Tiny Tarot Story
Read a short story inspired by the Six of Swords.
Lars was a haunted man. Not by a ghost. He wished it were a ghost. At least a ghost would be company. He was so used to hearing Lizzy wake up in the middle of the night to brush her teeth, her uniquely her habit, that sometimes he woke up automatically at three or four, thinking he felt her move. She was his phantom limb.
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Instead of conjuring up a ghost to deal with the breakup, Lars walked by her apartment every day. It’s not what you think. They lived on the same block. Lars had to pass Lizzy’s building to get to the subway, and he had to get to the subway to get anywhere else. His last words to her were, “I hope I never see you again.” She looked at him with the coldness of someone who had already moved on months ago. “Then you should’ve chosen a different neighborhood,” she said.
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They’d met during a January storm thanks to their shared impulse to shovel, and they bonded over being from cold climates. Now it was June, and she was probably at a roof bar, forgetting about the existence of Michigan. Him, too. Lizzy had every right to leave, to forget him. But Lars knew that for as long as he was on that block, he'd be haunted.
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The text should have been accompanied by harp music, that’s how angelic it seemed, how divine. An offer from his friend to go live at Harmony House. His friend from college lived in an apartment building with some of the most interesting people Lars knew. They cooked each other dinner, threw legendary parties. Lars visited and imagined himself in one of those rooms.
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Before saying yes, Lars considered all the reasons why he shouldn't: He was heartbroken and somewhat boring as a result. He wasn't cool enough. He didn't deserve this escape hatch. But he didn't press send on those texts. Instead, found room for the possibility that this text arrived for a reason. He needed to leave the past behind, and now he could.
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Six of Swords Reflections
Musings
Before getting into the Six of Swords, let’s go on a mythological detour. Recently, I was talking about Euripides’ drama Medea with a few friends from college. If you’re not familiar, here’s a brief and not nuanced recap, since it hasn’t been given the Madeline Miller treatment of a classic novel (yet).
Medea is this princess in Colchis, located in what is now the republic of Georgia. Jason, this swashbuckling Greek, shows up in search of the Golden Fleece. Medea falls instantly in love. She betrays her family and uses her powers to help him get the fleece.
But this is not a fairy tale! Marrying a Corinthian hero isn’t all it’s cracked up to be! Medea bears him two children, and yet always feels like an outcast in Corinth. Medea’s enchanted powers—the same ones Jason relied on to complete his quest, hello!—are now a curse. She’s called a witch.
Jason shacks up with a princess and announces that he’s leaving her for Glauce, the daughter of the King of Creon.
Medea does not take this progression well. Like, under no circumstances is what she does OK. In her thirst for revenge, she, uh, kills Glauce. Then she kills the king. And then kills her sons, leaving Jason to deal with the wreckage of his life. (Oh, and she also killed her brother and Jason had killed her dad). Bad, bad, bad. Told you this wasn’t a fairy tale. The Greeks didn’t do those.
But here’s the thing! Here’s what haunts me about this play! Medea does not get punished for her horrific actions. Instead, the sun god Helios sends down a winged chariot and get her back home. Somehow, despite everything she did, she’s still held in esteem by the gods. It’s one of the great mysteries of this play, still debated to this day.
In college, my professor described Medea’s winged chariot as an example of “deus ex machina,” a Latin phase translated from the Greek “god from the machine.” The official meaning—per Wikipedia—is “a plot device whereby a seemingly unsolvable problem in a story is suddenly and abruptly resolved by an unexpected and unlikely occurrence.” As in, Medea is trapped, and so a winged chariot arrives.
Or, to put it even more simply: A miracle happens, and you didn’t even need to be a “good person” to receive it. You just have to have your eyes open and hands outspread.
Nauseating plot aside, the story of Medea can teach us something about escape routes. Sometimes, you run out of options. Sometimes, you reach the end of the road. And instead of turning back to retrace your steps and realize where you went wrong, you leave the game entirely. That, too, is a valid route. It is not giving up to stop playing.
Typically, the Six of Swords is known as a card of departures and leaving the past behind. That’s true, but I’ve always associated it with a kind of “deus ex machina.” It’s the unexpected push that gives us the bravery to move on. It’s the lucky break to exchange one reality for another. It’s the pinprick of light that appears in an unending gray expanse like a north star, like hope.
By this I mean: There’s something divine in the Six of Swords, especially when compared to other “travel” cards. In the card’s imagery, a person is pushed in a rowboat. Someone is moving forward with the help of another person or force. Whether we’re aided by Helios the sun god or by another person, we can’t enact the change the Six of Swords calls for alone.
But we can jump at the opportunity for momentum when it arises. The future is coming. The currents are moving. All you have to do is get in the boat.
Journaling Prompts
Describe a time that you got lucky.
How would you describe your approach to “moving on” from the past, or difficult events? Has this been something you worked on?
Who in your life has helped you make a crossing from a turbulent period to a calmer one? What role did they play?
Have you ever practiced the art of surrender?
Start a Story of Your Own
Write a story of your own inspired by the dynamics present in the Six of Swords, starting with this sentence. If you email me your story, I’ll share it in the next newsletter.
The sky was gray. The guns stopped for a moment but would start any second now. In the silence, in the distance, Celine thought she saw a ship coming through the clouds.
Extra Credit
Quit something. You have my permission!
Listen to “Since U Been Gone” on blast. Pretend it’s the past. Marvel at how far you’ve come.
Light candles to represent a situation you’d like to extricate yourself from. Blow out the candle. Hey, look. You did it! Go you.