davris

THE ACT 6 TAROT ANTHOLOGY: THE MAJOR DECK (PART III)

VIII. Strength (Artist: Sollay)

▲ Bravery, compassion, inner strength, focus and resolve, the overcoming of personal demons

▼ Insecurity and weakness, heavy burdens, feelings of futility and powerlessness

IX. The Hermit (Artist: Chuchumi)

▲ Understanding of oneself, profound knowledge, a search for truth, inner peace achieved through isolation

▼ Crushing loneliness, an impeded ability to grow, a sense of having lost one’s way

X. Wheel of Fortune (Artist: Gilly)

▲ Destiny, the cyclical nature of the universe, the power to change fate

▼ Inevitability, misfortune, a lack of control, an unwillingness to take responsibility for one’s fate or the fates of others

XI. Justice (Artist: Jununy)

▲ Absolutes, clarity and truth, karmic or divine retribution, the arrival of a crucial moment with irreversible consequences

▼ A miscarriage of justice, dishonesty, unfairness or a lack of accountability for one’s own actions

MAJOR ARCANA

it seems like rorb is resting…

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH

Tears fill my eyes as I read the words on my screen. The world seems to stop spinning for the slightest second as I re-read the anonymous message over and over again, gripping on to the hope that the words will magically disappear. But they didn’t. Anon had done it; they’d figured out that the only way to make me take off my hijab was to call my hair ugly. My one weakness.

A tear streams down my left cheek.

Eight years of academy hijab training…wasted. I had to prove this extremely relevant and good-looking anonymous person wrong, I cared too much about what they thought. How could I live my life knowing that there is one person out there who thinks probably my hair is ugly maybe? How could I look myself in the mirror? How could I face my family? My shoulders shook as I cried silently, and my chair squeaked ever so slightly at the vibrations; as if it, too, was crying in sorrow.

It wasn’t until that moment that the second part of the message dawned on me… how would I prove them wrong without breaking the rules? Was it really against the rules? I reach into my hijab and pull out a scroll. At the very top, in cursive jet-black inked letters, the word ‘Rules’ stares back at me. My heart is racing as my eyes frantically read the scroll.

‘Rule #1: no killing people,’ it reads. I let out a whimper. There go my evening plans. 

Suddenly, my eye catches the next words. The scroll is rustling in my trembling hands as I turn my face away, tears spraying out of my eyes like the spit of a white person as they try to justify racism. The cursive words felt more like a curse of words, vivid and refusing to disappear as if I were still staring at them even through my closed eyes.