Those of you who know me in real life may know that I read tarot. It has been one of my goals this year to do a one-card draw at the beginning of every week, always pulled with the same question: What do I need to know for this coming week?
This week, my cards delivered a much-needed reminder.
For this exercise, I’ve been using a cat-themed deck I bought in New Orleans that uses elements instead of traditional suits. It’s one of the kindest decks I’ve ever used. (Especially compared to my best friend’s go-to deck, which is blunt nearly to the point of being cruel sometimes.) There are really no doom-and-gloom cards.
I’m also very methodical about how I draw my cards: a specific number of shuffles, cards drawn from the top of the deck. My best friend prefers to shuffle until a card “jumps” out — something I wish I could do, but I would just end up with half the deck scattered on the floor. I also tend to close my eyes or look away from the cards as I shuffle them, so I can’t subconsciously try to make them fall a certain way.
I tell you all of this because when I completed my final shuffle last night (eyes closed, of course), I looked down to realize a card had fallen into my lap, face up. I had just gotten a jumper.
In this deck, it’s Ten of Fire (traditionally Ten of Wands), depicting a council of cats in an ancient temple chamber as a sacred fire runs amok, shooting out flaming balls, and the cats try to escape.
Like I said, this isn’t a doom-and-gloom kind of deck, so the relative violence in the scene was surprising. But its symbolism makes sense: This card is about power or energy that is out of control, scattered and unfocused. The council of cats had gathered to harness the energy of the sacred fire, but somewhere along the way, they lost control and the power they had sought to use had gotten out of hand and turned against them.
Appropriate for the moment, don’t you think?
But Ten of Fire came up in reverse for me, and this meaning was a little less dire: Things will be calmer soon. Don’t feel like you need to rush around putting out all these little fires. Don’t take on too much or dissipate your strength through fretfulness.
Sometimes I’ll pull a clarifier card if my first card is confusing or unclear. This one was crystal clear and something I desperately needed to hear, but since it was a “jumper,” I asked my deck if there was anything else it wanted to tell me.
It gave me Grace (Temperance in a traditional deck), in reverse. Grace, in this deck, is about granting compassion and leniency to others. In reverse, it’s about granting the same to oneself: Have grace for your limitations. Take extra care of your health to manage stress and be sure to honor your body, mind, and spirit throughout this challenging time.
Taken together, I read these cards to mean that not every fire is mine to put out.
That’s not to say that something isn’t my problem — rather, that I don’t have the ability to solve every problem or that I can’t solve it on my own.
I cannot single-handedly put out every metaphorical flame in this dumpster fire of state and country right now. But I am not alone in trying to control the blaze. So instead of “dissipating my strength” by taking on the emotional burden of every problem, I need to accept that some problems are beyond my ability to fix and not feel guilty for not being superhuman.
That goes for not only what is happening in the wider world, but also in my personal life. I’m a problem-solver and a helper by nature, and it distresses me when I come up against a problem I can’t fix — a fire that I can’t put out.
It reminds of the Serenity Prayer: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Or, as my cards told me last night: Not every fire is yours to put out, and that’s OK. Save your strength for the blazes that are yours to battle.
J. Nelson - Writer 