Image credit: khimaereus via Pinterest
As they gingerly sit in front of me for a first reading, I like to tell people that every single thing we have each been through – all the precious peaks and shadowy valleys, everything we have each learned or lost or loved – has led us to this exact moment. Shocking stuff (particularly for the non-believers and tarot virgins in it for a lark) but an unholy truth that does not bend to our revisionist sorcery.
As we hanker towards the New and hunger for the Wonderful we all too often skip the most crucial of steps: coming to agreeable terms with the Past. The ancient history we continue to study and let school us. Not just what happened to us and why – those red herrings largely obscure the supertruth. Not who was to blame or how it looks on our well-engineered social show reels. Not whether we were sucked in or spat out by the darker tides of our life. Not even the most important facet of it all: how we rise. None of that.
What we truly need to wrangle in order to settle the ledger and finally file it away is how our past has built us. Even if at first we stumbled, or staggered about shouting. Especially if it blasted us into so many pieces it took aeons to put us back together. Particularly if we now occupy a new (and truer) shape and form. We must make uncommon sense of and deeply understand how our peculiar past gently sculpted our finer features and sandblasted away the rough edges
Bizarrely enough, we need to swallow that medicine whole in order to let it fall behind us. It becomes at once a force that shaped us from when it was a tale we used to tell, about a girl we used to always be – and left our wake as we bravely pull away from the shore.
This magic brought to you every single month in a row by the bright lady’s black tide, that you may dark moon the hell out of your life (yes literally) and smooth down your dress for the new moon almost cresting the horizon.
© Kerrie Basha, 2017