My favourite day of the year. Here, it’s bright, occasionally hot in the sun, but chilly, really, especially now the sun is going down. It gets dark at 7.30pm, light at 7.30am, day and night are equal, in balance.
Time for reflection. Now that it’s truly autumn, we move away from summer’s fire and into the element of water, into introspection, heightened emotional awareness, deeper feelings. Life seems more poetic at this time of year. Colours brighter, light more intense, more magical.
I walked up the Rochdale Canal. The further I walked, the fuller the canal became, water rushing down from the rainy Pennines, flooding the short pounds here in Ancoats, gushing over the run-off. There are mushrooms in the fields, nosing up through the grass. Acorns scattered under oak trees, quickly gathered by squirrels wisely collecting their winter stores.
This is a time for looking back over the past year. The seeds we planted, and how they’ve grown. The plans we made, and wether they bore fruit. What did I plan for this year? Strangely, I’m not at all sure.
This time last year, Em and I were honeymooning. A Beth and Emma honeymoon meant a gorgeous little camp up on a Yorkshire moor, complete with reservoir swim and a super full moon, followed by a gruelling three-day boot-camp moving her boat from Todmorden to Manchester. Then we went back for mine. We were filled with ideas. She was heading off to the States for a two-month timber framing apprenticeship, I planned to finish the Alternative Tarot Course. I was starting to dream up the ta-road trip I would take in spring.
Emma returned, Christmas, and in new year I launched the course, then headed across the US with a tiny backpack and a deck of tarot cards.
Summer came. I’ve been feeling quieter these past months, less my noisy, boisterous, outgoing self. For once, I allowed these feelings to swirl around inside me and settle where they would. It’s been a strange summer, filled with private meanderings and gradual, soft realisations about how I’ve changed since turning 30, building on what emerged from a ritual that I did back in March in the woods of upstate New York, almost exactly six months ago.
I felt then that it was time for a slower pace. For more consideration, for exploring layers of thought. For fire – the element that rules me – to be tamed, even just a little, so I could use it with intention, rather than being in a constant state of chaos. For a more grounded version of productivity, one with foundations and meaning.
I can feel myself growing into this now. As I plan my work for the coming year to focus more on Little Red Tarot and truly making something sustainable, and at the same time establish other, even more personal goals, things are starting to feel really right. It’s the power of intention. Of knowing what I want to be, where I want to go – even if not specifically, at least in terms of finding direction, and committing to the work it takes to travel the road.
Leaves are falling from trees, crops dying back, it’s a time of shedding, of going back to earth, taking stock, bedding down, ensuring enough for the cold months. Though it looks like things are dying, seeds are falling, determining where they will grow next year. Intentions set now, commitments made.
I pull winter clothes from under the bed and spend an evening mending holes, darning, repairing familiar woollens. Bring in coal and kindling, clean out the grate. Put on the kettle for some tea, and pull a box of tarot cards from my bag as it slowly grows dark. This night is a turning point for me.
I’m a 30-something writer, artist, tarot reader, and perpetual explorer of the space between thought, feeling, and action.
I believe that spirituality and ritual are for everybody. I’m about the journey, in all of its messy, non-linear, chaotic iterations. I am excited by anticapitalist business and living with my whole entire self present. I use tarot cards to bring forth hidden truth, and ritual to affirm my commitment, over and over, to my ever-shifting path.