Strength in Reverse

july's meditative/stream of consciousness ramble

I keep pulling the strength card in reverse.

For those of you unfamiliar with tarot, the sparks notes of my interpretation is the universe looking at me, eyebrow raised, saying: you still don’t trust us?

When it comes to spirituality I’ve meandered my way through it for most of my life. If you’ve ever read anything I’ve written you’ve likely heard me talk about my grandmother being my first god, my parents being my earthly gods.

Grief eventually led me back to a tangible practice within hinduism. Self love helped me conjure new definitions. Poetry was/is/will be the center. I am some conglomeration of a Hindu, spiritual, witch-being poet. The only person that really needs to understand it is me.

I started pulling tarot in 2021. Pulled the death and tower cards a day before my ex gave me the final reason to go no contact.

Reading tarot was never about predicting the future or accessing knowledge that didn’t already belong to me. Tarot is one of my check in practices. Where am I at? What am I avoiding? Why am I doubting myself?

Worry not, I still have a regular therapist and antidepressants. Active group chats and go-to comfort shows. A mini cheesecake recipe unparalleled.

I don’t really care who does and doesn’t believe in tarot. All I know is how muddled my thoughts get when I go too long without sitting with the cards. In some ways trusting the universe is really just about trusting myself.

On my dating apps I write: If we go on a date you will end up in a poem in my next book, this is a threat. Here’s the catch with that though, the poems are never really about my dates. They’re always about me. Which is to say, even when I try to pull cards about someone I’m thinking about or hoping for, the cards only ever turn themselves back at me.

A larger lesson I suppose. The only thing I can actually control in this life is myself. I can’t convince anyone of my worth or importance if they can’t see it on their own. There are six mirrors in my apartment on purpose—so I never stop looking myself in the eyes, so no one can ever tell me I’m not exactly who I know I am.

There are gaps in my memory, liked warped picture albums left in rainwater. There is a version of me who was once quiet. Who would have, if given the chance, snipped all the excess of her body off with surgical scissors without a second thought. There are years of my life in which no photographs exist.

Here’s the thing, if you spend long enough not looking at yourself it becomes easier to accept that no one is looking at you (or for you).

Except that’s a lie, isn’t it? Of course I rewatch the 2005 Pride and Prejudice to watch Mr. Darcy watch Elizabeth. Of course I drink in every romance movie/book/show where someone is gazing at someone they love laughing, smiling, being—unaware. It is a magic to believe you could be so loved as to have someone watching you. I blame my Bollywood upbringing.

I was in Los Angeles recently for an anime convention. We also went to the beach and to book stores and restaurants. Which means I spend a lot of time watching everything. My friends, strangers, the birds. Sometimes I let myself forget that I am not an apparition until I find eyes that meet mine. Sometimes I let myself believe I return to being an apparition whenever they look away.

Something, something, when a tree falls in a forest? If we don’t see anything in the sky on a new moon, it she still illuminating the darkness?

You still don’t trust us?

Funny how the universe echoes.

I got my first tattoos at the end of April ahead of my grandmother’s first death anniversary. One of which is an om on the inside of my left wrist. They say om is the sound the universe makes, a consistent hum. That even in the quietest of moments, there is still the universe. Which is to say, after you’ve cried your eyes out on the floor of your apartment and the AC unit kicks off and it’s three in the morning and everyone you could call is asleep—there is still the universe.

There’s a misunderstanding sometimes that openness reads as naivety but you have no idea what it took for me to stay soft.

Related: Naruto was the first anime I ever watched as a child. Often the discourse surrounding him is that he should have become a villain. That he should have said fuck you to every single person that harmed him, that never believed him, that constantly doubted him. There are a thousand jokes about Naruto being too forgiving, too soft. Yet, the sun never burns out.

I grew up alongside this character who chooses love. Is the story perfect? No. Are they ever? No. But most of the time when I rewatch Naruto I see a kid wanting to make sure no kid ever feels the way he did. Some days I am him, others I need him. (There is a full blown character analysis essay in me, but I make no immediate promises.)

I think the point I’m circling here is, sometimes I don’t trust the universe because of course it is easier to believe the worst in people. I think my therapist would call that a fearful avoidant attachment, something about running to save you from me running? I spent a lot of my adolescence and early adulthood begging for the mirage of love. There are people who will (have) taken advantage of that. I spend a lot of time these days fighting the voice in my head that wants to throw walls up again at the slightest glint of possibility.

Instead though, I sit in front of a mirror and trace my own outline. Soft body who has kept me alive, despite. Every time I do this, I end up closing my eyes and humming.

You still don’t trust me?

Until Next Times Beloveds,

Jess

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Lover Girl Life Stats:

• Reading: You Could Make This Place Beautiful by Maggie Smith (genuinely spent the entire time trying not to full on sob on the plane while reading this)

• Watching: How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Off Campus, She’s The Man

• On Repeat: Too Little Too Late by Jordana Bryant, Hit the Wall by Gracie Abrams, Dancing on My Own by Robyn, Strawberry Swing by Coldplay, Your favorite flowers by MICO, Thinkin Bout You by Frank Ocean, Novacane by Frank Ocean, Adorn by Miguel, Yiken (Certified) by Priceless Da Roc (we shook ass in LA bro what can I say)

• Recipe on Repeat: I’ve not been cooking because I am travelling but I ate the best salmon belly I’ve ever tasted during a happy hour at this restaurant in DTLA (Mrs. Fish)—genuinely still thinking about it

• Hyper-fixation/Project: etymology (stay tuned)

• Flowers used for the bouquets in my apartment currently: none, we will re-up in mid august

• Titles of poems written in the last month: instructional for a summer fling, erasure, threshold, in every universe at once

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