The Incandescent Tarot Newsletter is back! Whether you’re a new subscriber or an old friend who’s been around for a while, I’m so glad to be in touch. A quick announcement: 1) The newsletter has a new home here on Substack and 2) I’m changing my format to focus on short(er) meditations on the cards as they appear in my practice, both personally and professionally. And, if you’d like a reading, I’m opening up more spots in my schedule - click to book here.
How has everyone been doing lately?
What a question to ask, I know. I’ve spent the last few months feeling each tremor, change, and seismic shift with what feels like almost intolerable intensity. And then there have been moments of shocking beauty - the odd peace in my home as the seasons change, the newfound intimacy of being face-to-face with the life I’ve built for myself over all these years: creatures, partners, plants.
It’s all precious and heartbreaking and changing everyday.
When the pandemic first began I found myself catapulted out of my normal life, as all of us have been to differing degrees. The first thing to go was my self-care practice. No meditation, no journaling. Instead, every morning I tumbled out of bed and directly into Twitter. (I’d forgotten to delete my neglected business account which proved the perfect vehicle for lurking and doom scrolling.) Rapt with fascination, I’d explore and read and research.
I couldn’t turn away from history unfolding, but in doing so obsessively I turned away from my own life.
Knowledge and awareness of the larger world are important, of course, but my Twitter habit (and news habit, and Netflix habit, and email habit…) went beyond mere education: I was obsessed. There’s a flavor I can taste when I’m doing something to avoid my feelings and it was here in spades.
One day, after spending a solid two hours reading threads from infectious disease specialists, I looked up and was shocked at the beauty before me: My living-room was bathed in the soft glow of late spring that lights the pine trees outside our house in striking lavender hues. My houseplants seemed to hum, busy growing according to their secret schedules.
The world seemed on fire when I looked online, to the point where I was paralyzed. Relief, however, was right in front of me.
I’d like to say that this moment was a true epiphany and that I deactivated my Twitter account immediately, shook and transformed for good. But that wasn’t the case; I had to battle my compulsion and brush up with the twisted logic behind my actions many, many times. It turns out that part of me was much more content to fill my system with information than it was to face my feelings of sadness, grief, and confusion (just to name a few).
Which is, finally, where tarot comes in. The Star is one of those cards that people immediately love. It has the allure of a painting from the Romantic movement - ancient archetype rendered in a soft glow. There’s the beautiful nude kneeling by a serene pool, a pastoral setting, and a crown of stars in the night sky. It’s an easy image to embrace, yet like all tarot cards it encompasses a whole range of meanings, not all of them as glowing and glorious as the illustration suggests.
I like to think of The Star as the “self-care card,” but in the true sense of the phrase which, as we can likely agree, has become encrusted with the baggage of consumerism and emotional avoidance.
But what does it actually mean to care for ourselves? What does it accomplish? Care requires attention, intention, and action. We have to see what’s really going on, where we’re weak or hurting, and value ourselves enough to step in and do some mending. Just this recognition can leave us feeling exposed and vulnerable.
At least I know I was. As I’ve looked at this card more I’ve found myself drawn to the pool of water in the foreground and seeing it in a new light.
Now it seems like a watering hole, a place I must go for sustenance - delicious relief from a deep thirst - but that holds the tension of danger. What lurks below? Like The Star, admitting we must care for ourselves to show up in the world requires vulnerability. Approaching the depths without clothing ourselves in control or distraction can be nerve-wracking, as if our emotions are predators lurking under the surface, ready to ambush us.
That’s certainly how I felt after a two-month social media bender. But what we’re avoiding is often just what we need. Our feelings, no matter how deep, are here to guide us. When we peer into the water we can see what’s coming. We can see ourselves exactly where we are in that moment.
Distractible and exhausted, I could no longer argue: I needed to change and my true practices of self-care - yoga, meditation, tarot, and acting by my values - felt less like indulgences than utter necessities. Stripped of the illusion that I could control anything by thorough research and information-gathering, I dragged myself to the water and took a deep drink.
True self-care leaves us nourished and aware of both our power and our responsibility to the world around us. It’s the prerequisite for living a good life, not just for ourselves but for humanity as a whole (just follow the Major Arcana here: The Star leads to the expression and action of The Sun and, ultimately, the connectivity of The World).
It’s not always easy. Many days I drag myself out of bed at 6am begrudgingly, even though I know it’ll give me my best hours. Sitting down to meditate seems nearly impossible, speaking up when I know I must is a struggle. But it’s all worth it. True self-care radiates outwards; it’s showing up for ourselves so we can show up for others. And it takes guts to walk towards whatever form the water takes for us.
Substack has a comment feature so let’s use it! What are your thoughts around self-care? How do you feel this term has been used lately? Which practices nourish you so that you can show up in your life? Leave your thoughts below, I’d love to hear from you and start a conversation.