral rose-scented perfume (i don't like gewürztraminer, sorry) might read as a complex and full-bodied blend of tropical fruits and aromatics to someone who is better equipped to appreciate it. and a wine that i experience as crisp, acidic, herbaceous, mineral-y, and absolutely fucking delicious (i will drink sancerre any day of the week) might feel overly bright, unnecessarily green, or even distractingly herbal to someone else.

there's no wrong way to taste something. the wine simply is, and it's up to us as individuals to decide if we want to drink it or not, if it suits us, if we like it. while for some people it's helpful to identify the vintage and the grape, the aging methods and the preferences of the winemaker and the material of the casks and all of the other complex components that went into the wine's creation, for most of us it's as simple as "ooh i love this" vs. "actually, could i try something else?"

when i'm out with friends, regardless of which group of friends it is, i am often called upon to choose a bottle for the table. this is in part because i literally have an MLA in gastronomy and a certification in wine studies, but it's also because i've learned how to talk about wine in a way that's not annoying or fussy. i've figured out ways to take suggestions from servers or sommeliers that keep my budget, preferences, and adventurous palate in mind. and i also know that my friends will be honest with me when i ask them if a particular bottle sounds good to them, that we've built trust around what we want to enjoy together.

perhaps you're wondering why the hell i'm talking about wine so much in an essay about tarot. the truth is, when i think about the six of cups and ideas of shared pleasure, emotional journeys, and collective experiences, food and drink are often some of the first things i think of. trust, care, adventure, expansion, and discovery are all things that come into play during the simple activity of enjoying a bottle of wine together.

and the reality is that a lot of wine philosophies are echoed in my tarot beliefs: that what you experience is just as important as what some educated elite might have to share with you about what they know. that your experience is just as important as theirs, full stop. that it's less about "being right" than it is about trusting what you feel. that a tasting note on a wine label or a keyword in a tarot guidebook is not more accurate than your own wisdom and intuition.

and i think that's beautiful.

we're now firmly in the back half of the story of water and cups. following the shifts and transitions and heartbreaks of the five, the six of cups is a moment of finding our emotional footing again, aligning with people who share our values, and learning to live our authenticity in deep, powerful, intuitively-charged ways.

in readings, the six of cups often reflects opportunities to feel connective joy, collective magic, shared wonder, and the dazzling awe of being alive. it's simple pleasures, the art of relationship, the power of being witnessed and celebrated. and what's lovely about this card is that while we find some of these same themes present in the ace of cups and the three of cups, with the six we are finding our sense of stability, purpose, and authenticity alongside other people. when the six of cups comes up, it's often reminding us that we carry our past selves and dreams with us, but that we also are beloved here in the present.

we get to grow with other people, to see how we are all growing together: parallel and also intertwined, supporting each other, deepening each others' roots.

it's not just that we have friends, or family, or people who love us, or spirits and ancestors who care for us — it's that we have curated a collective of beings who share our values, who show the fuck up, who want to keep walking alongside us. it's not just that we are finding places that we belong — it's that we are intentionally pouring into spaces that are equipped to receive us, and feel the bonds of reciprocity and care extending in multiple directions. and it's not just that we have found ways to bring the longings from our past into our present — it's that we are allowing our own history to help us deepen our relationship with ourselves in our current daily life, in real time, in every choice we make.

this is the difference between a friend you mostly see at parties and gatherings vs. a friend that shows up to clean your house when you're sick, no questions asked. it's the difference between worshiping a god that only values your submission vs. being in relationship with a spirit who meets you where you are. and it's the difference between being devastated that you didn't reach a particular milestone sooner vs. celebrating that you're moving towards a life that your younger self once dreamed of.

the six of cups is showing up — for ourselves, and for others. it's responsibility and care, even when it's inconvenient or annoying or heavy. it's love in action, love in effort, love in motion. it's reciprocity and recognition, the deep awareness that we are flawed and exhausted human beings who are trying to care for ourselves and one another in deeply imperfect but beautifully earnest ways. it's authenticity, growth, the joy of loving, the magic of empathy.

to put it another way: the six of cups is pouring something we love into another person's glass, raising glasses together, and savoring the experience of discovery.

the six of cups is an opportunity to share something special, to treat ourselves to something and revel in the magic of being together. it's not the end of the story, but it is the joy deeply felt after a major milestone: lived past and remarkable present and anticipated future all dwelling together simultaneously.

but of course, the six of cups also has its challenges. when imbibing we have to pay attention to how much we're drinking, what else we're ingesting, and how we're doing — and with the six of cups, we have to recognize just how much of ourselves we might be giving away, and what support we might be still learning how to ask for. six is a number of care and responsibility, of paying attention and balancing the scales. just like we might need a designated driver or help remembering to eat something if we've overindulged, the six of cups makes space for balance, for give-and-take.

and sometimes this is easier said than done.

the six of cups includes being emotionally present, not just physically present. it includes asking for what we need, what we want, and what we dream about. and it includes taking responsibility for our own emotions, instead of just silently stewing and expecting others to magically figure us out.

have you ever watched someone finish off a bottle, and been disappointed that they didn't first attend to your empty glass? have you ever seen people you love getting closer to one another, and worried that you were being left behind? have you ever been cleaning up during a party, and wished someone else would notice and give you a hand? have you ever been trying to talk to someone and watched them scroll distractedly on their phone instead of listening? six of cups lives in all of this, too. just because we might be deeply loved doesn't mean that we always feel it, or know how to ask for things, or love perfectly ourselves. just because we have community doesn't mean we don't still feel alone or overlooked sometimes. and just because we can give and receive generously doesn't always mean that things are perfectly balanced, perfectly even, or perfectly fair.

there can be bitterness present alongside the sweetness of this card, longing or envy or worrying or loneliness. the six of cups challenges our ideas of what it means to be loved, how it feels to walk alongside others, what it looks like to build something lasting in spite of flaws and fears. it's a deeply human card, a card of authenticity in both joy and challenge.

being in relationship isn't just about somehow finding people that can read our minds and anticipate our needs, who exist only to serve us and never require anything in return. it's about trusting that we can ask for help, support, care, and that we're not a burden for needing things. it's about building patterns of honesty, about trusting that we can adjust together. it's about sitting in the mess with other people and finding a way to laugh and cry about it. and it's about not refusing to ask for something, and then resenting people for not magically knowing what we wanted.

six of cups requires sincere communication and translation, even (especially) when what we're sharing is vulnerable, intimate, or hard to share.

when i was taking wine courses for my master's degree, one of my teachers told me something that's stuck with me. he said, "if you taste something in a glass of wine, it's there. even if nobody else uses the same language, even if nobody else agrees, the flavor is there. if it's there for you, it exists."

what you taste in wine, what you see in the cards, what you feel bubbling up within you, is real.

and: the more wine we taste, the more we learn about what we like, the easier it becomes to choose a bottle of wine with confidence, and the more precisely we can describe what we taste. the more experiences we have, the more playful we allow ourselves to be, the more we can find shared loves and shared values with others. and the more vulnerable we let ourselves be with those we trust to hold that vulnerability, the easier it becomes to ask for what we need and to show up for those we care for.

the challenge of tasting wine, of reading cards, of sharing experiences and emotions, is in translating what we feel into language. and it's worth the effort.

shared journeys and flowing conversation and tasting something new together, the joy of communal sensory discovery, remains one of my favorite six-of-cups-coded experiences. but even if you don't drink, or you don't like wine, i know you have something like this too: collective effervescence and shared emotions, letting ourselves see and be seen, partaking in something and reflecting on the experience together. maybe it's live music or live performance, hiking outdoors, throwing pottery or painting or knitting, playing board games, watching films, pulling cards together, cooking a meal, or just talking late into the night — whatever it is, there is magic in intentionally sharing a journey with people you love, in growing together.

it doesn't always work perfectly. sometimes you end up in a bar that one person is uncomfortable in, or order a bottle to share that isn't to someone's taste. sometimes people feel left out of the conversation, or worry that they're talking too much, or tell a joke that doesn't quite land that they're still cringing about hours later. sometimes an activity falls flat or someone gets their feelings hurt or a bid for affection is refused. but the six of cups isn't about every single moment of togetherness being perfect and magical and flawless — it's about the trying, the showing up, the consistent effort to deepen connections. it's about the intimacy of imperfect effort.

the six of cups is many experiences and conversations and challenges and victories one after another, like pearls on a string, creating something larger than the sum of its individual parts. it's repeating love and engagement and attention and vulnerability again and again and again, letting it build and grow and change, recognizing that it will look different from different angles.

it's walking a path together, and delighting in what each person experiences simultaneously. it's finding each other when we drift apart or one person falls behind or someone wonders if they still belong. it's reaching for each other even if we're having trouble seeing in the dark, even if we're not sure where someone is.

i know that a lot of people emphasize the nostalgia factor in the six of cups, and i don't think that's wrong necessarily — learning how to be in messy, real community with others can be something that reminds us of past experiences, childhood friends, simpler times. sometimes this card brings up the ache of the familiar and forgotten, the dreams we perhaps had to leave behind or outgrew. but i think this card most fully delights in us being present in the now: in the constant exchange of care, in the consistent effort of love, in the ongoing desire to honor the dreams that we are making true and the yearnings we still carry.

if you'd told teenage meg that they'd be living in nyc with a gorgeous wife and brilliant friends, that they'd get to write about tarot and magic and community and grief every single day, that they would regularly drink great wine and play d&d and work in a bookshop and take care of people, that they were surrounded by queer family who love them fiercely in spite of their flaws and insecurities, they'd probably ugly cry with relief and shock. their wildest dreams did not hold even a third of the truth of my present. i didn't even know i'd be alive this long.

the six of cups can hold that grief and that gratitude, simultaneously. it makes space for who we once were, and who we are now, and who we are in the midst of becoming — alongside others who are in the midst of becoming too.

obviously this world is painful and scary and uncertain. there is so much to do, so much to change, so much to transform. i have so much to learn, still and always. and — also — there is already love here, in this world. there is already beauty here. there is already collective joy here. these are things that we have built, slowly and intentionally, sometimes painfully, sometimes fearfully. and these are things i am continuing to build in my own life, and that i hope you are also building in yours.

this is all worth fighting for, worth living for. these are six of cups things, things worth raising a glass for, things worth tasting and savoring with care.

this month, pay attention to the moments that you feel deeply present in shared experiences. recognize how you are growing, and who is growing alongside you. honor and celebrate the milestones you are reaching, the ways that you are emotionally expanding, the patterns of care that you are establishing and deepening, the cups that you are pouring into and the glasses that you are raising.

what is worth fighting for in your life, and what does your fighting look like? how are you finding pathways of care and intimacy, even when it's inconvenient? who do you trust to hold your tender feelings, to call you on your bullshit, to work through the sticky shit with you?

what are you eager to taste, to experience, with your beloveds? how can you keep deepening those bonds, exchanging magic and love consistently? and what does it mean to build the life of your dreams, day by day and year by year, with people you want to live out those dreams with?

sending you love, community, and collective effervescence, friends.

and if you love my approach to tarot, if you're eager to build a tarot practice that supports your real life and includes your own lived experiences, if you're ready to give yourself readings with courage and clarity, my hermitage membership is open and ready for you.