Beloved Goddesses,

This is not a Full Moon.

This is not a New Moon.

This is the longest light.

And sometimes the light does not arrive to expose us.

Sometimes it arrives to remind us what has been growing quietly, faithfully, beautifully, while no one was watching.

I have been listening to astrologers talk about the Summer Solstice all week.

One astrologer described the Solstice chart as the 3-month story we are stepping into between now and the Autumn Equinox.

I liked that.

A story.

A seasonal invitation.

So, of course, I pulled cards to see what story I was being invited into over the next 3 months.

(The Luna/SOL Tarot Deck)

The card underneath the deck was the Two of Disks.

A figure happily juggling the Sun and the Moon.

At first, I thought it was simply a beautiful image.

Then Justice appeared.

Again, I found myself looking at symbols of balance. Day and night. Yin and Yang. Opposing forces somehow existing together.

Then Strength appeared.

The same symbols.

The same message.

The cards seemed determined to show me something during this Solstice portal.

At first, I thought the reading was talking about balance.

The Sun and the Moon.

Yin and Yang.

Opposing forces somehow existing together.

But the more I sat with the images, the more I noticed what was speaking was more than just the idea of balance.

The figure in the Two of Disks wasn't struggling.

They were smiling.

Justice wasn't trying to choose between day and night.

Strength wasn't wrestling with the lion.

Everything seemed surprisingly comfortable.

At ease.

And I found myself wondering why that felt so important.

Maybe because I have spent so much of my life trying to balance what I perceived as opposing parts of me. 

The social worker.

The storyteller.

The teacher.

The woman who spends an entire afternoon building a syllabus for a course that does not yet exist.

The woman who drives across town to sit in a library and read a collection of lost letters.

The woman who creates playlists for tarot cards.

The woman who studies astrology charts and prays for her tomato plants to endure stormy weather.

As I looked at the cards, I found myself asking:

What if none of these parts are asking to be chosen over the other?

What if they are all trying to tell the same story?

I carried that question with me as I moved through the rest of the spread.

Then the Three of Swords appeared.

I have to admit, I was a little put off.

The position asked:

What wants to be created simply because it brings me alive?

Of all the cards I expected to see in the position of delight, the Three of Swords was not one of them.

When I see the Three of Swords, I often think:

How are my thoughts breaking my own heart?

The image in this deck shows a stained-glass heart pierced by three swords against a backdrop of rain.

As I sat with it, I found myself thinking that some of the most beautiful love songs ever written came from broken hearts.

Not because heartbreak is beautiful.

But because so many artists have found a way to create something beautiful from it.

And I wondered:

What heartbreak stories have I endured that I have not yet honored through my words, through my writing?

I wasn't expecting that question.  

Not because I couldn't think of any heartbreak.

Life has provided plenty of opportunities for heartbreak.

What struck me was realizing how quickly I move from heartbreak toward meaning.

I am, by nature, an incredibly optimistic person.

Almost to an unreasonable degree.

Give me enough time, and I will find the lesson.

The gift.

The beauty.

The thing that grew from the experience.

As I sat with the Three of Swords, I found myself wondering if there are stories I have moved past so quickly that I never stopped to appreciate what it took to live through them.

And if I am honest, I think I know why.

Like many sensitive people, I learned early that lingering with something that hurt me made other people uncomfortable.

I was told I was too sensitive.

Too emotional.

Too affected.

So I learned to find the meaning quickly.

Find the lesson.

Find the silver lining.

Move on.

Not because the hurt wasn't real.

But because moving on felt safer than being judged for how I feel.

I learned early that people had far more patience for my healing than they did for my hurting.

Pondering on that realization, I found myself thinking about another card from the spread.

The Nine of Wands.

A card that has been appearing in other spreads a lot more lately.

In this image, a weary traveler sits high in the mountains, surrounded by the eight wands that brought him there.

He is bruised.

Tired.

A little guarded.

And yet, as I looked at the image, I couldn't help noticing something.

He is sitting above the clouds.

The climb has taken a toll.

But he is further up the mountain than he seems to realize.

Perhaps that is what the Three of Swords was trying to show me.

Not the heartbreak itself.

But what it took to carry it.

What it took to continue.

What it took to keep climbing.

As I sat with the card, a song suddenly came to mind.

The Climb by Miley Cyrus.

My son would say, Hannah Montana.

This song came to mind, not because it is about reaching the top of the mountain.

But because it reminds us that the mountain was never really the point.

And maybe that is part of the invitation of this Solstice.

To spend less time asking what still needs fixing and more time acknowledging what has already been built.

The stories lived.

The lessons learned.

The mountains climbed.

 THE CLIMB by Miley Cyrus aka Hannah Montana

And then Strength showed up.

At this point, the cards were starting to feel a little repetitive.

The Sun and the Moon.

Again.

Yin and Yang.

Again.

Opposing forces somehow existing together.

Again.

But what I noticed this time wasn't the symbolism.

It was how comfortable she looked.

And after spending so much of the reading thinking about heartbreak, mountains, and all the different parts of myself I have spent years trying to organize, that felt important.

The card seemed less interested in asking me to become stronger and more interested in asking whether I trusted myself.

Whether I trusted all the pieces.

Whether I trusted the woman who has already made it this far, to sit grounded, at ease with herself and all the lions she has tamed.

The final card in the center of the spread was the Three of Cups.

Three women dancing together.

Celebrating.

Enjoying one another's company.

As I sat with the image, I found myself thinking about the stained-glass heart from the Three of Swords.

A heart made beautiful not because it never broke, but because its brokenness became art. 

And I wondered if the same might be true of us.

The social worker.

The storyteller.

The teacher.

The astrologer.

The playlist maker.

The gardener.

The woman who still believes there are golden eggs waiting on library shelves.

Maybe the invitation is not to choose between these parts.

Maybe the invitation is to let them all be seen.

Because when we do, something unexpected happens.

The people who speak the same language find us.

The people who understand why a conversation about tarot somehow becomes a conversation about ancestors, libraries, heartbreak, playlists, and tomato plants find us.

The people who recognize themselves in our stories find us.

Summer Solstice Tarot Spread

A Seasonal Invitation: What story is unfolding between now and the Autumn Equinox?

Card 1 — The Light Returning: What part of myself is ready to shine more fully this season?

Card 2 — The Story I Carry: What story, teaching, or truth am I being asked to preserve, share, or pass forward?

Card 3 — The House I Am Building: What am I creating that is larger than I currently realize?

Card 4 — The Art of Delight: What wants to be created simply because it brings me alive?

Card 5 — The Sacred Practice: What small act, ritual, or discipline will help me tend this season's growth?

Card 6 — The Invitation: What is calling my name between now and the Autumn Equinox?

Center Card — Sun and Moon: What wisdom emerges when my inner knowing and outer expression work together?

If you decide to work with these questions, I would love to hear what emerges.

Many of you shared your Gemini New Moon spreads with me earlier this month, and I cannot tell you how much joy it brought me to witness the different ways the cards spoke through each of your lives.

Perhaps that is the gift of the Three of Cups.

Not simply celebration.

But connection.

The reminder that when we allow ourselves to be fully seen, we make it easier for our people to recognize us.

If something meaningful emerges for you, I hope you'll share it with me.

Happy Summer Solstice, Goddesses. 

With gratitude,

Renita