Sorrow is folded and woven into our lives, an inescapable beauty that is perhaps our greatest teacher. The likes of Rainer Maria Rilke and Kahlil Gibran were among the first to celebrate sorrow as an essential piece of what it means to be human; the thing that allows us to deepen our relationship with the divine, ourselves, and our joy and happiness.

The Five of Cups not only represents grief and sorrow, but the journey of understanding and integrating it into our lives in healthy ways. I have noticed a theme when I pull this card for myself and others; it often appears when we are avoiding, overly managing, or forgetting the grief and sorrow we hold. This card is a stark reminder that this type of pain cannot be pushed to the side, no matter how awful it may feel. Because when we avoid, forget, or try too hard to control grief, we become stuck in it, and our lives begin to feel stuck and impossible.

Grief and sorrow are constant companions. For some, when it is fresh, it is inescapable, an entire reality unto itself. For others, time and healing have softened it, making it less fresh; but that does not mean it is gone. We are carriers of grief, from the smallest to the biggest kinds, and it is our duty, as beholders of such a sacred experience, to return to this grief regularly, as one might make a pilgrimage.

I personally find many of the traditional definitions of the Five of Cups to be unhelpful, and those definitions have not reflected what I have seen people go through, particularly those living with extreme trauma.

There is nothing wrong with feeling burdened or stuck in the grief we are holding, and there is nothing wrong with wanting to move forward from the pain we may experience. For some, there are old stories rooted with sorrow that we are tired of seeing play out over and over again.

I do believe that it is possible to change, grow, and transform our lives for the better. But we cannot do that until we hold the reality of what we have been through, or hold the reality of our grief, with deep kindness and respect for its power and importance.

When I say holding, I am not saying that we need to therapize every inch of the pain. Rather, the idea is to care for it as one would a crying baby: to soothe it, show deep compassion for it, and perhaps ask whatever divine or spiritual support you have to hold it with you. And to remember that you are not alone in this. Even if you are a hardcore atheist, the entirety of the human community holds grief—no one escapes that path.

As I write this, I can feel the presence of an old grief that I have befriended in my life, a grief that I have been in relationship with since childhood. The Five of Cups came to me a few days ago when that grief was being poked and prodded, reminded that it is still there, thriving, wanting to be seen. The past few days I have been trying to avoid it, but to no avail. And trust me, I’ve been working hard. “I just want to be happy again,” I said to myself. I’ve been quite happy recently, but I realized that happiness is not this amazing state where you feel nothing but joy. Happiness is a quiet attentiveness and permissiveness with your life, where you allow yourself to be whole, to flow with what is and be at peace with the reality of the everything-ness of life.

We cannot avoid the things that are integrated into our being: the traumas, grief, pain, and sorrow. They are part of who we are. This particular grief of mine has been my greatest teacher in life. It has single-handedly grown me in ways that no other life experience could. Right now, it is asking me to sit with it. I’m not doing anything but holding it. I’m allowing myself to cry, allowing myself to think those ugly thoughts, while also knowing that there is another part of me witnessing all of this, guiding me through it, reminding me that those ugly thoughts are not the truth, but simply an expression of one of the many beautiful parts of who I am.

Evening primrose, one of my favorite plants, is incorporated into this card. These flowers blossom at night and are considered guides and caregivers for trauma, grief, and pain. Even though sitting with our grief, acknowledging it, and integrating it may feel like a terrifying feat, it is possible that in the middle of your dark night, flowers will bloom that give you a strength unlike any other. The beginning always happens in the depth of night, does it not? That is when the sun begins to rise, when the light slowly makes its way forth.

The journey with grief and sorrow is never a simple one. It is cyclical, and also chaotic. This is why I incorporated the garden snake: keep low to the earth, transform while remaining grounded, and seek support from this beautiful planet that made us—for she knows grief. These are all vital pieces of the puzzle when navigating sorrow. For sorrow is what makes us strong, it is what grows our heart to unimaginable sizes, it is what gives us empathy and compassion and the willingness to care for others.

There is nothing wrong with your grief. Never let doubts or insecurities or other people tell you how to grieve. It is a process that will take its own time and be on its own schedule. Sometimes we must simply breathe, and know that this is a deeply sacred, insanely beautiful part of who we are. And it is worthy of respect, care, and love— and you’re the best, and only, person to give that to yourself.

I thought we would take a break from the Major Arcana and dip into the world of the Minor Arcana—specifically, the Two of Pentacles. It was a joy to design this card and dream into the many layers of what it could mean, partially because this card has always carried a bit of mystery for me. Recently, however, I’ve been pulling it almost every day, and I took that as a quiet invitation to spend more time sitting with its meaning.

The Two of Pentacles points to a few things—the first, and perhaps most important lesson of all: life is a joke. A truly funny, strange, wacky, wild ride that none of us quite understand, or will ever fully understand. This card gestures toward the playful act of juggling. Yes, it’s difficult—it requires skill, focus, and presence—and yet, juggling is also entertainment. It’s joy. It’s lightness. It invites laughter.

Even though life can feel deeply serious and heavy at times—and those feelings are real, trust me—there’s also something cosmically hilarious about this entire experience we’re having. There is absurdity woven into it. And it would do all of us well to laugh at the ridiculousness once in a while.

I often find myself taking things too seriously, trying to control my life and everything around me in as many ways as I can. But this isn’t a sustainable way to live—it creates rigidity, stress, and an intensity of expectation and perfectionism that becomes a dangerous game.

The monkeys in the card are there to remind us of this playful, unpredictable energy. The slightly mischievous chaos of a monkey stealing your peanuts (yes, it’s happened to me before) holds exactly the kind of spirit we’re invited to embody. Monkeys are intelligent, adaptable, and curious—and these qualities begin to surface when we loosen our grip. When we stop taking everything so seriously. When we allow stress to roll off our backs, release what we cannot control, and actually let ourselves enjoy our lives. Imagine that. Enjoy your life.

And then there are the purple carnations—symbols of whimsy, capriciousness, and unpredictability. They remind us to move with life, not against it. To dance, even when we don’t know the next step. To meet the unknown with softness rather than resistance. Because when we become rigid, we get stuck—but when we stay flexible, we remain in motion.

The pentacles themselves are tied to the element of earth. They represent the tangible substance of our lives: the money we earn, the homes we build, the ways we nourish and care for our bodies. I often experience this card as a reminder: two pentacles, constantly in motion—two choices, always present. We always have a choice. Between ways of being. Between patterns. Between paths.

Recently, I’ve been moving through a period of intense self-doubt, self-hatred, and depression. I had just begun to feel like I was coming up for air—touching something like joy again—when a few things happened that felt like a sharp blow to the system. And I could feel the pull to collapse back into that familiar depression. That’s when the Two of Pentacles began appearing, again and again.

I realized, in a very real way, that I had a choice. I could return to that old hole, or I could stay with myself. I could take the lessons I had learned, trust the changes I had made, and choose a different path—one rooted in deep self-compassion and respect.

I chose that path. And I won’t pretend it was easy—it felt like a daily act of resistance, like dragging myself out of the mud over and over again. But something shifted. It worked. And in that process, I felt myself becoming stronger—more grounded, more anchored in the choice of self-love.

Which is what we want.

Wisdom:
Is life asking a lot of you right now? Do you feel overwhelmed, overextended, or faced with too many choices at once? Don’t get lost in the weight of it all. Remember—this is a strange and mysterious game. Life is not meant to be held so tightly. Hold things lightly. Move gently. Laugh when you can. And remember: you are juggling a lot. Offer yourself compassion. If you’re facing a choice, know that you don’t have to rush. Let it breathe. Let it unfold. Trust that the part of you rooted in compassion will know the way forward.

Reflection Questions:

• Where in my life am I currently “juggling” too many things at once? What does that feel like in my body?

• Am I holding my life too tightly right now? What might it look like to loosen my grip, even just a little?

• When was the last time I genuinely laughed at the absurdity of life? What helps me access that kind of lightness?

• In what areas of my life am I trying to control outcomes that are ultimately out of my hands?

• What would it mean for me to approach this current season with more playfulness or curiosity?

• Where is life asking me to be more flexible rather than rigid?

• If I slow down, what choice feels most aligned with self-compassion rather than fear or self-criticism?

• What does self-compassion actually look like for me in action—not just as an idea?

I thought it would be perfect timing to talk about The Hermit after The Tower, because these two have a funny relationship. I mentioned in my writing about The Tower that it’s considered the most feared card in the deck, with so much lore surrounding it—tales of destruction and harsh endings. I said we need to throw all of that away, and instead view The Tower not as something to fear, but as a sacred calling toward cleansing.

The Hermit, card 9, is perhaps the quietest card in the deck. In my experience, it is rarely pulled (including with my clients and across the hundreds of readings I’ve done for both myself and others), and when it is, it tends to get swept under the rug.

Here’s the deal—my hot take: The Hermit is actually the most frightening card in the deck. The most feared, the most ignored, undervalued because it’s easier to dismiss it than to recognize it as a profound and serious calling. When The Hermit is pulled, for me, that means shit is getting serious. Life is about to get real—or already has. Even more so than when I pull The Tower.

This is the card that asks us to do the one thing most of us are deeply, profoundly afraid of: being alone. Not just alone in a casual sense—it asks us to go on a journey alone. That’s very different from taking an hour-long walk by yourself. This is a request from the Universe to practice true solitude, intentionally and thoughtfully.

And I know—that’s scary. But when I say “alone” and “solitude”—I mean it. No, having your partner in the same room while you meditate doesn’t count. Being single but sleeping with people randomly or texting a long-distance lover doesn’t count. Going on a trip with a friend or two doesn’t count. We are talking SOLO, my friends. With. Your. Self.

I honestly think solitude is even more frightening than death for many people. And I often wonder if part of the reason we fear death so much is because of how starkly it reflects our loneliness. It’s rare to find people who have spent intentional time getting to know themselves outside the context of partners, family, community, friends, TV/media, and constant external influence.

And yet, as we continue to evolve as a species, that experience of aloneness becomes more and more important. We are increasingly complex, shaped by constant noise, information, and input. Trauma, depression, social media, cultural influence, societal pressure and expectation—it’s all molding us, all the time. Giving ourselves quiet space—time to go on a spiritual journey of sorts—has never been more important. And it also happens to be one of the deepest joys and gifts we can ever experience.

Trust me—every time I pull The Hermit card, I literally curse, put it back in the deck, say, “I don’t want that,” and try to forget about it. And then I pull it five more times over the course of the week. And this is coming from someone who has spent almost her entire adult life in true independence, solitude, and without partnership.

The Hermit is a call. There are plenty of calling cards in the deck, but this one represents a deeper kind of call—a call from within the cavernous space of you, where the spark of life, or the Universe, or God lives. It is a spiritual call rooted in love, asking you to return to yourself. Come back to yourself. Listen to yourself. Learn to love yourself again.

The Hermit is the scariest card in the deck—and also the bravest. Loving yourself is not something you accomplish in a day, or even a year. It’s an intentional daily practice. A choice. Sometimes life shakes us so hard that we forget to make that choice, and we lose sight of who we are and what we need. The Hermit asks us to return—to that choice, and to ourselves.

When I’ve pulled The Hermit in the past, I’ve made major changes in my life afterward. Moving. Traveling alone. Choosing to step away from my attempts at finding a boyfriend. And every one of those choices became a fruitful experience that expanded and transformed my life in beautiful ways.

The Hermit echoes the ancient trope of the ascetic who retreats to a cave in the mountains to meditate—disappearing from the world in search of truth, both of the Universe and of themselves. No, we can’t all do that kind of journey. But if this card keeps appearing for you, and it feels right, I recommend taking a trip completely by yourself (animal companions may be included—you have my permission).

Even if it’s just one or two nights of camping, you’re going to get something from it—I promise. Get to know yourself a little. Begin to grow seeds of kindness and respect toward yourself.

Those who cannot face time alone—and who don’t incorporate intentional solitude (where you are simply with yourself, resting and being present) into their days, weeks, months, and years—will struggle to find deep levels of self-attunement, inner growth, and authentic self & life change. The same applies to relationships. A month off isn’t enough. Try spending a full year single: no hookups, no online flirtations, no dating. Who are you without your attachment patterns? Without your desires? Without another person to love?

I know these are strong statements, and everyone is different, so I apologize for the broad sweeping statements– but I stand by them as important things to consider when we look at the landscape of our lives.

Rilke, a remarkably powerful Austrian poet from the 19th century, wrote extensively about solitude and the importance of being alone. He believed that solitude is the fruit of life—the most spiritually rich place a person can live from.

“And you should not let yourself be confused in your solitude by the fact that there is something in you that wants to move out of it. This very wish, if you use it calmly and prudently and like a tool, will help you spread out your solitude over a great distance. Most people have (with the help of conventions) turned their solutions toward what is easy and toward the easiest side of the easy; but it is clear that we must trust in what is difficult; everything alive trusts in it… We know little, but that we must trust in what is difficult is a certainty that will never abandon us; it is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; that something is difficult must be one more reason for us to do it.”

Wisdom:

Have you been pulling The Hermit recently? Wonderful. Congratulations– you’re dancing with the scariest card in the deck. I suggest that maybe you take a deep breath and wonder how you’ve been treating yourself lately. Have you been tending to yourself, your needs, your wishes, desires, hopes, dreams, passions? Have you been spending time alone, getting to know yourself and all of the wild, beautiful pieces of who you are? Have you been listening to the song of your life, making decisions from that careful place of surrender, attentiveness and attunement? Sometimes, The Hermit is pulled because you’ve been feeling that special, heart-aching, terrifying, enchanting feeling that maybe you want to go do something that only you want to do, that isn’t for anyone but you. Please, do me a favor and go for it. Life is fantastic when you listen to that deep, inner call of the heart.

Reflection Questions:

• When was the last time I was truly alone—without distraction, without reaching for connection, without filling the space?

• What do I tend to reach for when I feel even a hint of loneliness?

• What am I afraid might surface if I were truly alone with myself?

• Who am I when no one is watching, responding, or reflecting me back to myself?

• How much of my identity is shaped by others—partners, friends, community, validation?

• Do I actually know what I need, want, and feel… or do I discover those things through others?

• What would intentional solitude actually look like in my life right now?

• What feels like a doable first step toward being more alone with myself?

• If I gave myself even one full day (or weekend) alone—no distractions—what might I encounter?

• What would it look like to “return to myself” right now?

• How can I begin to build a relationship with myself rooted in kindness and respect?

Ah, welcome to The Tower card—the most feared card in the entirety of the tarot deck. The one with the most drama and intrigue, infamous for its tales of doom, pain, destruction, and your entire life falling apart in an instant. Whatever fun story you hold around the Tower card, please do me a favor and throw that—and all of what the internet says—out the window. In so many ways, this vital card has been through a PR nightmare and needs to hire a new team.

As a frequent receiver of the Tower (probably once a month, depending on how fun my life is), I can guarantee that this card is not as scary as it may seem, and in my book is, in fact, one of the most powerful, beautiful, and sacred cards in the deck. Let’s dive in.

First and foremost, yes—sometimes in life everything crashes down around us. Relationships fail, we lose our jobs, our homes, our friends. Sometimes it is all internal—perhaps a pattern of ours comes to an end, perhaps some deep truth, shadow, or insecurity is revealed and we must face it. The Tower points to when all that we thought was strong, stable, and part of who we are begins to crumble. The experience can be big or small, but when a crumbling happens, we may experience those big emotions of loss, grief, and endings. We may feel as if we are in a crisis of some sort—an emptiness.

The Tower can also mark the moment when things we were clinging to that didn’t serve us—things that were harming us or keeping us down—fall away. This can be painful, because even the things that hurt us can feel familiar, comfortable, even necessary. But it is important to really take note here: what fell away? Was it a relationship? A pattern? A belief about yourself? Were they walls surrounding truths you needed to face? What was it that fell—and how might you view it not as a burden, but as an opportunity?

Because that is truly what the Tower is. It is most certainly not a bad omen, or just a “well, sorry this shit happened to you” card. It’s an opportunity. You can either sit in the ruins of the old and desperately attempt to rebuild the fallen tower, or you can pick yourself up and begin to make sense of it all.

When we experience this emptying—no matter how intense or subtle—we are receiving a message from the universe: slow down, let it fall, and then look around and see what remains. Do not pine after what was lost, but instead take this as a deep lesson on you. Learn to love yourself more deeply. Grow further into yourself. Heal the wounds that have been aching to be seen and can now be viewed fully from this empty space. This is your choice.

The sign of true bravery is the willingness to face all of this head on, to forgive yourself—and others—and to continue diving into life. No, you don’t have to do this immediately. Give yourself time to grieve and mourn, maybe even throw a temper-tantrum. Sometimes it takes a while to regain your strength, and that’s okay. But don’t let the pity story take over—you are not a victim, and there is always a path forward.

Now, for those of you who have pulled this card and have experienced great injustice—where your trauma is rooted in systems that are actively causing harm—let this card be a reminder that your sorrow and pain are real. So real. Completely valid. And I hope you are angry, too. I see your exhaustion, and I do not believe anyone should have to carry what you carry. It takes bravery that is unmatched. And still—let this be a reminder of the deep strength that lives in the hearts of all human beings, including you. To rise despite endings, despite pain. To look upward, toward something greater, and to keep walking—that is the message of the Tower.

I included the phoenix in this card to bring this point home: from the ashes, we rise. The experience of having aspects of our lives or self burned down is sacred, and important—it happens to all of us, in many different ways. It’s a natural part of the alchemy of life, and an important experience for those of us who wish to live without monotony, boredom and staleness. It gives us a chance to examine what we are attached to, and to ask for what is truly needed, and what is not. It is also a powerful return point. Sometimes we get caught up in life and forget to check in with ourselves—destruction and endings offer us a chance to come back to center, to look around, and to make adjustments, both within and without.

Instead of grasping at the old ways, I encourage you to allow everything to crumble, to burn, and to fade away. Perhaps laugh at it all, and enjoy the pure wildness of endings. And then—wait patiently—as some new version of you, one you do not yet know, begins to rise.

Wisdom:

Yes, endings are awful. But I encourage you not to be too upset, because, unfortunately, you’re a human being—and this kind of happens sometimes.The name of the game here is surrender, my friend. You don’t need to cling to control, because that surely won’t work. What I do recommend is that you cling to yourself—find yourself amidst all of this. Who are you? How do you feel? What do you need? Where can you find support?These are important questions to ask, because right now, all that matters is how you treat yourself—whether you show up for yourself the way you would for your best friend, a family member, or a child. Don’t let endings become something that ruins your life—let them be the compost that grows luscious flowers, strong trees, and nourishing food. Because that is what they do. Allow yourself to grieve. Allow yourself to hurt. But remember that there is purpose within all of this. Don’t get lost in the weeds. Find the garden—and watch the seeds grow.

Questions for Reflection:

• What in my life feels like it is crumbling right now—externally or internally?

• What am I being forced to see that I may have been avoiding?

• What was I holding onto that, deep down, I knew wasn’t serving me?

• Where am I trying to maintain control in a situation that is asking me to surrender?

• What would it look like to let it fall instead of trying to fix it?

• What has been lost—and what, surprisingly, still remains?

• How am I treating myself in this moment of disruption?

• Am I showing up for myself with care, or with judgment?

• What support do I need right now—and am I allowing myself to receive it?

• Who or what helps me feel grounded when everything feels unstable?

• What identity, belief, or story about myself might be collapsing?Who am I without that story?

• What is trying to emerge through this destruction?

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IV - The Emperor

Oftentimes when examining this card with folks I have encountered a deep feeling from the individual that the Emperor may represent the protection, love, and guidance of the monotheistic, Christian, or Judeo-Christian God. For others, he may represent your typical All-Father God, such as Odin. If this belief system or spiritual connection is present in your life, this card may hold significance in reminding you of the love and care that your God feels for you; that you are seen in your journey and being shown the way.

If the imagery of a Christian or monotheistic god does not speak to you, that’s okay—it has many more meanings.

Even for those of us who align more strongly with feminine energy and feminine divinity, The Emperor still plays a critical role in our development as human beings.

He is best described as the methodical revolutionary. Yes, he has passion for good, but that’s not his strong suit. More so, it is his careful planning, deeply held clarity in what he is pursuing, and a knack for making the world—and himself—a better place.

Sometimes we get stuck in old patterns, lost in sameness, rotating around our same old stories and experiences. Yet we always have the ability to change our stories. Sometimes this can be done through passionate, random acts of inspiration and excitement. Other times, we have to carefully think through our actions—being deliberate, clear, purposeful. Dedicated.

The Emperor is this energy: change that comes from a heart dedicated to change.

No challenge or obstacle should be feared, for the Emperor expects them. He has planned for them, because he knows himself and the battlefield upon which he moves. The message here is to distill down to your true core and operate from there.

Do not act out of spite, passion, or even too much emotion. Revolution and change—these things are inevitable, part of life. The Emperor not only embraces that truth, but commands it, works with it, and uses it to his advantage in order to create the life he wants.

Change and revolution do not always have to be done through violence or aggression. Oftentimes, the smartest player wins.

To clarify, the Emperor is not dedicated to war or fighting. But he does recognize where hatred lies, and he perseveres in eradicating it from his heart and life. The Emperor understands that most of the time, peacefully and intelligently approaching a situation is the wisest thing to do.

The crane and the bow in the Emperor’s hand symbolize just this: the power of steady, calm precision—hitting the mark with elegance and simplicity.

The crane represents vigilance and guardianship. Knowing that you are protected is key, and knowing that you can protect yourself is even more important. Longevity is also an important element of the crane’s symbolism. It shows us that through calm and grace, and through focused practice, we can achieve greatness and sustain goodness in our lives for a long time.

Wisdom:

The Emperor’s energy is truly about “rising above.” Do not let intense emotions, drama, pain, or passion get in the way of finding truth and clarity. Rise above, and take a look at what is happening, and what needs to be done, from the bigger perspective.

Take account of your own flaws, and forgive others. Then plan your course of action with calm presence, kindness, truth, and wisdom. Remember that change and revolution can be done quietly, with ease and grace. In fact, one may argue that the best change comes from that place of simplicity.

Allow the Emperor—or whatever calm divine presence you connect to—to lead the way.

Reversed

Are you feeling scattered? Ungrounded? Unclear? Do you feel as if your sense of personal authority over yourself and your mind has disappeared? Are you acting out of intense emotion?

Examine where you may be lacking self-containment, groundedness, or clear purpose. Imagine what it would feel like to reclaim your life from a place of inner authority and presence. Consider what it might look like to pause, rise above the intensity of the moment, and reconnect with the calm clarity that lives within you.

Questions for Reflection

1. What emotions might be clouding my ability to see this situation clearly?

2. If I stepped back and “rose above,” what might I notice that I cannot see right now?

3. Where might I be reacting instead of responding with calm presence?

4. Have I forgotten my own authority or wisdom in this situation?

5. What would it look like to approach this moment with patience, clarity, and intention?

6. What small, thoughtful step could move me toward meaningful change?

7. How can I act from truth and integrity rather than fear, anger, or pride?

8. What might a quiet, steady form of revolution look like in my life right now?

The Queen of Swords

The Queen of Swords is a special card in the deck — a rare opportunity to witness the fierce power of femininity. This card is Kali, the protective mother, the woman warrior. She is the other side of the nurturing, loving energy of the queen archetype.

This card is about fierce protectiveness — not necessarily of others (there are plenty of other cards for that), but of ourselves.

In life, even in the midst of great suffering and oppression, we are given choices. For those of us who have experienced considerable grief and trauma, there comes a time when we become wise to our life patterns and the repeated traumas of injustice. We begin to understand that we often run toward or find ourselves stuck in the same patterns, the same traumas, because they hold familiarity and comfort. The pain becomes almost comforting — normal, reliable.

The Queen of Swords recognizes these patterns and the pain they bring — and chooses differently. She refuses to keep falling into the same holes. Whether it’s from a simple mindset shift or a radical change in actions, the Queen of Swords chooses her best good first.

When we walk away from what we know will hurt us, we are choosing ourselves. We are choosing to protect our tender hearts, to honor and respect ourselves as deserving more. This is the hardest path a human can walk; it takes remarkable strength and determination.

The Queen of Swords stands at the end of a long and painful journey through the suit of swords. She carries grief in her fierceness and is willing to fight against all the bullsh*t that wants to pull her down. She has boundaries because she’s learned them — the hard way. And she is not afraid to lay them down to protect herself and those she loves.

She is clear in who she is and what she wants because she has had to become that way. Clarity is how she escaped the suffering.

The tiger beside the Queen of Swords represents the lethal prowess of someone who has walked through fire and chosen a deep, fierce, protective love for themselves instead of self-hatred. The tiger carries the wisdom of a warrior — pride in who one is, and an unwillingness to be treated with anything less than deep respect.

The poison oak is a reminder. Known in many Indigenous traditions as a protector of the forest, if you see it, you stay away from whatever it is guarding. It is not afraid to cause discomfort in the name of protecting what is sacred. It is also beautiful — and it does not cause permanent damage. We are not here to harm irreparably in the name of protection. We are compassionate.

Poison oak is also a powerful ecological ally. It helps regenerate forests and feed animals. In many ways, it is a symbol of resiliency — and resiliency is the ultimate truth of the Queen of Swords. Through boundaries, clarity, protection, fierceness, truth, and deep self-love, we find a resiliency far more powerful than anything we have known before. Resiliency born of self-worth is undying and profound. That is what the Queen of Swords represents.

The Queen of Swords does not walk an easy path. At times, it can be lonely. It is a daily practice to choose yourself and your self-worth over simple, easy answers. The days of immediate gratification and subconscious choices are over.

You must embody your truth — and act from it.

Welcome to the mountainous, holy path.

Wisdom

Remember who you are. Find that truth, and follow it with passion and purpose.

You are strong. You are capable of protecting and caring for yourself. Do not fall back into the comfortable patterns of the past. Instead, fiercely follow what you know is right.

Place your boundaries. Even if you don’t have entire control over the situation where those boundaries are being crossed, search for ways to do the best that you can. No need to be perfect, and rest when it is needed. But fight for yourself — you are worth so much, beautiful one.

Reversed

Examine the ways you may be allowing yourself to be put down, stepped on, or disrespected. Discover your boundaries — and enact them.

Do not be afraid to stand up for yourself. Great magic comes from embodying fierce self-love.

Questions for Reflection

• What are your most important boundaries — and where are you not fully honoring them? Where are they being walked over, and who is doing that?

• What is your deepest truth about how you deserve to be treated?

• Where in your life are you lacking clarity — and what would it take to claim it?

• What pattern are you ready to stop repeating, even if it feels familiar or comfortable?

• Where are you accepting less than you know you deserve?

• What would choosing yourself look like in one difficult situation right now?

• What fear arises when you imagine standing firmly in your truth?

• How can you practice fierce self-protection without closing your heart?

The High Priestess is the inner power and depth of the Tarot deck. She represents our ability to manifest, to create the life we seek simply from the power that lives inside of us.

What is this power, you ask?

More often than not, we assume it comes from mental clarity — but we have plenty of cards for that. No, the High Priestess’ true power comes from the firm, strong, unyielding force of love that emanates from her heart.

When we practice knowing and speaking our truth; when we practice choosing tenderness, care, joy, and kindness; when we remember the profound and mighty energy that moves from this center space within us — something magical happens. Life begins to unfold in mysterious ways.

The High Priestess resides in the darkness — in a cave. But this is not the kind of darkness we need to fear; it is the safe darkness, the womb. The place from which everything is born. The strange and simple space that exists quietly in the universe around us, and within us. And this truly is what the High Priestess is about: the mystery.

To choose the heart, to manifest our lives from the heart space, is to live in uncertainty about what is to come, but to live with certainty in who we are. It is the ultimate paradox: to both surrender to the journey of life, and to remain firm in our intention and direction as we walk through it.

The Owl in this card represents the wisdom it takes to navigate the mystery from a place of intuition and deep loving knowing. The Owl simply knows how to navigate the darkness; it is built that way.

So, too, are we.

Trust the mystery. Trust the transformation as a guide — as something born from your own desire for growth.

The Mugwort is another reminder of intuition, mysticism, and dreams — of moving within the realm of the unknown, protected, and willing to learn from that unknown in the ultimate pursuit of knowing oneself.

It takes great bravery to live as the High Priestess does. It is the ultimate act of trusting oneself, despite our flaws and shortcomings. To trust is to love. To love is to forgive when the time is right; to tend and care for ourselves when we fall; and then to rise again to the quiet, unrelenting promise we have made to our own becoming.

Wisdom

You have been doing the work; you have been manifesting and transforming, creating magic in your world. Step back and watch your truth unfold before your eyes. Trust in your power, return to your power, listen to your intuition.

Reversed

When we forget the power and light that live within us, we may search outside ourselves for direction.

Look to the elements, the universe, or whatever divine presence you believe in — not to replace your inner fire, but to remind you of it. Let them guide you back to the source of light and truth that has always lived inside you.

Questions for Reflection

• Where in your life can you practice trusting yourself more fully?

• What truth inside you feels steady, even if the path ahead feels uncertain?

• Where are you being invited to lead from the heart rather than the mind?

• What would it look like to manifest from love instead of fear?

• Where might surrender and intention coexist in your life right now?

• What inner knowing have you been quieting that longs to be heard?

• What is the nature of your relationship with mystery?