november 2024: pulling cards in an uncertain world

hello, friends, and welcome to november.

we've spent this year closely examining the suit of wands, from ace to ten. and rather than trying to cram essays on all four court cards into two months, i'm going to do a full year on court cards later on — which means that for the rest of this year, i'm going to offer tarot essays and gentle resources that i hope provide inspiration, comfort, and food for thought. the schedule will be a bit different, but i trust it will still feel nourishing and helpful for you — and we'll dive into a new set of archetypes, numbers, and elements in 2025.

you can listen to the latest episodes of CARD TALK and CALL YOUR COVEN right now, and i'll be sending out a special edition of the newsletter for my birthday next week, some new end-of-year resources, as well as an exclusive series of writing during black friday week (that will include more special discounts!) — so there's lots of good stuff on the docket this month to help you through this particularly challenging part of the year. i know a lot of folks are struggling emotionally, spiritually, and financially, so it's my hope that this work can offer some support no matter where you are.

i've been thinking so much about why tarot, when everything about our world is hard and complicated and unprecedented. for those of us in the united states, we are finally coming to the end of another exhausting, wretched, why-are-these-our-only-options election season. around the world, we are continuing to see escalations in violence, empire-funded genocides happening with impunity, so-called institutions of power wringing their hands and doing nothing, constant "once-a-century" storms destroying entire towns overnight, COVID continuing to run rampant, and and and. it might feel like this world is a mess, one where beauty and magic and strength are impossible to find or even foolish to reach for.

so why tarot? what is the point of pulling cards in such an uncertain world? what can archetypes, questions, reflections, creativity, or messages from spirit possibly offer us when our literal world feels like it's falling apart? shouldn't we be directing our energy and efforts outwards, to things that are tangible and action-oriented?

it's a big topic, so this is a big essay. but it's important, so let's talk about it.

on the one hand, tarot is just paper and ink: a deck of cards, an inanimate creation, a thing that is only as magical as the person wielding it. on the other hand, tarot has a rich, deep, complex history; tarot is a language in and of itself; tarot is deeply magic and spiritual and creative and powerful. it's a sacred object and also an everyday tool, magically mundane in every way.

tarot gets to be whatever you make of it. it can become what you need, even as those needs might shift and change over time. some days it might have you sobbing over a lengthy, emotional reading to connect with a queer ancestor, and other days might have you lighting up with a new idea for how to navigate an obstacle in the fantasy story you're writing. tarot is beautifully flexible like that.

and in times like these, where nervous systems are shot and tension is high and we're all wildly fucked up from seeing horrific violence streamed through our phones every single day and feeling helpless to stop it, we're each going to need different things to process, recover, and keep going — which is what makes tarot such a powerful, practical companion. tarot has something to offer to all of us, if we know how to find it.

the brilliant amaya rourke recently shared a piece on the importance of co-existing and co-regulating with spirit, and the magic that comes with daily connection to beings that are built different than us — and i couldn't agree more. walking through the woods, feeding your local birds, tending a garden, spending time near water, crying with the trees, whispering to the bees, and other methods of connecting with nature can be incredibly healing, soothing, generative, and reparative. learning how to listen to spirit, how to connect with the greater world, how to listen to things that communicate in less-than-human ways, is a reciprocal gift that keeps on giving.

there's no real substitute for nature, for engaging with the world beyond us, for creating lasting relationships with the world we inhabit. but i would offer that using tarot in a consistent way, whether your practice is spiritual, devotional, creative, or something else, can provide similar benefits for regulation, compassion, and courage.

taking a few moments to focus on a physical object, to shuffle the cards randomly or to study their imagery and select a card with intention, to feel the paper in your hands and clear your mind and focus on your present needs, can literally help reduce physical symptoms of stress and anxiety, soothe grief, and explore emotions or aspect of self through artistic means. working with the cards can be a beautiful ritual, a simple check-in, a way to remember your humanity while also engaging with something more.

whether you believe your tarot cards are literally ensouled, serve as a connection point to ancestors or deities or other beings, or provide reflections of your own internal knowings, regularly working with the cards can truly benefit you, especially if you find yourself regularly drowning in a cocktail of stress, anxiety, depression, rage, grief, and hopelessness.

don't misunderstand me — tarot cannot magically alleviate pain or trauma, cannot absorb your grief or pain, cannot disappear the challenges and obstacles in your life. working with the cards is not some panacea or cure-all. but the tarot can absolutely serve as a much-needed companion, keeping you company on whatever lonely road you might be walking. it can become a beacon, helping you more clearly see yourself and the possibilities stretching before you.

of course, the elephant in the room is that when we're feeling completely overwhelmed, connecting with the cards in any capacity might feel out of reach. i've shared before that when i started working with the tarot, i didn't feel much of anything; that building a relationship with the tarot was a long and arduous process. but what i don't talk about as often is that i first picked up the cards at a desperately low moment, when i was wrestling with deep dark depression that refused to let me go.

my relationship with the cards was born out of grief, loneliness, and intense sorrow. i was isolated not only in terms of friendship and community, but also spiritually: craving connection, longing to be authentically seen and heard. i felt that i had abandoned my faith, or perhaps that my faith had abandoned me. and i had no sense of who i was, or how to find myself again. i didn't know how to be alive, and in fact, didn't want to be.

the tarot didn't save me. i still had to do the slow, painful work of listening and changing. but the cards did wake me up, call me out, shake things up, by giving me a way to reflect and interrogate and understand myself. they allowed me to carve out time for introspection, to challenge my own perceptions and assumptions. learning to build a tarot practice, struggling as i did with meanings and language, even the difficult building of trust with my cards, all gradually transformed me, giving me ways to explore my pain without getting lost in it.

the cards showed me my strengths, but also echoed my grief. they gave me language for the depths of my emotions, and also pushed me to stop suffering alone and actually ask for help. they repeated to me, in various ways, over and over, that my life had value, that my gifts were more magical than i realized, that it was worth fighting to heal myself, and that my work in this world was not finished.

and so: it was six months after buying my first deck that i finally had my first personal therapy appointment, with a queer and nonbinary therapist who helped me process my self-harm and find medications and habits to make living with depression more bearable. months later, tarot helped me come out as bisexual more publicly, and start to make strides towards seeking out queer community. and in the years following, tarot has supported me in making major, necessary, life-changing decisions, ones that mean that my life now barely resembles the one i had when i picked up that first deck.

when i say that working with tarot changed me, i really and truly mean it.

beyond readings, one of the earliest tarot practices i did was working closely with my birth cards. calculating the archetypes that represent my life path and sun signs laid a clear path, one that i continue to explore: justice, the priestess, and death. on days when readings felt too hard, when i couldn't come up with a question or was afraid to face the answer, reaching for one of these archetypes and letting them serve as my companion for the day helped me feel less alone.

and learning how each of these cards weaves into my heart and my work, from honoring my ideals and impact to learning how to trust my intuitive wisdom to honoring my fascination with liminal spaces and grief — these archetypes helped me see myself as strong, unique, brave, worthy. they presented a vision of me as a clear-eyed, inquisitive psychopomp; a scribe of truth and transformation; a walker of worlds who isn't afraid of the dark.

they gave me a path to carve, a lantern to carry, and a calling to create strange, magical things — a calling that is reflected in every astrological, spiritual, or psychic reading i've ever received. my cards helped me discover and embrace the person i truly am, in unexpected and beautiful ways.

my point here is that while tarot can be incredibly useful and supportive, some moments (like the one we're collectively in right now) might feel too charged for traditional readings. some kinds of grief may be too heavy for established routines. your usual rituals might not seem grounded or comfortable; your normal questions might not seem right or relevant. in such uncertain times, it might be that the cards have other kinds of wisdom to offer, that using them in different or distilled ways could be more nourishing.

in other words, it's okay if you can't read the cards right now. sometimes, if you know how to listen, the cards will simply read you instead.

in this uncertain world, spending time on yourself might feel selfish, greedy, silly, frivolous, or foolish. there are endless active calls for organizing and activism and donations, protesting and boycotting and mutual aid networks, so much research and listening and learning to do. don't just vote; every single person should also be organizing: i keep reading this call to action, over and over, everywhere.

and to be clear, i don't disagree. all of these are good and necessary things. we all have to do all that we can, as often as we can, to take care of each other in this broken, beautiful world. we have to reimagine and repurpose, to dream bigger, to think differently, in order to make the kind of world we want to live in. we all have our roles to play.

but here's the thing: tarot, rituals, spiritual work and creative practice and rest and regulation are not selfish, nor are they antithetical to these bigger purposes. they are necessary anchors, ports in a storm, ways that we literally keep our heads above water when we might otherwise drown. it is not greedy to need five goddamn minutes to yourself to remember who you are, what you care about, why you're fighting. it is not silly to want time to breathe, to slow down, to let your intuition speak. it is not foolish to stay connected to your why, to be open to messages from self and spirit, to give yourself the gift of reflection.

pushing at a relentless pace regardless of the cost, insisting on doing all the things all the time, refusing to show ourselves any compassion here in the heart of empire, is a guaranteed path to burnout. yes, we live in impossible times, and yes, horrible things are being funded by our tax dollars. yes, we are complicit in multiple genocides regardless of who wins this next election, and yes, it's our duty to speak up and speak out. yes, we need strong community systems, and yes, no one is coming to save us, and yes, voting is just one piece of a much larger puzzle.

and also: you are still a human being with needs and desires and limits. you are still worthy of pleasure and comfort and rest. you are still allowed to show yourself gentleness, to recognize your grief, to crave connection and joy and intimacy.

taking a few minutes to pull a card for yourself, to start or end your day with a bit of magic or clarity or care, to journal or weep or reflect, is not just a simple little ritual: it's a way of making space for your needs. it's a way of honoring your body and mind and heart and soul. it's a way of connecting to self, and other, and bigger. it's a way of tending your spirit through a physical routine.

and having regular rituals, especially ones that connect tactile sensation to emotional resilience, can help you stay in the fight for the long haul. the tarot can sit with you, even if your hands are shaking or your heart is pounding. the tarot can listen, even if it's hard for you to gasp out any words.

i'm not a professional organizer or social justice educator or historian. i'm not an activist with decades of experience or a profound understanding of leftist theory and feminist literature. i'm not the person you want to be leading mutual aid efforts or organizing support drives or building networks of support — in those arenas it is my job to follow, to listen, to contribute, rather than try to be a leader.

instead, what i am is a tarot teacher, a walker of words and worlds, a spirit scribe, a lantern-bearer. what i am is someone who can help you use the cards to care for yourself in dark moments, in periods of grief, in stretches of time where the world feels too heavy and you are trying to find scraps of yourself within it. what i am is someone with endless questions, who isn't afraid to break rules, who wants to imagine what the world could be instead of remaining complacent with how it is. what i am is someone who wants to remind you that those little moments of everyday magic and listening to yourself are not optional, but essential.

even if the only point of connection that you ever have to me is through these very words, even if you never take a class or buy a reading or work with me one-on-one, i hope you hear me when i say that you deserve sweet moments of grounding, connection, encouragement, and joy — yes, right now, even in this difficult, scary, uncertain world. make a point of finding them, even if (especially if) it feels like you don't have time for them.

as we greet november, as you move into this new month, as we shift from one cycle to another, don't deny yourself glimpses of magic, whatever they may look like. don't avoid the rituals and routines that help you feel sane and supported. don't tell yourself that you should be stronger, or bigger, or doing more. don't make this shit harder than it needs to be by refusing to care for yourself.

keep listening, keep fighting, keep going. but remember too that moments of rest and reflection and awareness and compassion are also part of that work.

pulling cards in an uncertain world might be just the medicine you need, to become exactly who you're meant to be.

sending you love, courage, and loads of magic this month, friends.

if you're looking for gentle, supportive ways to engage with your cards, check out my collection of grief resources, my signature conservatory membership program (which now includes order in the court!), and these tools to approach your practice in new ways. and if you haven't shared your feedback on this newsletter and my work in general yet, you can do so through this quick anonymous reader survey. more soon 🖤