I’m making choices now and continuing on as if something or someone must live after me. I asked my guides for insight and support for the rest of November and into December, basically the rest of the year. They offered me the wisdom of the eight and page of pentacles (pictured in the grid above.) Both cards speak to slowness, to continuing forward. They both speak to the tangible hope I've been seeking. Carving into stone, engraving, etching. Carving out canyons, millions of years. Smoothing out riverbed stones.
I know I wont see the end of the work I’m starting, but I hope the seeds I plant nurture my loved ones down the line, that the earth is soft and their feet are tender. There is hope, I mean it! Just beneath the surface, I dug a hole and buried it as a time capsule for someone to find later. I left clues all around so they’ll know where to look.
And I'm also asking myself, how am I spending my time? What am I devoting myself to? I often feel scrambled when I’m alone. Today, I feel particularly scrambled. How am I integrating my values into my work? Can they be the same thing? I want to be actively hopeful, and I am. I plant seeds. I tend to them. I do the slow work and take small steps. I look back and remember. I rest sometimes.
Physically, I’m exhausted. I know I’m not alone. I’m perceived by the people who love me and want my company. I know everything is unfolding the way it’s meant to. I know it’s a privilege to even be able to say that. I keep seeing pennies on the ground randomly, which was the sign I asked for to know things were shifting after feeling stagnant for too long. I think many truths are coming to the surface, and I have to be the container that holds them. And I think I need to be flexible like a wineskin, or a woven bag, or a canvas tote. I think I need to be see-through and clearly labeled, so there’s no confusion as to what I’m here for.
And I need to be honest: I’m angry at people directly causing harm. I’m angry at mothers who cannot love their children or respect their autonomy as adults.
What’s up with these moms (who claim to follow Christ, mind you) and their emotional manipulation and abuse? How dare they call that love? I swear they have not truly known love if they continue in this way. To accuse people who are at peace of walking down a “dangerous path,” when the observable fruit of their own life is fear and worry and a clawing for control. How dare they!
How dare they berate their children and call it love. Jesus would say, “Woe to you!” to people like them, the hired hand, the whitewashed tombs, the serpents devouring the homes of the oppressed. I have a hard time showing kindness to people like this. They make me feel unsafe, so they make me feel defensive.
And God knows I prefer tenderness. God knows I desire to be soft and ripe and sweet. God knows I let the sunlight greet me and the rain and the wind surround me. God knows I’m barefoot in the grass.
Forgive me when I’m enraged and inconsiderate. Forgive me when I want to seek revenge and apply pressure to the bruise. Forgive me when I become so small that I look my oppressor in the eye and make deals with them against myself. Forgive me when I start to resemble them. Forgive me when I become unrecognizable to myself. Remind me that I have more love in me than breaths on this earth.
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