Sunday, 13 September 2015


Tarot is an odd thing.

Sometimes, it's half truths and promises. Other times, it hits the nail so firmly on the head one would think it was destined.

I have had a rough week, which culminated in something I held dear crumbling apart like dry mortar. My voice was not being heard, so I bowed out. It has been a source of stress and heartache for me, which has led me into being here at home, sick with a cold and lacking a voice above a whisper.

The irony of this is not lost on me.

Often in these times of trouble, I look inwards, and looking inwards often involves tarot. I have always viewed it as a great introspective tool, one that can help you see beyond what your surface feelings might be showing you, into the crux of how you feel. It can show you situations, confirm or contest feelings you may have.

Over the last 3 days, I have drawn the Death card 3 times.

Death as a card never scares me, aside from the sudden change it can bring. It's always an ending, sometimes a needed one. I know there is an ending or transformation coming, and I am best preparing myself.

Death almost always necessitates rituals for me. Tonight, head full of cotton, I head down to a sacred place to severe my ties to the past, as the rain mists down. In silence. I have procured a new tool to do just that.

Autumn is change. It is the new moon. New beginnings. Change.

I have a choice. Wallow in heartache, or pull myself up with fire in my fists and burn anew.

There is no choice here.