ten of wands: number 10 & fire

hello, friends. i know there's so much going on right now, from hurricanes and wildfires to devastating anniversaries and disgusting revelations. this world is brutal, and i'm sending you so much love. while it's essential that we stay informed and keep fighting for what matters, i'm also urging you to find ways to take care of yourself as much as possible. breathe, stretch, eat something, pull some cards, drink some water, hug your pets, get some fresh air, text a loved one. i share your dread, but don't forget that joy and rest are essential for imagination and hope. try to find them where you can.

this month we're looking at the ten of wands, and the various meanings that this card can hold. reminder that if diving deeper into the tarot feels like a useful, supportive thing for you right now, you'll find tons of self-paced tarot resources and access to a very sweet online community in the 3am.tarot conservatory. we'd love to have you.

the number ten is liminal. it's a crossroads, a threshold, a moving and a standing still. in our october 2024 call your coven forecast, bee calls the number ten "a one with a backpack," which is so cute i want to scream. it's that idea that we're starting over again, entering a new cycle — but we get to bring the knowledge and insights that we've already gained from that previous journey with us. we're not starting from scratch: we're just starting something new.

in the tarot, ten serves as a bridge, representing the end of a cycle but pointing us towards the next one. the wheel of fortune, the tenth archetype of the major arcana, speaks of timing and change, of movement and transition. there's an element of surrender here, a recognition that there are patterns and energies larger than us. but there's also the magic of possibility, of anticipation, of wondering what will happen next.

pulling this apart, the wheel has energy from both the magician (one) and the fool (zero), but it also holds a wisdom of its own. and when we translate that sense of shifting energy and liminal stillness to the minor arcana suits, we find cards of contentment, observation, and waiting for the next beginning.

in other words, the number ten is what gives the ten of wands that sense of quiet awareness, of preparing for the next shift.

the other important component of this card is the element of fire: hungry heat, rapidly shifting light, consumption and transformation. but because we're at the end/beginning of this story, having pushed the element of fire to its limit, we're really seeing the aftermath of fire, the results of fire, the consequences of fire.

fire can devour and also transmute. fire being present means that something is being destroyed, but also being reborn as something different. and the recognition of what fire can do, how much change it can bring, isn't just about the transformation itself — it's also about the wonder, the horror, the awe of fire's work.

this is about seeing how powerful fire really is: in the aftermath of the flames, we may find ourselves struggling to catch our breath, scrambling to reorient ourselves in once-familiar terrain. looking at fire's capability can be staggering, can leave us gasping or trembling.

yet fire usually leaves something behind, something we can dig through or reuse, something unexpected or unanticipated. devastating as wildfires can be, there are also plants and animals who depend on that fire for survival, who flourish in the aftermath. fire isn't just destructive: it can also be rejuvenating, cleansing, burning away the decay and clearing a path for new growth.

to burn it like cedar
i request another dream
i need a forest fire
— james blake & bon iver

what is fire freeing you from? what can you finally stop burning? what might you find when the ashes have cooled enough to dig through?

looking at the ten of wands through this lens of ten and fire, we stand in a threshold of shifting light: the dying of old embers and flames, coupled with the anticipation of the next spark. this can be soothing and disorienting simultaneously, the knowledge that there is nothing more to burn, nothing more to feed, nothing more to give.

sometimes this is a time of grief, of sorrow, of devastation. it's why the ten of wands as a card of burnout often feels so accurate: there's no more fuel for this fire. yet other times, there can be such satisfaction in knowing that our work is finished, that we are simply in the quiet part of a larger life cycle. eventually, we will again rise from the ashes, reborn with a new vision, a building joy, spreading our trembling wings and once again becoming a burning torch.

as you sit in this impossible time, as you look at the world we are fighting to break and rebuild, as you dream about what you want your future to be, consider how the ten of wands might offer you both respite and hope. which fire is dying, and which is preparing to burn anew? which resources do you have in abundance, and which have you fully surrendered? what is settling, and what is being stirred up? who might you be when the sparks find you again?

and in this strange, shifting, liminal space of dissipation and stillness, what might you be beginning to anticipate?

be safe, friends. donate if you can. keep talking about palestine, congo, sudan, lebanon. show each other kindness. keep fighting, keep masking, keep dreaming. more soon.