Serendipity breeds suspicion; but spirituality spins suspicion into inspiration and sets forth a path, as mutable in its development as it is stringent in its existence.

I was gifted a set of animal spirit tarot cards over the weekend. A deck of cards which we had first happened upon as we perused the last trinket shop of the trip. A deck of hards which happened to be a set Cassidy owned herself already. This trinket shop we had almost forgone for the sake of a semi-self-imposed urgency to start the drive back to Seattle. Cassidy’s deck of tarot cards now sits with me in my home in Los Angeles, two long car rides and a short plane ride later. I think about the journey these cards had. And if not for the meeting of its twin set in that trinket shop we almost didn’t walk into, it would not be sitting here with me now. What these cards hold is, of course, yet to unfold. But the few readings, the few cards, and the few moments I have already spent with them have challenged sparks of spirituality. However one might feel about tarot, it would be unwise to face a moment of prompted spiritual creativity and turn ones head. Allowing ourselves mediums to grow our spirit ten fold, expand to realms uncomfortable to explore, and forage within the dark and light to discover what we can find… How could this practice be anything less than encouraged? Even in face of the truths you imagine, the conflicts the cards may illicit, or the whispers of your mind that raise to screams, each piece is a small design of a neural pathway you get to traverse. And is that not spirituality? Or at least, not the greatest form of spirituality that could possibly be contained within a small 3x5 piece of printed cardstock?

It is a highlighting of the connection between the conscious mind, which always seeks to understand, and the subconscious personality whom is always asking to be understood.

Our feelings operate in almost an utterly unconcerned parallel to our realities. Subverting logic and reasoning, our feelings have the ability to drive forward actions that we may, in hindsight, find immature or beneath us. But punishing ourselves for the existence of such feelings only drive us further away from the development of who we are meant to be. Learning to live in harmony with the subconscious, being excited to greet the personality we hide, and matching the moments when our spirits lurch forward with arms extended as if to catch up to as much of it as possible… these are the moments where we may find ourselves the most alive. Though emotion and reality may operate in parallel, every line is made up of points. And between every point is another line. Even mathematic theory is on our side here. The lines we draw between emotion and reality, whether they are drawn by serendipitous tarot cards or intentionally nurtured relationships, become our greatest internal mappings. Maps drawn towards buried treasure deep within ourselves. What a journey this all can be.

I’ve been sleepless since Seattle. Plagued by uncertainty and shaky foundations. But I suppose resilience is the strength to find happiness within the plights of livelihood. To be woken up by kindness and rocked to sleep by sadness. Asked to think beyond your known self and give grace to the self you choose not to hear. In my waking dreams, I see work and friends. In my slumbered reality, I see old faces and reminisced memories. Suspended between a network of truths, judgements, and creativity, I can only imagine. But as another night passes, and another morning begins I can only look forward to more serendipity. To stumble upon more moments of right place, right time. To the moments where my spirit is challenged to speak. And my person is insistent that we grow to meet it. Through that, I may find peace. And so I share all this to say, I hope you all do too.