a short story about tarot, deep connection with strangers, political polarization, ancestral healing, & candlesticks
Nearly a year ago, I shared a story about my grandmother and rose quartz. This time it's a longer (but still short) story about my great-aunt's candlesticks.
I don't plan the timing—my plan was to send a love letter at full moon (maybe I will, tbd). Spirit is in charge; I'm just here to surrender.
It's also a good peek into typical examples I share in The Spiral.
Everything is connected; everything is sacred and alive.
A Journey with Great-Aunt Julia's Candlesticks
a short story with a CN for brief mention of sensitive topics
In mid October, I traversed state lines to be a witch (officially a tarot reader, but basically a witch) at a Halloween event at a university. I needed to decorate my table, so in addition to my decks, I packed some fabric. The person who hired me suggested candlesticks.
I doubt he knew that it was the perfect suggestion. I have an old set from my great-aunt Julia. She was elegant and softspoken—stereotypical "womanly" qualities. And, she was unmarried, lived independently, worked to support herself. Not at all living the "womanly" expectations of her generation.
My family knows I love vintage things, so when she died at age 95, still child-free, I got her candlesticks. Before crossing state lines, I tossed them in my bag, chuckling to myself that my devoutly religious great-aunt never would have expected them to hold space for something horribly witchy.
(I do think, though, she always recognized that I had no interest in fulfilling patriarchal expectations.)
Most of the trip across state lines was rural. Now that my state is purple, the signage has gotten pretty intense. I had one of those moments when reality shimmers, when you can feel past, present, future in a very specific context.
In this case, I saw a pandering, pearl-clutching hyperbole billboard—AND I saw it in the sepia-ish tones of photos from the 1950s, of hysterical rants of imaginary fears. AND I saw it from the perspective of a couple generations from now, when people will see photos of this billboard and feel the same way I did about signs in my past.
That night, the event had a huge tent with a haunted house, wandering performers, and other entertainment. I couldn't light real candles, but the event organizer lent me some red electric ones.
I was expecting a handful of curious but also distracted people, given how much was going on. To my surprise, a line of 25+ people formed almost immediately. I figured plenty of them would leave, once they saw that the line couldn't move that quickly.
No one left. In fact, more people came. I announced that I had a signup sheet, that people were welcome to choose a time and return later. I thought they'd want to explore the event.
No one signed up, and no one left. In fact, even more people came.
I started at 8:00pm, and didn't stand up from my chair until midnight.
The event ended at 11:00pm, by the way.
People stood in line for actual hours. In some cases, until the event ended and nothing else was happening.
I was stunned, honestly. I thought no one would want to buy a ticket for a party and spend at least half of it waiting to get a reading from me.
I was way, way wrong. The point is not that I'm an excellent reader (though that's true, I am). Rather, it's how deeply people desired genuine connection and a safe space for vulnerability.
Yes, there's a lot of anonymity. I rarely got names. No contact info. And, I looked people in the eye as they shared their questions and struggles with relationships, love, friendships. Academic decisions and challenges. Plans, or lack thereof, for the future, be the future the next semester's class load or life after graduation. Coming out. Su* attempts. How to nurture their passions. How to embody the fierceness of justice with the caress of compassion. Navigating life after debilitating physical loss. Ways to share abundance. Ways to determine and express their beliefs and values. The power of intuition and inward reflection.
As someone who spent decades being reluctant about vulnerability—with people I knew, absolutely never with strangers—I am deeply inspired by that level of trust and candor. None of these people knew me, though many of them spoke of the recognition that kindred spirits have, without official introductions.
All the while, Julia's candlesticks anchored my space. My initial chuckle eventually encompassed this sense of both ancestral healing—for my many, very conservative ancestors—and present-moment healing—both for myself and these students. I'd spent the afternoon passing through places with intense polarization. Hours later, I connected with dozens of people who craved connection and insight, who spent hours waiting for the true, genuine magic of changed perspective. People who stood for hours because they wanted to leave changed, and they did.
In half a daytime, I went from signs spewing hate to a diverse group of people, with various ages, genders, sizes, beliefs, and so so, who simply wanted to be themselves more fully, more easily.
In her lifetime, Julia probably would have clutched her actual pearl necklace (which I also have) had she crossed the threshold, and then perhaps walked out. Instead, her candlesticks were the physical representation of the energetic bridge through those shimmering layers of reality. She got to be there the whole time, and I'd like to think she came around to appreciating it. Being moved, as I was.
I was certainly glad we got to be there together.
~ altar cloth by Amrit Brar, creator of the Marigold Tarot
In multidimensional healing,
S.
—
Siderealchemy
she / they