At the beginning of the year, I promised myself I would build an altar. For magical practice, I’m unsure, but at the very least a space for me, my tarot cards, candles, some flowers—changing them each month. Something to tend to. For the past year and a half almost, I’ve been diligently, writing down every tarot card I’ve pulled. I missed one day in January of this year but my practice has been consistent. Each morning, I gently slide my office door open and grab my stack of cards, the ones I’ve had for almost six years, and ask what is in store for the day. I don’t make notes but I notice. I look for patterns. A few months ago, I pulled Cup cards for more than a third of the month. Last month, Wands. I notice when another card appears more than once in a month. Recently, it was the Empress. Each card is noted down and tracked, given space in my journals that I have all but abandoned these days. I put them back in their spot on the table my grandfather made—the one that doesn’t go with anything else in my office, in my house. I have never outgrown it, try as I might.
Issue Twelve: There's Nothing Left For You
Issue Twelve: There's Nothing Left For You
Issue Twelve: There's Nothing Left For You
At the beginning of the year, I promised myself I would build an altar. For magical practice, I’m unsure, but at the very least a space for me, my tarot cards, candles, some flowers—changing them each month. Something to tend to. For the past year and a half almost, I’ve been diligently, writing down every tarot card I’ve pulled. I missed one day in January of this year but my practice has been consistent. Each morning, I gently slide my office door open and grab my stack of cards, the ones I’ve had for almost six years, and ask what is in store for the day. I don’t make notes but I notice. I look for patterns. A few months ago, I pulled Cup cards for more than a third of the month. Last month, Wands. I notice when another card appears more than once in a month. Recently, it was the Empress. Each card is noted down and tracked, given space in my journals that I have all but abandoned these days. I put them back in their spot on the table my grandfather made—the one that doesn’t go with anything else in my office, in my house. I have never outgrown it, try as I might.