I pulled a card, it’s 9 of cups, which is to suggest that my cup runneth over,
there is a moment here to lean into,
relax into the quiet contentment that comes of the relief, knowing my rent was paid via art,
stress alleviated via the kindness of friends who saw me floundering and rallied so that my head stays above water.
Even people who know how to swim really well can sometimes drown.
These are good friends to have.
I raise my glass to you all, in gratitude.
But what of the heart?
This 9 of cups, this card of many hearts,
of the deep well of emotional saturation,
the desire to dive and delve without dwelling too dramatically on what these feelings open my self up to.
I only have so many hands,
so many hearts,
so many moments to wrap myself in feelings.
And the feelings I’m having are many.
When I think of abundance, it’s a synonym of goodness.
I wish for abundance in my life, kinda thing.
But it just means lots, really.
Ok, you want some abundance?
Here’s a whole bunch.
It is the height of summer where I live, and I feel wrapped in darkness.
There is so much death here.
There always was, but this feels different.
There is a darkness here that beckons me, and I have a certain curiosity that I haven’t touched upon in many years.
There is something about this to be said, but today is not the day I’m ready to say it.
Please be aware these roaming thoughts of darkness do not intimidate me.
I have missed them, in the way someone might hear a tattoo gun, and know that it will cause pain, but the end result will be beautiful.
We ascribe vitality to objects, as though the people who owned them are contained within them somehow. We manufacture memory and use objects as talismans, which in of itself is not a terrible thing. However, when it becomes clutter, a certain amount of noise that takes up space in our lives without anything except a sense of obligation to the person it once gave joy to, that’s where things get troublesome.
Today is my dad’s birthday. He would have been 85. He liked drinking. I’m sure the 9 of cups would seem a good card to get for his birthday.
Anytime anyone says, July first, I will think of my dad. The very day itself is a talisman of his memory, more so than it is canada day to me (I also have feelings about the validity of celebrations of colonialism when they’re still finding the bodies of indigenous children all across the country).
I also think of my dad when I see scrimshaw or shark’s teeth, neither of which I have in my possession, but I don’t really need to.
Yes there is magic in holding something, being able to feel it next to your skin or have it on a shelf so that everytime you see it, you’re reminded of that person. But at what point does it stop being about the vitality of that person and become a ward against the fear of losing them?
It’s easy to get scared that I’m forgetting, that I’m not honouring them to the extent I should/could. The reality is, I have them in my heart and no trinket or tea cup or shark tooth or picture of a house will change that, because I’ve already been changed into the person I am as a result of knowing them, and having them take up space in my heart. In abundance.
Happy birthday, papa.
Black Violet Tarot featured.