These are strange times.
A new routine that’s taken on oversized importance, at least by the standards of the “before times,” is my drive to the library. Now that we can make holds online and pick them up I’m back on my habit of reading three or more books at once. In a feat of pandemic ingenuity I even converted a spare pot lid organizer into a book display so that the spine of each laminated volume shines up at me alluringly when I go to sit in my chair.
I used to drive all the way across town, down Durham’s version of the American box store corridor, passing a Sam’s Club, PetSmart, and, most dangerously, Super Target. It was an old habit - that branch of the library was the most peaceful and inspiring, so I’d go there to write. That’s no an option anymore, and now I realize how popular it is. The slots for socially distanced pick-ups are booked weeks in advance, so I switched to the rural library closer to home.
Traveling to this library took me away from the center, into woods and fields only just beginning to be eyed by developers. (Durham is still booming despite the pandemic, with new apartment complexes and housing developments popping up like mushrooms.) I now drive on backroads and see farms with duck ponds, charming old brick churches, a cemetery spiked with incongruously bright artificial flowers in cotton candy hues.
As I drove this route yesterday I found myself floating, unexpectedly, in a state of reverie. One of those moments when mysterious factors converge to propel you into a cloud of blissful longing. My radio played plaintive songs; the light slanted just so, in a golden angle that told my body first that it was undeniably approaching Autumn, that things were winding down; the soothing feel of turning the steering wheel to trace winding roads planned to hug the land, not provide the most efficient route.
I felt as if I was simultaneously here, in Durham, and back in the New England of my childhood, feeling the excitement and fear of a new school year, the grief of a summer end, and the animal urge to prepare for winter. Nevermind that it was 90 degrees outside or the year 2020. I was in both places at once and aware of time’s slow drag across my being. We may never be able to go back, but we can feel the past in a way that’s beautiful, heartbreaking, and often unbidden.
The feeling lasted for the entirety of the drive as my mind thumbed through old memories, recollections of a friend who’d recently passed and the preciousness of life, its cycles. Emotion and thought were in sync with each other and the whole experience conjured up the image of tarot’s Six of Swords. There’s something about that card that evokes this same feeling in me whenever I look at it - three figures, their backs turned away, traversing a body of water in a boat filled with swords, heading to a distant shore.
Here we see and feel the aching pull, the bittersweet beauty, of nostalgia. We bring our thoughts and memories with us - the swords in the boat - and travel across a sea of feeling. This is the place where the piercing and often injurious swords come to rest in balance and where our mind can give us insight and appreciation for life: our mortality, the march of time, and all the precious things it holds.
Light thoughts to ponder on a drive to and from the library, but they brought me deep peace and the awareness that we can be in two times at once, that our memories and associations can reverberate into the present and tie us even tighter to the meaning and importance of life. All while we move towards an unknown future.
Strange times, indeed.
The Weekly Audio Forecasts are continuing each Monday, so if you’d like a tarot reading to start your week sign up below to snag the discounted rate before it ends on the 30th:
If you’ve been mulling over a personal question, turning point, or challenge I’m also offering readings, intuitive support, and more via my website with options for sliding scale and free readings for organizers and caretakers. Don’t hesitate to reach out.