This Week's Writerly Tarot: Strength and the Sun

As I write this, we here at Whittle Central are preparing for the Great American Eclipse tomorrow. We live about two hours outside of the zone of totality, so we're making a little road trip in order to experience the full effect.

My husband the engineer is packing eclipse glasses, road maps, and a cooler full of sandwiches. I'm packing every red/yellow/orange crystal I own—citrine and tiger's eye, calcite and carnelian. I'm also bringing something I'm calling Coming Into the Light tincture, full of herbs with solar properties and fire essences. Cinnamon and orange and rosemary.

This is Leo energy in a bottle. Leo is the sign of fixed fire, ruled by the Sun, and as such, has many of the same associations as The Sun in the tarot (the Sun is primarily associated with Strength, but more on that later). Leo governs our creativity, and like the lion that is its symbol, evokes courage and charisma and confidence. Leo roars. It's good energy to channel during an eclipse, and since this eclipse occurs when the Sun is in the sign of Leo, it's going to pack a double punch.

And do we ever need it. Because even though a solar eclipse is about the sun, it's also about the shadow. Every time I watch the news, I feel that shadow. We have evoked this shadow, make no mistake, and it must be heeded and healed before it will return to its proper role in our lives (and it does have one). A shadow is substance plus light, and in order for the Great American Shadow to heal, we have to look hard at the substance it is revealing. Look hard and good for a very long time. Let the Light shine brightly on it. This is going to burn. It is going to be painful, and the tendency will be to turn away. But we must not. We must keep shining the clear light of truth.

That's what eclipses symbolize, after all—profound, often cataclysmic, change. Astronomer Natalia Kuna explains it thusly:

"First, we have an intense 'power outage' that knocks you right out, and then it is followed by a heightened renaissance: an amped up 'power surge.' In other words you go through a cycle of great intensity that leads to amplified light and growth."

(You would do well to read her entire article if you want to put The Great American Eclipse into perspective.)

This eclipse begins and ends in Leo, but the very next day, the Sun moves into the sign of Virgo, the sign of sovereignty and service and healing, joining the New Moon there as well. This is where the Strength card will come into play, the card traditionally associated with Leo in the tarot. There is a Lion on this card too, but instead of being in full roaring bluster, this Lion has been subdued by the quiet presence of a maiden. Not injured, simply returned to a state of calmness. This is the strength of non-violent control, of composure, of relentless, unswerving dedication. No whips, no chairs. Only love, which is at the heart of any true Virgo endeavor (don't let the rules and fussiness fool you—Virgos have enormous depths of compassion).

May the light of Leo shine like the Sun, and even in the dark of the shadow, may you remember that you have a heart of fire. A lion heart. May it be guided by compassion and strength. May this be true, like the eclipse, from sea to shining sea.

Tarot For All of Us: The Tower and the Sun

You might have heard that those of us on the lower East Coast had an unwelcome visitor last week -- Hurricane Matthew.

Like most tales full of sound and fury, Matthew left chaos and destruction in its wake. The death toll in the US was low compared to other regions, especially Haiti, but we did suffer losses -- the two communities I call home lost people to this storm, and it is somberly and with my gratitude that my family and I emerge back into the Sun.

But we did emerge. And life goes on pretty much as it was before those winds scoured our area, before the waters flooded in. The Tower has finally crumbled for us, and we are standing.

This is not so for many people, especially in Haiti. Trying to figure out how to help is hard, especially considering the problems last time this island suffered a hurricane hit. Charity Navigator is an excellent way to find qualified, verified, reputable organizations who can make a difference. Find that HERE.

Choose one. Send what you can. Do it with a heavy but grateful heart that you still have something to share.

Blessed be, everybody. May the Sun shine warmly on your shoulders, and may you share that warmth with all whose lives touch yours.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: An Equinox Reading

Last Thursday, we celebrated the autumnal equinox here in the Northern hemisphere. Traditionally considered the beginning of the fall season, this day is also known as Harvest Home, the Feast of Ingathering, Mabon, Meán Fómhair, or Alban Elfed. It is celebrated as a time of harvest and balance when day and night are equal (though we must tack the modifier "almost" in front of that "equal"—the equinox itself is a moment, specifically the moment when the solar terminator (the "edge" dividing night and day) is perpendicular to the equator.

That moment occurred on Thursday at 10:21 AM EDT. So I am a little late getting to my equinox reading this week. I've been busy-busy-busy. Not like the proverbial bee either. Bees never seem to be in much of a frantic rush. They move from flower to flower with mindful attention, each blossom encompassing the whole of their world for as long as they are there. They don't look at all the hundreds of other flowers and go, "Jeez, I'm gonna be here all day! How am I gonna get to all those flowers? It's already noon, and I've barely covered the roses, much less the ginger lilies and the frangipani."

No, bees do not do that. People do. And when they do, the Ten of Wands shows up in their lives. As it did in mine.

The Ten of Wands describes a burdensome situation. The figure in the card is striving to carry a massive bundle of wands. This does not look to be an easy task, and he is struggling. The Wands are the suit of passion, and as such, they can lead to over-enthusiasm, over-commitment, over-loading. All the over-things.

Luckily, there is much to learn in this card. Every wand in that bundle is there because we picked it up. We may regret some of those decisions (that Facebook party we signed up for); others we are happy to have made despite the hard work (like that workshop we taught or supportive e-mail we wrote to a struggling fellow writer). The wands we carry are the products of our choices. We can put some of them down. We can learn to be more discerning in what we pick up.

But how do we know a beneficial wand from an overwhelming one? How do we spot the tipping point before it's too late? The next two cards are the key: The Sun and the Ace of Pentacles.

The Sun is also a simple card (it last graced our presence only a few weeks ago, here, and also rose during the winter solstice, here). It brings illumination, enlightenment, optimism, and good cheer to our situation. Follow your bliss, Joseph Campbell instructed us. The Sun lights the path to it. Just turn your face—and your talents—toward that which warms you, that which energizes you, that which nurtures you.

Because the Ace of Pentacles is here to remind us that good productive work is one of the truest forms of bliss. It last showed up here, a smack-in-the-face reminder that I needed to get to work. But this week, it has a different message.

There is a saying attributed to Thomas Mann: A writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people. As the suit of material concerns (think job and home and finances and health), the Pentacles describe how we integrate such practical needs into our spiritual practice, how we find joy in the mundane.

The Ace represents the energy of this suit in its clearest, most distilled, most potent form—pure potential. In the same way that all matter is really energy holding hands real tight, the Ace is both right-now and all-that-might-be. When you do good work—and only you can know what that is—you are tapping that potential. Your potential. Where the finite meets infinite possibility. And there you are, surfing on the edge of the wildest of the wild waves.

This week, take a breath from all the busyness that you are surely caught up it. The equinox is a moment, and so is this reading, a snapshot of place and time. Remember your bliss. Connect to your joy. Do your best work right now. And in doing so, prepare for the next season.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Sun

In case you missed it, we had a hurricane this weekend. Hermine cut across Florida and then swooped upward to thrash her way up the East Coast. She caught us in the tail end of her tantrum, knocking down a few trees and popping a few transformers. There was noise and wind...and then suddenly it was over. Five inches of rain were still gurgling in the drainage ditches when the clouds parted.

And the Sun came out.

And so here it is (it also rose for us back in December, which you can read about here). In a natural sense, the sun is the engine of our universe. Without it, Earth would be a lifeless hunk of rock, spinning and sterile in a cold empty sky. But with it, we have life. A brilliantly simple equation.

Such it is with the Sun card in the tarot. If you were looking for a yes, the Sun is about as yes as it can get. If you needed a jolt of optimism or vitality, turn your face toward it like a flower. If you've been feeling sluggish or out of sorts, let the heart of our very own personal star, our own solar combustion machine, energize you.

And if you've become disconnected from your playful, innocent, hopeful self, then The Sun has a special message for you. As creative folk, we appreciate the importance of joy in our lives and in our work. Those are hard to cultivate sometimes in the world of the one-star review and the hateful e-mail and the snarky blog post. Everybody's got a criticism, it seems, and some weeks, every single piece of it seems to be coming right at you.

The Sun shines on the crazy and the cruel too, even if they can't feel it. Pity them that. But this does not diminish the radiance being bestowed on you. The Sun is an impartial and generous lover. And it loves you very much. Smile for it, won't you?

This week, may every cloud reveal a golden lining. And may all your endeavors be warmed and nourished to their full fruition.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Sun

Tonight at 11:48 PM (in the Northern Hemisphere), the Winter Solstice will occur. Scientifically speaking, it marks the moment when our sun's daily maximum elevation in the sky peaks at its lowest point of the year. As such, it is indeed a moment. Split second. Impossible to capture or even witness. And yet it happens.

We're having a cold spell here in Georgia before the temps return to the mid-eighties for Christmas, and the sun sets each night on a clear horizon. I make a cup of tea and sit on my front steps. Dead leaves carpet the ground, but I know that underneath the fragile crispness there is solid slumbering earth. The tea is warm on my lips and tongue, its steam rising and hanging briefly before my eyes, like a veil between me and the fire of the sunset. It feels newly kindled, this sun, clean and reborn, even as it sinks into indigo night.

I feel the turnings, circles within circles. The sun will go down, and then one day it will rise sooner and stronger. The moon wanes, the sun waxes, and the stars move across the sky, silent and true, each constellation a celestial migration. These illusions of human perspective mark me as a part of the cycle. For the moon does not grow or shrink, the sun blazes as steadily now as it did at the height of summer, and the stars are still and constant. It is Earth that tilts and whirls, the same earth that feels so steady beneath me. Another illusion, this steadiness, for the Earth and I are plummeting through space at 66,000 miles an hour. I hold my breath, dancer and dance, the Earth my partner. The stars are at the tumbling edge of the expanding universe, and I ride that wave as well. And I offer thanksgiving, a wordless circle of gratitude that extends in rings around me.

And so here is my wish for you during this moment of turning: May your long nights be rejuvenating, and may the Sun rise on a life of love and laughter, peace and joy, for you. May its warmth be on your shoulder, and in your heart. May it inspire and sustain you as you do the good work.