Scary Monsters and Nice Spirits


I’ve turned into one of those people who claim that they saw Jesus’ face on a potato chip. For whatever reason, I’ve been more sensitive to (read: desperate for) signs around me, hoping they’ll offer some (any) sort of guidance as there are a few decisions I’m in the process of making. 

I needed to hear someone tell me what do to (undisputed), and thought seeing a tarot card reader might be a good, albeit unconventional way, of uncovering answers (disputed). 

I expected some woman with long, uncared-for hair to be hovering over a crystal ball and see the name of my first child, or what fro-yo toppings I should get on the way home. Half-disappointed, half-releived, my reader looked surprisingly…normal? In the kind of “what if God was one of us” way, I expected someone who dabbled in minor league witchcraft would at least be donning a pentagram of sorts. 

Without saying a word, my reader told me that there is no crystal ball. She has no way of seeing into the future and predicting what will or will not be, nobody does. These sorts of things are only meant to make sense of the signs around, because, without sounding like someone who discovered Kabbalah and can now tritely explain every phenomena in the world, the answers are within. 

If nothing else, I feel empowered. Take a lap, Google, because I have all the answers. I just have to stop seeing Jesus’ face in a potato chip long enough to find them.


Listening to: Gypsy, Fleetwood Mac



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