The Fool, My Burning Tool, and 70s Tunes

Yesterday I turned on my burning pen and spent a few hours adding more shading to a pyrography portrait of Billy Bob Thornton that’s been sitting patiently on my workbench, waiting for me to give it the attention it deserves.

I plugged in my earbuds and zoned out to Styx, Joe Walsh, and whatever 70s artists Pandora dished up for me. And reminisced.

There’s something about the combination of repetitive handwork and music from another chapter of your life that opens a portal to another time you forgot was there. Suddenly, I wasn’t just burning shadows into a piece of basswood. I was reliving another place and time. Before marriage, and children, and the devastating losses that quietly reshape you into someone slightly more…serious…and skeptical…than you used to be.

Before I knew what cliffs lay ahead.

And interestingly, this morning, The Fool showed up.

Not literally — though I do have a tarot deck (several, actually) within arm’s reach here in my office. But in yesterday’s particular feeling, the music and the art unlocked. That quality of lightness. Of not-yet-knowing. Of standing at the precipice of everything your life was going to become and having absolutely no idea — and being, in that moment, completely and perfectly alive because of it.

The Fool is the card of new beginnings. When looking at it, most people focus on the cliff — the risk, the naivety, the risk of falling. But what I felt yesterday, deep in the woodsmoke and Carole King, was something else entirely:

The Fool’s real gift isn’t his recklessness. It’s his memory of who he was before he learned to be afraid.

And this Monday morning feels like an invitation to access exactly that.

Not to be reckless. Not to pretend the cliffs aren’t real.

But to remember, just for a moment, the version of yourself that hadn’t learned to hesitate yet. The one who jumped in with both feet, and without a plan. The you who said yes before she’d thought it all the way through. Who trusted that the landing would sort itself out.

She’s still in there. She was there on Sunday, listening to Elton John with a burning tool in her hand.

She’s here this Monday morning, too.

Your question for the week — worth sitting with over your first (or second!) cup of coffee:

How would a younger you approach this day?

With cards and candlelight, Tracy 🔮

P.S. — If that question landed somewhere tender and you’d like to explore it further, I offer personal email readings — no phone calls, no scheduling, just clarity delivered to your inbox within 72 hours. You can find me at seersie.com ✦