he asked a question and without waiting for a response drew three cards from that divinatory deck usually carrying as little meaning as a tossed coin scoffed at and swiftly ignored this time seemed to tell a recognisable tale unexpected in its providence a fortune perhaps to favour the brave
the hanging man with his eight swords and his eight wands these cards showed him the start of a journey not necessarily a life turned upside-down instead that a change of perspective is needed the octet of swords unveiled his cage of indecision uncertainty and fear a need to upset the balance of the inert a reasoning for destruction in order to create and those upright wands carrying with them such signs of movement a willingness to decide a commitment to progress
either that or the pack was simply reshuffled and dealt again and again until it foretold that which needed to be heard
A rabbit with a pipe sits like they own their space like there’s nothing that might move them unless they acquiesce, like they have no better things to do than do exactly what they’re doing and they’re doing what they do best - contemplate the next word, the next note, the next sweep of their pen, the next throw of the clay and the colour they have chosen to inject into the next page, the next dye, the next stitch, beat, thread, chapter, adventure that their maker has placed in their minds eye and it’s then that I realise that in every moment they’re carefully holding a myriad of holy inspirations and contemplating their ordering so that beauty may abound so that their beautiful God may breath out yet more of the Creation.
How do I accept a gift I don't deserve? How do I accept a pardon I never earned? With scarred hands, I reach out to the One whose pierced hands healed me My hard heart is replaced with one that longs for Him, and I kneel before my Creator as He reveals Himself to me I am sealed with a promise The Spirit stamps me and I know that I am His
We were created to be free but it came at the highest price