The sky is cloudy this morning, but you can still see the morning rising. I'm ready to leap.
Good morning, beautiful souls. ☀️ It's Friday — we made it to the edge again. This week put a lot in front of me: rain that rearranged my plans, a sister I love saying goodbye to her people, new faces finding their way to our table, and one small moment this morning that landed so hard I almost didn't know what to do with it. Let's look back before we leap forward. 🌊
🕯️ The Candles Are Lit
This morning I'm burning three candles, each holding an intention for us as we close out the week:
📖 The Word
"For the Preacher was not only a wise man, but a good teacher; he not only taught what he knew to the people, but taught them in an interesting manner."
Ecclesiastes 12:10 — The Living Bible, 1971
I reached for this one this morning almost by accident, and it stopped me cold. Earlier this week I met Heidi, and she told me she's Catholic while her sister isn't, and I found myself telling her to go get a copy of the Catechism so she could understand her sister better. This morning I went to reach for my own Bible and realized I don't even own a Catholic edition. And there it was — a wise man who wasn't content just to know the truth, he had to find a way to teach it that people would actually want to hear. That is Tarot Beach. That is every card I turn over, every candle I light, every story from my grandmother's kitchen I hand you instead of just handing you a verse and walking away. I don't have that Catholic Bible yet. But I already know it's coming.
🃏 The Cards
This week's pull came in fast and sure, like a puppy jumping at the door — three cards and a fourth for confirmation.
A young girl watches a lantern-lit boat move away from her, a body laid inside it, five swords planted around the boat and the sixth resting on the corpse itself. She isn't chasing it. She's just watching it go. Something I've been carrying finally has permission to leave. Not dramatically, not with a fight — just a quiet boat pulling away from shore while I stand still and let it.
A young man stands in a fertile field, his receiving hand resting easy on his staff, his giving hand thrown up to a sky full of lightning. He isn't straining for anything. He's already been given what he needs, and what pours back out of him toward heaven is pure glory. That's the posture of this whole week — good conversations landing in my lap without me chasing them, and me handing every bit of it back up as thanks.
Upright, this is the wish card — a maiden dressed in white, pregnant but not yet in labor, everything she desires already on its way. Reversed, the wish is still forming, just not on the timeline I pictured. Something I've been working toward isn't going to arrive the way I thought it would. That's not a no. It's just not due yet.
One of my favorites — I think he's going to be my next tattoo. He stands at his altar with the cup, the pentacle, and the ceremonial sickle laid out before him, staff in his right hand, his hand hovering over everything he's been given. His face is happy, spirits and the veil gathered around his head. Things are going his way, and he's showing me plainly: I still have the power to manifest what I desire. The Nine of Cups reversed isn't a closed door. It's a reminder that I'm the one holding the tools.
The whole reading comes down to one thing: let the past rest, and enjoy the present. Some roads get rocky, and the only way through is to let go of what was never going to move at our pace anyway.
The candles are burning red, green, and pink this morning — release, growth, and gentleness with ourselves. The Word reminded me that knowing the truth isn't enough; you have to find a way to teach it that people actually want to hear. And the cards remind us that even what feels delayed is still on its way, and we still hold the power to call it in.
🕯️ Rest. Restore. Rise. 🕯️
📖 One More Word
"And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear."
Isaiah 65:24 — KJV
I hadn't even finished being surprised that I don't own a Catholic Bible before I already knew one was coming. That's how this whole week felt — an entity a client didn't understand, already known and loved by my own mother. A friend's grief over her ChiChi, met by my own Rose showing up to stand guard. A question about Prudence I didn't have an answer for yet, already turning into a whole new project. God keeps answering before I finish asking. My job this week wasn't to hurry Him along. It was just to notice.