I have a horoscope app on my phone.
I use to consult it every morning after catching the bus to work to get an idea of what sort of day was ahead for me so I could get ready for it. It was a strange way of arming myself to do battle with the day.
I haven’t looked at it since the Covid 19 lockdown.
In February, before all the shit went down, I was feeling very low and I started consulting my tarot cards. Again, it’s a harmless psychological crutch. I don’t think my cards have any sort of magical divining powers; I use my cards in a purely Jungian vein. Taps into subconscious archetypes, helps me to see outside of my head. And, back then, I was in a whirlwind of despair, lost and lonely.
I haven’t even thought about flipping a card in months.
Isn’t that weird?
You would think that now, of all times, NOW is when I’d be consulting oracles and looking for some sort of supernatural signs.
But, I don’t feel any compulsion to do look for comfort in any kind of magical thinking tricks.
Where I do find comfort is turning off the TV, logging off from internet and going outside for a walk. The sky is blue, the trees are blooming, grass is thick and green. Birds are singing and squirrels are effortlessly leaping from tree to tree like trapeze artists. The air smells like honeysuckle. There is a cool edge to the wind to remind me that winter is not exactly done and to enjoy the warmth, sweetie and remember: weather can change on a dime in April.
When I stop doom scrolling and look outside, I am reminded that Life is all around us.
And, as long as there is Life there is Hope.
Maybe that’s why I don’t feel the need to throw the bones to scry what might be happening down the road.
Now, I feel still. I listen to the wind. And I am content to wait.