Honoring Lady Justice: A Card for the 4th of July

The Justice card from the Connolly Tarot

Does she look familiar, this crowned woman of quiet strength and profound wisdom?

She has had many names in many civilizations, but whether you call her Lady Justice or Lady Liberty, she represents balance in both a personal moral sense and a universal natural one. She is the personification of freedom in thought and word and deed, which means she also personifies our collective responsibility to fairness and mercy, and to each other.

Liberty for all or liberty for none.

Justice is a fitting card for the week following the 4th of July, Independence Day in the United States. On this day 248 years ago, we codified the great experiment that is America, an imperfect construction, yes. But on that day, we also committed to be ever moving forward, ever pursuing a more perfect union.

"I do not pretend to understand the moral universe; the arc is a long one, my eye reaches but little ways; I cannot calculate the curve and complete the figure by the experience of sight; I can divine it by conscience. And from what I see I am sure it bends towards justice." — Theodore Parker

The tarot has many queenly figures in it. Each suit has its reigning feminine monarch (for four in all) plus there are several major arcana cards traditionally depicting women upon thrones, including Lady Justice.

Wisdom. Clarity. Fairness. Consequence. These are the values associated with this card. She carries both a sword, representing severity, and scales, representing mercy. She is not blindfolded, however. She is objective, yes, but her sense of fair play comes from being able to see a situation deeply and clearly. How else is she to prevent a conniving thumb from sneaking onto those golden balances? How else will she ensure that the verdict she renders is truly right and not simply legal?

And that is what she asks of us now, not the detached disinterest of the scale, nor the edged vindication of the sword—Justice requires that we keep our eyes wide open.

This is how the arc of the universe bends, after all. Not through passive inaction. Not by simply trusting that everything will work itself out. This arc is bent by the work of hands. But before we act, we must choose the right and correct action. This is the true work of Justice.

This week, consider how you can help bend the arc of the Universe. What small action can you take to move yourself—and therefore the entire Universe—toward that result?

Previously, I said of Justice, "You already have the long-enough lever—she's simply showing you where you might stand." That sounds exactly right for this moment too.

I hope you had a peaceful and profound 4th of July, my friends. May it be so next year as well.

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To learn more about the Connolly deck: https://www.usgamesinc.com/connolly-tarot.html

Read more about Columbia, one of the US’s earliest symbolic personifications: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/before-lady-liberty-lady-columbia-180982722/

Read more about the Statue of Liberty at the National Park Service website: https://www.nps.gov/stli/index.htm

A Tarot Card for the Winter Solstice: the Hermit

This year, the winter solstice occurs on December 21st, with the solstice moment happening at exactly 10:27 EST. Also known as Yule, it marks the longest night and the shortest day of the year, when the sun seems to stand still in the sky. As such, it is a time when many religions and cultures ponder the natural cycles of dark and light and rebirth.

Many seasonal symbols today have roots in winter solstice rituals — lighting candles and bonfires, burning the yule log, decorating with mistletoe and holly and evergreens. Feasting and singing are also traditional, especially the sharing of the wassail punch and the ringing of bells to welcome back the strengthening sun. The celebrations often lasted for twelve days, much like the carol “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” an echo of the ancient belief that the sun actually did pause in the sky for twelve days.

It is our human inclination on this, the longest night, to gather with our friends and family, to make merry and celebrate warmth both literally and metaphorically. But the solstice is, as its name reveals, a time to honor stillness. It is the energy of The Hermit, the card of solitude, introspection, and soul seeking, a card that urges us to slow down, take stock, look within.

The Earth herself is moving into the dark time, the cool time, the time of shadows. Humanity has created a million ways to pretend this isn't happening. We turn up the lights, sing louder, drape tinsel, laugh and plan and move hither and yon, busy and busier.

This holiday season, consider the bear. Bears know how to hermit better than anybody, so start planning the ways that you can honor your inner ursine. Plump the cushions in your cave. Make ready to spend some time in luxurious hibernation. It is a fact of our culture that one must carve away solitude, carve it like Michelangelo freeing the angel from the marble.

But do carve. Because the angel is there. And The Hermit promises to help you find it.

PS: Still looking for a gift for that special someone? Consider a certificate for a tarot reading. There’s no better way to start the new year, and right now I’ve got all my hour-long readings on sale. But hurry! Like 2023, this offer ends at midnight on December 31st!

When Death Kindly Stops for Us

One morning many years ago, my daughter and I baked bread to take to a family in bereavement. I pulled out an old family recipe, transcribed decades ago by my thirteen-year-old hand. Eventually my kitchen was fragrant with yeast, the oven warming as the loaves finished their second rising.

In another season, that flour was not the sifted pale powder in my kitchen — it was thousands of whole grains waiting to be milled and processed. And before that, it was growing in a green field until it was mowed down by the combine, gathered and collected. Seeding and growing, reaping and harvest.

Death is often referred to as a Reaper and presented as such in the tarot — a pale rider on a pale horse, children and kings and priests alike falling before him. There is certainly a frightful aspect to the card, and to all losses, especially those of people we love, who have loved us. But there is also a promise. In the tarot, Death may be a reaper, but he bears a reminder of the season of renewal as well—the white rose on the banner, the symbol of the soul and rebirth. For this card describes not a singular moment, but a process. One step in the cycle.

And there is a kindness to Death, noted by Emily Dickenson and other poets. It’s one of the reasons I am fond of how the card in portrayed in The Phantomwise Tarot — a young woman, her face hidden behind a cheerful umbrella. her scythe lying lightly across her lap.

Many years ago, I explored the Death card in a pilgrimage to Antietam, the site of the bloodiest day in Civil War history. I expected to feel some kind of horror there, some pervasive sadness, on that once battlefield, now farm. But the sky was blue and the fields were green and the corn in the field grew high and strong. That night, I dreamed of the Death card, and I wrote about that dream in my journal the next day:

"It is an unsettling card, Death—the black robes, the complacent relentless skull. In the dream, though, I flip it over and reverse it, and the image is now a chalice, overflowing with water, emptying and receiving simultaneously. Death is not static. It moves too, with time, a point on a continuum that really isn't a point, that is as fluid and forward moving as life. The two are inextricable."

And so my daughter and I baked bread, the sun barely risen. And we gave thanks for life and for the harvest, kneaded that gratitude into each loaf. For everything there is a time and place. Tomorrow I will write. I will connect once again with the work that nourishes my soul. And though I did not eat any of the bread we made, it nourished me too.

I have heard it said that love is attention. As writers, it is our job to pay attention, so this week, do it well. Be grateful big and be grateful small, for both the expanding edge of the universe and a fresh new page. For the rising sun and the cup of coffee. And for whatever love surrounds you, for surround you it surely does.

Here Comes The Sun!

image @philipmackie

Happy Summer Solstice! (for those of you in the Northen Hemisphere anyway)

Often celebrated as the longest day of the year, the summer solstice (like its counterpart the Winter Solstice) takes its name from two Latin-language morphemes: sol (sun) and -stitium (stoppage). This meaning refers to the Sun’s apparent stillness in the sky, which is a trick of perspective, as the Sun doesn’t actually move, it’s the Earth speeding around in a wobbly circle like a big spaceship held together with gravity and cosmic glue.

Despite our persistent geocentric attitude, the Sun is the center of this galaxy. And on Wednesday, June 21, 2023 at 10:57 am EDT, we Earthlings will celebrate the solstice moment. Which is when, to quote National Geographic, “a planet’s poles are most extremely inclined toward or away from the star it orbits.” On Earth, that star is our Sun.

On this year’s Summer Solstice, Southeast Georgia will have 14 hours, 15 minutes, and 7 seconds of daylight, one second more than the day before, and two seconds more than the day after (you can see the specifics for your own home base HERE). It’s a perfect time to remember the Sun’s importance in our lives, both literally and symbolically.

In a natural sense, the Sun is the engine of our universe. Without it, Earth would be a lifeless hunk of rock, spinning and sterile in a cold empty sky. But with it, we have life. A brilliantly simple equation.

The Sun card in the Rider-Waite-Smith tarot deck

Such it is with The Sun card in the tarot. If you were looking for a yes, the Sun is about as affirmative as it can get. If you needed a jolt of optimism or vitality, turn your face toward it like a flower. If you've been feeling sluggish or out of sorts, let the heart of our very own personal star, our own solar combustion machine, energize you.

And if you've become disconnected from your playful, innocent, hopeful self, then The Sun has a special message for you. As creative folk, we appreciate the importance of joy in our lives and in our work. Those are hard to cultivate sometimes in the world of the one-star review and the hateful e-mail and the snarky blog post. Everybody's got a criticism, it seems, and some weeks, every single piece of it seems to be coming right at you.

The Sun shines on the crazy and the cruel too, even if they can't feel its warmth. Pity them that. But this does not diminish the radiance being bestowed on you. The Sun is an impartial and generous lover. And it loves you very much. Smile for it, won't you?

PS: You can get your own reading this summer, including my Cycles and Seasons reading, which is 30% off at my tarot shop.

And Lo, The Star

Image by Thalia Took at the A-Muse-ing Grace Gallery

On December 21st, we will once again celebrate Yule, the Winter Solstice.

Every year, in the heart of the longest night, we wait for the Child of Light. We open ourselves to the miracle. We gather in faith and truth and love, and we remember.

And every year, this is my guiding card: The Star.

We have been here before and will be here again. Such is the way of our universe—nothing is lost and everything returns. And while we might have puzzled out a few equations in the scientific clockwork of it all, the unfolding whole remains a mystery.

The Star is a big card, as big as hope, because at its heart, it's a card of movement. But not celestial movement. Your movement. Which means it's a matter of perspective. For no matter how much the stars seem to move, it's really Earth that's moving.

I feel these turnings, these vast ancient circles within circles. From my tiny finite standing place, the moon wanes, the sun waxes, and the stars move across the sky in their precise predictable courses.

These are illusions, of course, human perspectives that mark me as part of the cycle and not separate from it. For the moon does not grow or shrink, the sun blazes as steady now as it did at the height of summer, and the constellations do not wheel and turn above me.

It is Earth that tilts and whirls, the same earth that feels so steady beneath me. Another illusion, this steadiness, for the Earth and I (and you) are plummeting through space at 66,000 miles an hour. The stars are at the tumbling edge of the expanding universe, and as I gaze at the indigo horizon on this longest of nights, I offer thanksgiving, a wordless circle of gratitude that extends in rings around me.

This Winter Solstice, may gratitude be a force for love in your world, and in all worlds. May your days be filled with wonder and your nights with enough light to guide you home.

Blessed be, y'all. See you in 2023!