Tiny Tarot Story
Read a short story inspired by the Moon.
Kate’s grandma didn’t smile when she turned up on her porch smelling like a Greyhound bus. “Hi,” Kate said. “I always wondered how our first conversation would go," her grandma said. "I didn’t expect it to start so unoriginally." Maybe this was why her mom forbid her from visiting.
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Kate could stay as long as she followed three rules. No eating while watching TV. No asking stupid questions. And no going outside during the full Moon. “What, so I’m supposed to stay here all night?” Kate said. Her grandma replied, “You just broke rule number 2.”
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Her grandma said the greedy ones arrived during the full Moon for the women in their family. They’d feed off of her certainty, drain her of her direction, leave her a living ghost. “How else would you explain your mom?” her grandma said. Kate couldn't explain her mom—that's why she traveled to Louisiana. To get answers. Maybe stop her mom from evaporating entirely. Now 17, Kate hadn't seen the vibrant woman who raised her in years. She could hardly get out of bed these days.
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So of course, Kate went out at night. She heard a familiar laugh in the field, and there she was: Her mom, as she once was. Kate had no choice but to hug her. "You went out, didn't you?" her grandma said the next morning. "Your mom did, too. I tried to warn her. Can't ask the Moon for answers. That's what the Sun is for."
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Kate went home only to find her mom out of bed, humming, wearing lipstick. Happy. "You brought me back," she said. "You really shouldn't have." That's when Kate felt the emptiness in her chest, and realized she was next to disappear. Then her mom told her the fourth rule. How to break the curse. "First," she said. "You need to have a daughter. She needs to have questions you can't answer. And if you love her, you'll tell her not to go out to the field on a full Moon."
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The Moon Musings
When I was in my early 20s, I was in Greece for a little over a month with a college program. During the full Moon, two friends and I decided to walk up the 500 stairs to a medieval fortress at the edge of town. I was surprised by how much light the Moon cast. We could make our way up the unlit stairs safely. I felt I briefly graced with the ability to navigate in the dark.
At the time, I was in love, or in crush, with one of the guys on the program. He was quick to smile and quicker to make a joke. His gazes were like inside jokes, understandings only the two of us shared. That night, the Moon was out. My heart was open. And I couldn’t see everything—only what I wanted to.
For example, I couldn’t see the cypress trees or the cobblestones on the walk up to the fortress, which were visible in the day. I couldn’t see that the guy didn’t like me back (or I could, but I suspended that disbelief). In the soft, forgiving light of the Moon, anything was possible. And delusion was easier than ever. No wonder the Moon is associated with romance.
Unlike cards like the Tower, which tend to be associated with one-time cataclysms or sudden change, the Moon is an ever-present landscape. If you speak another language, I think of the Moon as a continuous tense, versus the aorist (a one-time event). The Moon is not an event—it’s a mood, a vibe, the thicket of night we must cross to get to safety, the latter half of a horror novel.
Think of it like this. Most nights, I’m safely in my home and I sleep through the night. But the night is still out there. Sometimes, I venture into the night willingly to make memories I might not be as bold to make during the day. Sometimes, I’m accidentally stranded in the night, and I have to fight to find my way home without my usual tools. To translate the metaphor into simple terms: Confusion is always out there. We can find ourselves deep in illusion easier than we’d like to think.
What happens when we try to navigate by moonlight, aside from sonnets and good romance songs? Well: The Moon still emits a light, as I learned that night in Greece. But it’s not the full force at night. To survive walking in the evening, we fill in the picture using our imagination. Swaying branches become ghosts. Boys who are cute become boys who love us.
It will never be an accurate picture.
All of this is to say: Don’t make decisions by the light of the Moon. But don’t abandon your time in the Moon, either, don’t write it off as purely dark or a waste of time. For after we leave the Moon behind, we must process what happened, and confusion has its value. Confusion forces us to pause. Reflect. Sort ourselves out. Find our way home. We are stronger for the journey through the night.
And when you’re back safely, hold onto that ethereal light. Splatter the moonlight onto a canvas. Write it down so the prose glows. Do what you must. Don’t forget the Moon, but don’t trust it either.
Reflections
Journaling Prompts
When was the last time you felt like you were in the deep, dark woods? And how did you get back to the light? What can you learn from that experience?
Do you prefer daytime or nighttime? Why?
Think of a memory that took place in the nighttime. What’s the first one that comes to mind?
Do you pay attention to the phases of the Moon?
Start a Story of Your Own
Write a story of your own inspired by the dynamics present in the Moon, starting with this sentence. If you email me your story, I’ll share it in the next newsletter.
She woke up in the deep, dark woods, in the middle of the night, with no lantern and no memory of how she got there.
Recommended Reading
My friend sent me this exquisite poem about the Moon, darkness and light, and other things
Frances Naude, a talented tarot reader and healer whose distance reiki healing session totally stunned me (review here), unpacked the card here. Insights: The Moon card, when it shows off, can often mean unresolved fears and anxieties from that past are bursting up and ready to healed: "Instead of avoiding them, take the time to let them rise and know that you are strong enough to resolve them.” Patience is required; healing doesn’t take place overnight (hah).