This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Nine of Cups

As I turned over the card for this week's reading, I was gratified to see the Nine of Cups revealed. After all, this week we celebrate Lammas, also known as Lughnasadh, the sabbat celebrating the grain harvest, and the Nine of Cups is the card of the bountiful table.

Imagine my surprise when I noticed that on this exact same time last year I drew this exact same card. What I had to say still applies on this most welcoming and nurturing eve, so I'm sharing it again. The Wheel turns and returns. Blessed be the Wheel.

And blessed be your creative endeavors this Lammas Day.

☀

Today the Wheel of the Year turns, ushering in the Gaelic feast day of Lughnasadh, the first of the mid- to late-summer harvest festivals celebrated through Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man. Also known as Lammas, or "loaf-mass," in English-speaking countries, this holiday is a celebration of the first wheat harvest, and all the goodness that derives from that grain, especially bread.

Bread is more than physical sustenance—it is also a symbol of our connection to the cycles of life, and to each other. It is no coincidence that the word "companion" come from the Old French compaignon, literally "one who shares bread" (the Latin com which means "together" and panis which means "bread").

I was thinking about these themes when I turned over the card for this week's reading, so I was not a bit surprised to see the Nine of Cups shining there. What a bountiful card this is, and what an appropriate day for it to grace our presence. It does come with one warning, though—in abundance, we must also be generous. This card is often called the "wish" card, but as those old stories about genies illustrate, we must be careful what we wish for. We must never confuse abundance with a static state, a have or have-not duality. Generosity is an energy, less about the bread than the active breaking of it.

This week, ponder the nature of your resources both creative and otherwise. Who do you break bread with, both literally and figuratively? Who shares the abundance of your table? Who invites you to share in theirs? Think about these people this week, both past and present. Connect to them in your thoughts, and if possible, in your words. Perhaps even bake some actual, honest-to-goodness bread to share with them, a tangible symbol of your gratitude for their presence in your life. Here is a very simple, and very good, recipe. Don't let your resources stagnate with you.

For this is the truth all creative folk understand—we are not islands unto ourselves. Our art connects us to each other, and to the Universe. Not a word we write exists in isolation for we are using the same ancient tools—in the case of us English speakers, twenty-six of them—that have been used for thousands of years. We are artisans and architects, keepers of a sacred well, tenders of an old old fire. When we sit down to the page, we are always in good company. And as such, we should always be grateful. We should always raise our metaphorical cups in salute.

Have a blessed Loaf Day! May it be fruitful now and throughout your harvest season!

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The King of Cups

First, a confession.

I cannot look at the King of Cups as depicted in the Rider-Waite-Smith tarot and not think of Q, the almost-omniscient troublemaker on Star Trek: The Next Generation. Something about that weird hat crown. And the whale-tail throne floating in the middle of the ocean. And the blue dress. And the necklace with the fish amulet, which is not something Q wore, but only because he hadn't thought about it yet, I am sure.

Because let's face it, the King of Cups is an odd combination of traits. He's one of the court cards, tricky devils when it comes to interpretation because they can represent the querent (the person getting the reading), a person in the querent's life, or some manifestation of the energy of their suit. So if he shows up, he could be you, or somebody else, or some kind of kingly presence.

The Cups themselves are also notoriously hard to pin down. Like the watery element they spring from, they are always ebbing and rising, flowing and switching course, in a perpetual state of constant change (ponder that paradoxical concept a moment). They transform and are transformed in continual movement, only temporarily contained. The King of Cups represents that dynamic, especially its emotional power. The Cups are the suit of the heart, after all, and this King is deeply in touch with feelings of all kinds, especially compassion and love.

This contradicts with the outwardly-focused, actively-engaged nature of Kings. Masculine cards are direct, linear, and somewhat relentless in their drive forward—interior work is not their forte. And yet here is the King of Cups representing just that.

Also, you must understand that in the tarot, concepts like masculine and feminine have nothing to do with gender—they simple describe ways of being in the world by creating two poles on a continuum. So Kings don't always refer to men, and even when they do, they don't always reference the "manliness" of said men.

In summary, be on the lookout for the King of Cups this week. He'll be—to quote Suzanne Vega's "Left of Center"—"in the outskirts/ in the fringes/ in the corner/off of the strip." He may be disguised, deliberately unassuming or delightfully outrageous. He may be in your own heart, or sitting next to you on the bus. He may be a she, or an it, both or neither. And he'll have a message for you.

What does this have to do with writing? you say. Excellent question. You should probably ask this King when he appears. He may answer with a riddle. But he'll always answer. Guaranteed.

Call It The Rider-Waite-SMITH, Please

Today is the last Sunday in March, which is Women's History Month. I thought it fitting to close out with a repeat of a previous column celebrating the woman at the heart of tarot, Pamela Coleman Smith, whose designs make up the famous Rider-Waite-Smith deck and whose name is often unfortunately, heinously, criminally left out of the deck's name.

You can still see her on the cards, though. Look on each for a small monogram of a “P” crossed with a looping “C” and “S.” It looks like a cross between a sigil and a logogram, and it is the signature of Pamela Coleman Smith.

You can find it easily in the lower right of the Three of Cups, the card that celebrates the richness of deep friendship. Smith chose to illustrate that card with three women dancing in joy and abundance and camaraderie, their golden chalices held high, and so now that card has become synonymous with the power of female relationship.

Pamela did that.
 
The Rider-Waite-Smith, also called the RWS, is the most famous of the tarot decks. Its images are well-known in popular culture. What is less well-known is how revolutionary those images are, how they completely transformed tarot interpretation. As the illustrator for the deck, Smith created pictorial scenes not just for the major cards—the heavy hitters like Death and The Fool—but also for the pips, the numbered cards. By portraying the minor arcana in this way, Smith removed the separation between the "big" cards and the "little" ones, making the more mundane moments of our lives, the nostalgia and ennui and first heart-flutter of romance, as important and worthy of contemplation as the milestones.

She created scenes and peopled them with with dynamic characters, allowing the reader to literally imagine herself in the cards. Her background as a theatre major shows in these stagings, which are clear enough to get right to the heart of each card's energy, but intricate enough that the reader can layer her own life on top of them and read the details—here a white dog, there a handful of roses—as personal revelation.

As Smith herself explains in an article entitled "Should the Art Student Think?":

"Note the dress, the type of face; see if you can trace the character in the face; note the pose. . . . First watch the simple forms of joy, of fear, of sorrow; look at the position taken by the whole body. . . . After you have found how to tell a simple story, put in more details. . . . Learn from everything, see everything, and above all feel everything! . . . Find eyes within, look for the door into the unknown country."

The door into the unknown country. Yes indeed.

It's one of the great unfairnesses that Smith received very little compensation for her work, and even less recognition for helping create what has become the most accessible and popular tarot deck of all time. As she wrote to her mentor, Alfred Stieglitz, "I have just completed a big job for very little cash!" Even her name got dropped from the deck, which is why I both write and speak that SMITH now in all caps.

She was a multi-faceted person—a synaesthetic artist and member of The Order of the Golden Dawn who eventually converted to Catholicism. She published writers like William Butler Yeats in the magazine she founded, had her work exhibited at top notch galleries, worked as an illustrator for Bram Stoker, and yet she died penniless.

She was a fervent supporter of women's suffrage, lending her voice and her talents to the cause. Little is known about her romantic life except that she never did marry, preferring the company of women, it seems. She was eccentric, brilliant, generous, and lived a life of adventure and whole-hearted creative joy.

So when you speak of the tarot, be sure to give Pamela Colman Smith her due. Say her name loud and proud. 

In honor of her, and as a gift for you, I offer the Three of Cups this week. May you find joy and support and abundance among your tribe, and may you always know the love of good strong creative women.

For Further Reading:

The BBC's Bio of Pamela Colman Smith (with fascinating footnotes)

"Giving Thanks to Pamela Colman Smith" on Little Red Tarot

"Pamela Colman Smith" at Wikipedia (also with interesting footnotes and further source reading

Holly Voley's Website devoted to Pamela Colman Smith

A Reading for the Vernal Equinox

Like full moons and solstices, an equinox exists as a point in a continuum. Though we celebrate it as the day when light and dark are equal, it is actually a singular moment. Fleeting. Impossible to pin down. As liquid and relentlessly flowing as time itself.

The 2017 vernal equinox will be on Monday, March 20 at 6:28 AM when the sun crosses the celestial equator to enter the sky’s Northern Hemisphere. Known as Ostara, Eostre, or Alban Eilir in the Wheel of the Year, the spring equinox reminds us of the importance of balance. We are letting go of the hibernating, nurturing night and moving into the clean, fresh day.

Like an equinox, a tarot reading is also a moment. A snapshot of a slice of time. Unlike an equinox, however, a tarot reading captures that moment and holds it still. Once the cards are laid out, a tarot reading exists outside of time even as it perfectly preserves it. This allows us to make one singular moment tangible enough to look at and think about and quite literally hold in our hands.

I designed this Vernal Equinox spread in the shape of a flower, with one card as the stem, two cards as leaves, and one card as the blossoming petals. I also added another wild card floating above my flower (like a bee or butterfly) to represent any external energies affecting our reading. This allows us to explore the foundational conditions carried over from the winter, supporting energies, the flower itself, and any other something that might come buzzing up.

And here is what I got.

Well. Things started off solid enough with the Six of Pentacles as the stem. This is often called the karma card, described in the Steampunk Tarot (which you'll see pictured in the spread) as the card of flowing material resources. Flow looks like a very chaotic and random process—and in many ways it as, as one cannot predict where one particular droplet of water will end up when all is said and done—but fluid dynamics calculates the process of flow quite accurately. And that is what karma is, after all—action flowing inexorably into consequence.

(PS: We see this idea continued in our final result, our blooming Wheel of Fortune. But we'll get to that in a second).

Our supporting influences (the leaves) are the Queen of Pentacles and the Two of Cups. This Queen represents someone who provides material comfort and support, so be grateful when she shows up this spring, and say thank you. The Two of Cups classically refers to a romantic attraction, but it can also mean any emotionally exciting partnership, especially in its early stages.

Our final result—our bountiful flower—is the Wheel of Fortune. For while the Six of Pentacles is about cause and effect, the Wheel is about randomness. But if you've ever studied fractal patterns, you know that even in the most seemingly random occurrence, you'll see the spiraling patterns of order. Which is so seductive, after all. To know the rules is to know the order, and to know the order is to predict and protect.

Ah. But then there is the Tower. I had hoped that spring would bring us something like a bee or butterfly, a pollinator of some kind. Alas. We get the unexpected freeze and the hard rain as surprise guests. But not all is lost. The Tower is no friendly card, but the destruction it foretells has always been inevitable. And the clean space it leaves behind is the best ground to till for whatever you want to come next. What will that be? That is up to you.

So creative ones, batten down the hatches and the hatchlings and any other delicate objects—this spring is going to be a wild ride. Projects will live and die and be reborn in astounding ways. You will receive help from unexpected quarters and unforeseen partners. Yes, rough winds may shake the darling buds this month, but destruction and construction are two sides of the same coin. Practice what Keats called the negative capability, the ability to hold two contrary ideas simultaneously and not seek to reconcile them, and you'll be fine.

Is it all just a big dice game? Or is there some inherent meaning under it all? The answer is yes.

Now go out there with the birds and the bees and create something. Will it last? Who knows? Make it as beautiful and true as you can regardless. That's all the Universe asks of us. And enjoy the creating. The birds and the bees surely do.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Three of Cups

For me, the tarot is the Swiss Army knife of divination— I think that's one of the reasons I return to it again and again, finding new uses and meanings and purposes every time I do. Last week, I explained how divination wasn't fortune telling, for there is no locked and fixed future as long as we have free will. Our choices will always unfold new destinies for us.

This active, fertile tension between choice and fate is why I sometimes ask the Universe to choose a card for me (my usual practice here on the blog) and why I sometimes choose for myself, picking a card that resonates with an energy that I would like to explore or that I want to honor with my attention and intention.

This week's card—the Three of Cups—falls into the latter category. See, I just returned from UU Womenspirit, a gathering of women honoring the Feminine Divine through song and circles, workshops and worship. Arthur Waite's description of the Three of Cups describes this energy perfectly: "Maidens in a garden-ground with cups uplifted, as if pledging one another. Divinatory meanings: The conclusion of any matter in plenty, perfection and merriment; happy issue, victory, fulfillment, solace, healing."

Yes. Exactly that.

So I chose this card to honor my return home, my cup running over, my heart enriched with memory and connection and gratitude for these women who shared space with me, who held space for me, who opened up new vistas and viewpoints and revelations.

I returned home to community too, my fellow Mojito Literary Society members, writers and poets and creatives of all sorts who are always there to provide support and connection and juice. I previously wrote about the need for such writerly connection as expressed in the Three of Cups—you can find that here—but we all need reminding. As I wrote then:

"We humans raise our glasses for lots of reasons: to toast, to honor, but also to pledge. That's what the three women are doing in this card — pledging and promising to be there for each other, and to hold each other to that pact. To help each other remember. And re-member."

This week, re-member with your community, with the people who keep you sane and joyful in your work, who remind you of who you are, who toast your successes and console you on your losses. Who are your connection to what matters: your own circle of belonging.

I raise my chalice to each and every one of you. Thank you for joining me on this tarot journey, however you come to it. I am glad to have you.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Four of Cups

It happens to the best of us. That sense of...not exactly boredom. Ennui perhaps. A jittery anxious nothing of an emotion that manages to feel both heavy and ungrounded at the same time. Quite the trick, that.

But such paradoxes are the heart of the Four of Cups (which visited us before here, almost exactly a year ago). To understand it, you need to develop what Keats called the negative capability—the ability to be in uncertainty, mystery, and doubt without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.

The tension comes from the pairing of a Four, a number associated with stability, with the suit of Cups, the suit of flux and emotion. So yes. Tension. Writers and other creative folk are familiar with this feeling, which strangely enough comes most often after some kind of success, especially a long-running one.

The key to resolving that tension is to first of all acknowledge it. That can be harder that you think, as our gentleman on the card illustrates. He knows something is off. He's puzzled why he's feeling so disenchanted—he's got three shiny golden chalices, after all. He's so consumed in his confusion that he can't even acknowledge the cup coming straight from the freaking Hand of the Universe. That is a Cup of Destiny, right there. And he can't see it.

This week, you may be feeling a touch of divine discontent, which is like regular discontent, except deeper and more tied to destiny and existential purpose and a whole lot of other Big Things. Fortunately, divine discontent comes with its own solution.

First, sit with the discomfort. Be itchy and restless. Fold your arms and whine if you need to. Second, look hard for the glimmer of gold. It will be close to you, perhaps as the memory of an achievement or a literal reward of some kind. Be grateful for that glimmer. It is a real accomplishment. Give thanks for it...and then look away.

Because the third step is the hardest. Unfold your arms. Let go of plans and worries and efforts. Sit for a moment exactly as you are, in present time and space. Let your mind wander. Ponder. Dream. Make way for the potential to come.

You'll feel the spark when it does. You'll know. And all you have to do at that point is wrap your hand around it.

 

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Nine of Cups

Today the Wheel of the Year turns, ushering in the Gaelic feast day of Lughnasadh, the first of the mid- to late-summer harvest festivals celebrated through Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man. Also known as Lammas, or "loaf-mass," in English-speaking countries, this holiday is a celebration of the first wheat harvest, and all the goodness that derives from that grain, especially bread.

Bread is more than physical sustenance—it is also a symbol of our connection to the cycles of life, and to each other. It is no coincidence that the word "companion" come from the Old French compaignon, literally "one who shares bread" (the Latin com which means "together" and panis which means "bread").

I was thinking about these themes when I turned over the card for this week's reading, so I was not a bit surprised to see the Nine of Cups shining there. What a bountiful card this is, and what an appropriate day for it to grace our presence. It does come with one warning, though—in abundance, we must also be generous. This card is often called the "wish" card, but as those old stories about genies illustrate, we must be careful what we wish for. We must never confuse abundance with a static state, a have or have-not duality. Generosity is an energy, less about the bread than the active breaking of it.

This week, ponder the nature of your resources both creative and otherwise. Who do you break bread with, both literally and figuratively? Who shares the abundance of your table? Who invites you to share in theirs? Think about these people this week, both past and present. Connect to them in your thoughts, and if possible, in your words. Perhaps even bake some actual, honest-to-goodness bread to share with them, a tangible symbol of your gratitude for their presence in your life. Here is a very simple, and very good, recipe. Don't let your resources stagnate with you.

For this is the truth all creative folk understand—we are not islands unto ourselves. Our art connects us to each other, and to the Universe. Not a word we write exists in isolation for we are using the same ancient tools—in the case of us English speakers, twenty-six of them—that have been used for thousands of years. We are artisans and architects, keepers of a sacred well, tenders of an old old fire. When we sit down to the page, we are always in good company. And as such, we should always be grateful. We should always raise our metaphorical cups in salute.

Have a blessed Loaf Day! May it be fruitful now and throughout your harvest season!

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Five of Cups

Oh, but we have all been there. And here we are again.

The Five of Cups turned up earlier this year—you can read about its previous incarnation here—and its energy has not changed. It is still the card of loss and grief, of missed opportunities, of the pain that comes when something that matters very much is gone. Gone is a natural and necessary part of the cycle, of course, but gone is also hard.

Very hard.

We are much more comfortable with the "building up" part of the cycle, construction and manifestation. Having our hopes and dreams become tangible (like last week's Three of Pentacles) appeals to our sense of reward. It gives our actions purpose. Word by word, day after day, and soon enough you've got a novel. Yay us! Accomplishment feels right and good and, darn it, we deserve a little rightness and goodness after we sweated through all that work.

And then there's this guy. AGAIN.

He's always there, of course. Even when we have pushed up our shirtsleeves and gotten to work. Even when the sun is shining with optimism and clarity upon our plans. Even when the Universe Herself is giving us a loving pat on the back.

This week, even if things are going swimmingly for you (and I sure hope they are), make some space for the Five of Cups. The building blocks of success didn't just materialize out of thin air—everything comes from source, and every source material was something else not that long ago. Something that crumbled and dissolved and changed and transmuted. Acknowledge that. Sit with it through whatever discomfort arises. Let it arise. It is actually your friend.

Be grateful for empty spaces. Despite what you have been told, Nature loves a vacuum. Nature rushes to a vacuum with everything she's got.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Ten of Cups

It's definitely a holiday weekend around here at Whittle Central. We're all home, for one, and there are tasty eats being prepared (in our case we're celebrating America by cooking a Mediterranean feast of epic proportions). We're all engaged in various projects, but not a single one of us feels obliged to crack down on our official to-do lists. So no engineering, no opening the college history book, and in my case, not a single bit of PR or promo work or (ack) bookkeeping.

Writing itself? Oh sure, I'll be doing some of that. But it will be purely for the joy of it today, not to make a word count. Maybe I'll treat my characters to a fireworks show and see what other kinds of fireworks might happen. Or maybe I'll let them have a dinner date that doesn't involve a criminal investigation. Regardless, it will be a just-for-fun scene that has no place in the plot-driven mystery novels they inhabit, but that I enjoy writing so very much.

That's the lesson I'm taking from the Ten of Cups, which is a card of well-earned joy. Tens are cards of culmination, and the Cups are the suit of emotions (and how we order and experience them) so a little celebration feels in order. For me, that means I'll be including my fictional people in my activities, but more importantly, I'm making time for my flesh and blood people. The Fourth of July is called Independence Day, but in the middle of all the red, white, and blue, I think what we're truly celebrating is our connection to each other. It takes an us to make a USA. And I have some fine people to call mine.

This week, honor your creative spirit by being grateful for all the joy that it has brought into your life. And be especially grateful for all the people who have helped you along the way -- your family, your friends, your creative tribe. Every hand that has taken yours in encouragement or assistance or camaraderie. All these shared moments are culminating in the right here/right now of who you are. Which is not where you were when you started this creative journey, I am willing to bet.

Happy 4th of July! May it herald a fantastic second half to your 2017!

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Ace of Cups

So it's Monday afternoon, and I am just now remembering that I haven't written up this week's tarot post. It's been crazy around here First, my latest release came out a month early (!!!). Then the usual spring break jumble of getaways and family visits and road trips happened. Throw in some flu and allergies and foot surgery...

It's enough to make any girl wanna retreat, possibly into a spa, definitely for a good long while.

But then we have the Ace of Cups to remind us — go with the flow, it says. Because life is always flowing.

And flow can feel very much like chaos. Which it is and isn't. Fluid dynamics provides equations that can predict the overall patterns of liquids in a state of flow, but at best it's describing how things will happen, not what will happen. Stirring a spoonful of cream into your coffee will have a predictable outcome, but trying to foresee the exact bouncing and swirling of molecules is a doomed endeavor.

So don't try. Don't even.

This week, hold high the Ace of Cups. It is reminiscent of last week's Three of Cups in that it encourages you to partake joyously.  And to remember that when life is in full flow, don't get out the anchor. Get out your surfboard.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Three of Cups

I'd been trying to have coffee with a writer friend for a few months, but our schedules never cooperated. Sickness and work also complicated things until last week, when a slice of free time opened up and we shared a few hours of writerly commiseration and camaraderie over a nice Ecuadorian blend. As I laughed and talked, I was reminded yet again of why the Three of Cups is such an important card for us writers.

It signifies community, specifically the close-knit circle of like-minded friends. People you are comfortable laughing with. Of course, these are the same friends who will be there during tears, but the Three of Cups symbolizes the happy times, the shared joy, a time of, as described by tarot creator Arthur Waite, "plenty, perfection and merriment."

But there's a deeper octave to this card. Sure, it's good to take a break and celebrate life with your friends. It's hard to consider this a necessity. We writers are a solitary lot because there is so much work to be done — the inbox! the deadlines! the blogs that need writing! And since we're upper management in this endeavor, allocating time to enjoyment seems frivolous. But it is vital to our work, and even more vital to our hearts (which, of course, are necessary for our work).

There is a sense of promise to this card as well. We humans raise our glasses for lots of reasons: to toast, to honor, but also to pledge. That's what our women are doing in this card — pledging and promising to be there for each other, and to hold each other to that pact. To help each other remember. And re-member.

So this week, call up a friend for a shared hour of conversation. Start a new collaborative project with a fellow creative. Celebrate your people, your community, your tribe. Celebrate connection.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Two of Cups

Should you wish to celebrate Valentine's Day in a decidedly unusual fashion, you can visit the flower-adorned skull of St. Valentine in the Basilica of Santa Maria in Rome. This other bits and pieces of the saint's skeletal remains have a more vagabond existence -- they can be found in reliquaries throughout the world, including Ireland, Scotland, England, France, and the Czech Republic.

Should you choose to celebrate closer to home, however, the Two of Cups is here to help you out. Cups are the symbol of free-flowing emotion, and the Twos represent new beginnings. The Two of Cups is the quintessence of fresh relationship energy, the kind that sparks and energizes. The kind that softens and warms and make possible great growth and change.

And it's not just about romantic love. This Valentine's Day, celebrate everyone who shares a heart connection with you -- your spouse, your kids, your friends, your pets. Everyone with whom you give and receive love. Valentine's Day is about love in all its pink and red glory, but the Two of Cups is about that love in the flesh.

We writers can be a solitary lot. But I bet there is a beating heart close to you right now, a heart that beats for you even when you are locked alone with your words.

So this Valentine's Day, give the owner of that heart a hug, or a phone call, or a card with lace and your own words on it. They most surely need it. And so do you.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Five of Cups

It was bound to happen. Where there is milk, there will eventually be a spill.

Such it is with bounty and abundance. Such it is with the universe, galloping headlong toward entropy. "Nothing gold can stay," Robert Frost reminded us. As does the Five of Cups.

There's a reason that the suit of emotions is represented by a vessel. Feelings flow. They surge and ebb — they roil and tumble. Without containment, they would have no form, and without form, we wouldn't be able to understand them. We'd drown in them, the tidal wave of them.

Our gentleman here is grieving. Three cups lie on the ground at his feet, their contents split and running. They may as well be a flood, even though all that remains is a puddle. And soon, even that will be gone.

Creative folk will recognize this feeling. It comes with the rejection letter. It comes with the bad review. It comes with contracts that aren't renewed, signings that go unattended, readers who walk by with their eyes averted.

But let's not get too personal. Suffice it to say, we've all been there.

So mired is he in his pain that he cannot see that two cups still remain full. There is still some good in his life, some sweetness. It is the tendency of those who love us is to press those brimming chalices to our lips and bid us drink, and drink deeply, of what we still have to be grateful for. We can forgive them this. They want us to be happy.

But first — and this is perhaps harder for them than us — we must grieve. We must be in the moment. Yes, the past is water under the bridge (note the stone bridge and flowing river in the background, a not-too-subtle reminder of that very truth). But right now, right now...we mourn.

What is it in your life that is passing away? Are you mourning it properly? Are you giving it the full eulogy it deserves? Are you capable of standing present in your grief?

I hope so. And I hope that soon you taste hope on your lips once again.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Knight of Cups

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

from "Ode on a Grecian Urn" by John Keats

Here is your message for the week, delivered by that most ardent and devoted of suitors — the Knight of Cups. All the knights of the tarot are quest figures, searching ever searching, their eyes straight ahead, their vision steady and fixed on a singular goal.

Our chivalrous Knight of Cups is perhaps the most emblematic of his company, for the golden chalice he holds links him with the Holy Grail of Arthurian myth. You might think him the poster boy for the quest achieved. After all, there's the cup, tight in his hand. Problem solved. Treasure found. Next adventure, please!

Hold your horses. The quest isn't for the cup itself — it's for what the cup contains. And that, oh creative one, is still a mystery.

You have clues that this is the case. Notice his winged helmet, and the slightly less obvious winged spurs. Our knight is cousin to Hermes and Mercury, two of the more tricksterish gods to ever tamper with mortal affairs. They are also messengers, heralds of news and tidings and sudden developments of a surprising nature. And since Cups are the suit of emotion and imagination — the somewhat feverish but always fertile ground from which creativity is born — you can bet this knight will deliver something . . . interesting.

He is a dreamer, the prince of that tribe. He is gentle and compassionate. He is often haunted, sometimes melancholy, but always deep. And he's got something for you in his chalice, something for you and you alone, a message and a gift and a quest all rolled into one. This is the season of advent, after all. The season of approach.

Listen. You can almost hear the distant hoofbeats, coming closer.

This Week's Writerly Tarot: The Four of Cups

You know the routine. And that's the problem.

The Four of Cups describes a situation that is somehow both stable and crawling with tension. That's what happens when you take the number four, which is associated with structure and regularity  (think squares) and combine it with the active flowing nature of the Cups (think fountains and geysers and other gushy things). A mismatch in energies, like when a Virgo and Aries try to go on a date.

Often called the card of Divine Discontent, the Four of Cups represents those times when there's nothing wrong exactly -- no blood, no fire, no drama -- but a sludgy gray ennui holds you down nonetheless. You may try to procrastinate your way out of this feeling. But unlike the time wasting that happens when we're trying to avoid hard work, this kind of wasting happens when we've stopped setting ourselves to deep, satisfying work.

Straightening your desk won't help. Neither will checking your e-mail, or emptying the paper shredder. This is a soul problem, my friend, and it needs a soul solution.

It would be very helpful if the Universe provided such a solution as obviously as it does in this image. Look! A golden chalice filled with meaning and purpose! Take it, you fool! Drink and find your true destiny!

Alas.

I've never had the clouds part and a literal arm come out holding literally anything. Thank goodness, I suppose -- that would send me right off. But lacking such direction, what are we the divinely discontented to do?

First of all, this kind of situation has Cups written all over it. The suit of emotion and feeling, it emotes and feels. The Four tries to contain that feeling, which leads to stagnation, so to break the cycle, we have to spill something. Get a little messy. Let the jostling liquid parts of you slop over the edges.

How to properly greet your Muse
 (art by Thalia Took)

Forget your routine, just for a minute. Yes, I know, all the how-to-be-a-writer books tell you to make an appointment and the Muse will show. But the Four of Cups indicates that your Muse may be tired of being summoned to your desk every morning at nine, as if she were some kind of cosmic personal assistant. As if she didn't have better things to do. Maybe she needs a little courting, a little surprise, a little shiny newness? Maybe she needs an enthusiastic welcome (see the image at left). And maybe, when she does come, she'd like to be asked what she'd like to do for a change.

Last week's card was the call of rebirth -- this week's card suggests you're avoiding answering that call until a more appropriate time, when you've finished whatever it is you've been so diligently persevering at. Like the taxes.

Stop that this instant. There is a freaking chalice of purpose and destiny hovering in your vicinity. Maybe it's within your reach. Maybe it's not. Reach for it anyway. It's the reaching that matters this week.

So what are you waiting for? Reach.