There’s a stack of cards I haven’t flipped. They are tucked behind the deepest corners of my heart that no one ever gets to see. On my lengthy trips, they creep up in memories even when the music is loud. ESPECIALLY when the music is loud. As they swim around in my head, tears sometimes roll down my cheeks. Other times there are sharp echos of laughter. Most often, there is the deep ache of missing something so strongly, I can taste it on the tip of my tongue. They make their way into my psyche and cause me to revisit each one of them. They ask to be analyzed the way I’d read a tarot deck. Drifting through another sharp turn, not knowing how long I am given on this short ride, they scream to be read.

To the Eight of Cups:

Every time I think of you, my stomach sinks at the thought of all those days and all that time I put into defending you, my friend. I fought for you and fought to maintain our dying bond even when I could see I was no longer welcome. You were my best friend, after all. I wanted us to grow old together. I took responsibility for all those careless times in my youth that I may have put you in danger. I was never the one to make responsible decisions. But boy was I fun. And boy, did we laugh. Even after all the times we always said we never fought, after one or two or twenty-seven circumstances when I was to blame, yet had no clue what I had done wrong, I asked you. Just give me an example. One. And all you had to say was that I was less than nice, or I had become someone different as I processed deep grief. Or I had made yet another irresponsible decision. And I guess that was enough for you to delete the times I sat next to you as I sobbed with you and held your hand at His trial. Or the many times I showed up for you that went unnoticed because I was never enough. The times behind your back when I fought to keep your reputation as a perfect friend intact. Even though I always questioned if unconditional was ever how you really felt about me. I even tried to reach out numerous times for the wounds to be bandaged up, with a hope one day for healing. Silence. That oh, so normal silence from you. I withdraw. I lay down my sword in front of you and thank you, deeply for all the very distant memories of our childhood together. And I’d like to say that you were right when you said that grief changed me. It made me, quite literally lose my mind. A grief so deep and so intentionally removed from everyone else’s life that I was forced to isolate myself too. Something I guess made it easier for you to say goodbye. And so, for all those words you listened to that were spoken behind my back, I say, all of it was always very conditional after all. For all the cups you overfilled, and all the ones you spilled and later blamed on me, I thank you as I bid you a peaceful farewell. And when that madness sets in upon you as you say goodbye to the anchors in your life, I pray you remember those in your life who stay even when you are less than nice.

To the Reversed Empress:

The strongest memory I have of you is how badly I wanted you to love me. I used to sneak my tiny childish body next to yours with the hope that your hand would brush against my long curly brown hair. You were a goddess to me. Iridescent, flawless, larger than the entire universe itself. And somehow, you became like a mother to me. All the things I learned to do through you made me feminine and beautiful, at times fatally. All I ever wanted was to be like you. Memories of you in a long black gown, martini glass in hand. Those perfectly outlined red lips. You were the devil dressed in couture. And I was your disciple. I was a little girl, beyond proud to be your protege. We would talk for hours on the telephone and through the years. We’d talk about dreams and life and fears. I can still smell Crabtree and Evelyn when I think of you. In the way I fold my nightgowns and how I teach my daughter to sit. You are the definition of femme fatal, in every sense of the word. Like a siren who waited and curated and sang for decades to wrap me up into your every spell. I fell hard into your traps, as everyone around you often did. I always saw the potential in your eyes for purity and honesty. And maybe that was just my childish need to fill the temporary void of mother. You were supposed to protect me. Nurture me. You were supposed to be an anchor. You were supposed to hold my heart lightly in your hands, not eat it for dinner. I never saw your scales until I saw them in your absence that one day, in a very cold room. You are venom and beauty and disease somehow living in harmony in a small-framed body that made men drool and women obsess over. You implanted all of it in me, relentlessly. Or at least you tried to. You locked me up and hid me away for a while, thinking it would be ok and that I would just disappear. As snakes often do, we shed old skin. Often in hiding. And we transform our skin into something even more beautiful than before. Phoenix with new flesh. And what is it exactly that happens to sirens when they are left without victims to prey on? Do they disappear and shrivel up into the sea mist? Do they surrender? Do they even exist anymore? And wherever you are, I hope that you remember how powerless you felt as your kids watched you get pulled away. into the dark.  The left and right sides of my heart are often conflicted about you. But it is you, after all, who taught me how to fall in love with my capturers. Both a blessing and a curse. Another beautiful way to describe you.

To the King of Swords:

If ever I questioned a higher power, it was my encounter with you that confirmed it. There was no other reason for me to sit next to you when I did. From angel’s wings to sharp tips of swords all too often shown to me by your awful tongue. I lived a lifetime in a very short chapter with you, my love(s). You were and continue to be a premonition, all too often remembered as a figment of my imagination. A shard of glass I’ve been missing in my cracked soul for way too long. I found you and you found me, and I am certain flames that burn so closely together will find each other yet again. I am starting to realize; however, that it won’t be in this lifetime. In the next, it will be me to show up as your protector. You’ll see me and when you do, you will remember. And you will stop running too fast to belong to anyone, like you’ve been for several lifetimes. You’ll stop being such a coward when it comes to love, and instead of gambling on suits, you’ll start taking a gamble on yourself. The stakes are high. The prize? Worth it beyond your wildest dreams. I see visions of mountains and oceans and the devil card popping up more than I’d like to admit. Softness around your heart, nonetheless. Softness I’d notice in the way you smiled when I could see how deeply you had fallen as well. I feel sad for how you’ve sabotaged your own life and your own happiness for so long. I thought I could help, in my own pauper sort of way. But I got trapped, too. And I fell, too. In my mind, it was all the work of a source so in control, and so loving, that it wasn’t going to let me leave this realm without experiencing real magic just one more time. A fool, maybe. So many days and nights singing in that passenger seat, so many finished sentences and early morning warmth. So many moments, in the middle of chaos and war, where time stood still because you were there with me. Me and you. A king and queen of swords of sorts. A power-couple. But you and I both know I’ve shown up in this life as the empress. Steady, free, nurturing, judged. I see so much inside you. Some of it covered in riches, some of it makes my heart ache at how bottom the rock was. The strongest kings fall the hardest. And I know you have. I see you more that you will ever know. I am you. You are me. The scariest realization lies in searching so long for meaning, only to see that the real truth is that we are every card. King, queen, cup, wand, fool.

To the Sun:

You are my wish fulfilment. The light at the end. The diamond-strewed blanket across the ocean of my soul. The moment I’ve been aching for. Eyes closed, arms outstretched, the one place I can feel at home. To say you’ve never burned me would be a lie. To say you’ve turned your back on me would be a bigger one. You are steady. Burning. You are a liar, yet everyone needs you and loves you. You are rich in color and light and love. But when you burn you burn deadly. The one thing, the one main constant thing, has been you. Even when you chose to pleasure your veins over me, I knew there was something hard you had been hiding from. Stronger than you, it stole you from me in so many ways. Yet you still show up, in readings and in life and in the sky. You are the masculine. The father. The rays of light when I am at my darkest. You show up, every single time. In every single memory. From birth to death. Depicted with four sunflowers in the background. Is it because you remember they were my favorite when I was just a child? Is it because there are four of us? I think back a decade or so and I can only feel your warmth. The main reason I kept you close for so long was how warm you felt to me. Strong hues of golden mahogany, rays so long you were felt across planets. I find myself here, now. Under you. Inside you. In the eyes of my children, I see you. And I don’t think I’ve ever flipped you this way before. I see you differently now. And I want to close my eyes and spin around like I did as a kid. I hope you can continue to find my hand, so I can stop searching. It’s been my most feverish prayer and ritual, to stop the search.