Lightning Strikes
Will the tower stand or fall?
Welcome, and a warm first hello to the newcomers!
I’m so happy you’re here.
This week’s theme is the Tower, which indicates upheaval on a major level. This card is an uncomfortable reminder that the crust of the earth is constantly shifting below me, even as I attempt to build my sturdy foundation.
What comforts me is how my awareness of the shifting nature of the ground allows me to build my life in a way that leaves room for the changes that come. I can only be ruined by things I refuse to face.
You can read my previous post around this subject below:
Contents:
Philadelphia
Inner Monologue
Bottle Rocket
Suggested background music: “As Needed” by The Lizzy Co Show
Philadelphia The first year jangled my head like a bell, Then cracked it down the middle, just for fun. (Turns out, when you’re made of brittle metal, The daily wear and tear will set your sun.) There’s only so much I can alchemize. I’m barely, just now, starting to wake up. What do you do when your only dad dies? If you’re me: you run, in fear, from your cups. I feel underprepared for this new step, Though, some good lessons are coming my way. I find myself rejecting disrespect. I won’t be crushed by weight of someone’s day. The first year after my dad died was hard. I sure could use some help carrying my cart.
Internal Monologue All is not lost: there exist purring cats, And days when the air feels exactly right, And friends who love when you come for a chat, And bonfires on the cold October nights. All is not lost: for, out there in the world, Are many patchwork things to suit your plans. There is no need to keep your wanting furled: Delight is there, within your outstretched hand. All is not lost: each day shakes clean, afresh, An etch-a-sketch, within your little paws. You can do anything, pass any test: You know the rules, the tips, the tricks, the laws. All is not lost: not now that you’ve been found. All is not lost: you found your stable ground.
Bottle Rocket Work stress carved my dad’s body, like the wind Wears out a canyon over many years: It weathered him, it leathered all his limbs, Because he did not claim his right to tears. My bones understand how the canyon forms, And I will not go out the way he went. I took a mental health day off to mourn Because I could not slow my heart at rest. A bottle rocket catches lots of eyes, But only when it’s lit and set to blow. It took this girl many hundreds of tries: A longer fuse is something I can grow. I could not slow my heartbeat down today, Which means it’s time to head another way.
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I’m curious – or at least beyond my vocabulary – what do you mean by “you run, in fear, from your cups”? Wondering if this is an Americanism I’m unaware of, or I’m just massively missing the point, but the only cups I know are physical vessels/trophies, cupped shapes, and “in one’s cups” meaning sorrowfully drunk.
Thank you. I happened on your post in a moment of extreme frustration — deep anger over the behavior of those in power right in my own community as well as the pressure against speaking out from even those who love and agree with me. Poetry is medicine for moments like these, when my own rage calls up the tower energy, wanting to break up the intolerant, NIMBY elitist forces that are so keen to protect the “historic character” of a community that they have abandoned all pretense at caring about any of the human values that I used to believe were the very foundation of what defined character.
I’m finding a way forward that makes room for my own tears.