Burning sage to cure the spiral

What does it actually mean when Mercury is in retrograde?

After drinking at our favourite pub on a Saturday night, my flatmate wanted to burn sage and read tarot cards for herself. She decided to do it in our tiny living room, so I joined her. I’d always been curious about occult things like tarot cards. Never before had I done a reading of my own. What did they have to say about me — my future?

We opened our window wide and covered the smoke detector with a winter hat. My flatmate laid out her tools on our tiny green futon: dried sage, an abalone shell, a Moldavite necklace, an array of crystals with names I can’t remember. This one is the truth-teller, she said, handing me a clear tetragonal prism. It’s like a third eye. It always tells me how things really are. She placed a large, smooth ball made of Black Tourmaline between us, for grounding purposes. The smoke from the sage filled up the room in a matter of minutes. She waved the Moldavite necklace over the flame like a pendulum, since Moldavite is the stone of change. It’ll force us onto the right paths for ourselves, whatever they may be. We let the sage burn for nearly an hour, cleansing our flat of any unwanted burdens (a practice which I said should become routine, considering our positioning right next to a Victorian cemetery). She took the tarot deck into her hands and explained how she normally selects three cards for herself — by clumsily shuffling them around and seeing if any resonate or fall into her lap. Another method she demonstrated was splitting the deck into three piles and moving cards between them until the right ones stick out. I asked what makes a card stick out, and she said I would just know. We selected three cards each: one for ourselves in general, one for relationships, and one for our careers. I squeezed the truth-telling crystal in my lap.

The respective cards I pulled for each category were the Ten of Wands, the Two of Swords reversed, and the Queen of Pentacles reversed. Neither of us is an expert, so my flatmate Googled what each card meant. They all felt true, but we both agreed the Ten of Wands was the most relevant. According to various internet sources, this card indicates someone has been carrying a heavy burden for a while, and may be feeling immense stress and uncertainty. Joan Bunning of learntarot.com says of the card, “[Y]our life is going to be tougher than usual for a time. You will have to fight uphill for every little gain. Each step will feel like a struggle. When you see this card, be kind to yourself.” Tina Gong of Labyrinthos says the Ten of Wands image of a person carrying a burden of wands to a nearby town is indicative of someone who has already struggled in life and made it to the other side, now only needing a place to rest. “This card shows that you have already completed the circle of struggle,” she writes. “The sweat off your brow was worth it — your efforts have finally been rewarded.” Gong’s interpretation baffles me since I’m definitely still struggling, but it gives me hope that I am nearing the finish line after a year of tension and unhappiness.

My other two cards, both reversed, contributed to holding a mirror up to my life’s imperfections right now. The Two of Swords reversed indicates I’m at a challenging crossroads. Since I pulled this in a romantic reading, it could mean I’m still holding on to resentment and anxiety that are inhibiting me from moving forward. Sibyl Tarot says, “This card points to the end of a mental or emotional stalemate, where clarity is emerging and action can now be taken.” This analysis makes particular sense to me in the context of my long-term relationship that ended badly five months ago. The deck knew how stuck I’ve felt.

The reversed Queen of Pentacles, which I pulled in a career reading, also feels accurate since I’m unemployed, still on the terrifying post-grad job hunt and trying to survive in a glorious yet expensive city. For this card, Tina Gong writes, “Your career may be a bit chaotic right now. Don’t be afraid to do as the Queen of Pentacles does, and get your hands dirty.” (Mind you, I first read this analysis while dog-sitting at someone’s flat for £40 a day.) “This card indicates a need to shift your focus inward,” Gong says, “allowing for self-care and personal growth.” Thank you, Tina, I replied sacredly after reading her words for the tenth, hundredth, thousandth time. Whatever you say, Tina.

The most glaring thing I learned about myself after my first tarot reading is how obsessed I am with the act of Googling tarot card meanings. Were my Saturday night tarot cards accurate, indicating that I’m at a major shift in my life towards something more positive, or am I just worn out from life and desperate for answers? A question as old as time itself. I imagine even cave people in the Paleolithic era used to look for meaning in stars or rocks to try and solve their own problems. This is why I’m so sceptical of astrology, as much as I deeply want to believe in it — and some days, I do choose to believe in it. (Like Lorde’s lyrics in her song ‘Mood Ring’: I can’t feel a thing, I keep looking at my mood ring, tell me how I’m feeling.)

Astrology, as I’ve always viewed it, is something people seek in tumultuous periods of life — in the vein of turning to religion as a cure for pain and grief. For many, astrology is a religion. My ex-boyfriend never believed in it. He’d tell me, horoscopes are intentionally vague so that everyone can relate to them. I even remember him pulling up a YouTube video and an article that explained his point. He was probably right in all fairness, but I also don’t believe that every horoscope is written by an astrology expert. Being an overthinker is draining. Introspection is a burden. Sometimes, an explanation for why I exist the way I do feels nice, whether it’s correct or not. I’m also a fan of engaging with anything men can’t wrap their heads around.

I don’t have my entire astrological chart memorised, but I know my big three (Sun, Moon, and Rising) are Aries, Gemini, and Virgo. Recently, I learned that each sign is ruled by a certain planet. (Common knowledge to many, but I’m still catching up.) Aries is ruled by Mars, while Gemini and Virgo are both ruled by Mercury — meaning I am double-ruled by Mercury. I asked Google what this means since I couldn’t decide if that sounds good or bad, and all I ever hear about Mercury is how abysmal everything is when it’s in retrograde. Mercury is the Roman god of communication, so when Mercury is in retrograde (i.e. when a planet appears to be moving backwards in the sky from the earth’s orbit), communication is off. You might feel like you’re not being heard, and it could lead to arguments with your loved ones. You might fall out of sync with a romantic partner, a friend, a parent, or a coworker. As a writer, I may have trouble feeling creative — words won’t come as easily as they normally do. Mercury is also the god of travel, so booking new travel arrangements is highly ill-advised during a period of retrograde. Astrology experts from The Cut warn: “Technology breaks down. Flights are delayed and/or canceled. Texts are misinterpreted. It’s not a good time to start something new because agreements made during this time are likely to shortchange one party or another.” All this tells me is that when Mercury is in retrograde, it’s probably not a very good omen for me.

The last time Mercury was in retrograde was 15 March to 7 April of this year — during my birthday, actually. I did travel quite a bit during this time (though in my defense, I didn’t know Mercury was in retrograde). I didn’t experience any major travel hiccups; the worst thing to happen was when I unknowingly put a bottle of champagne in a freezer at an Airbnb and heard it explode the next day. Did I narrowly escape this retrograde period with minimal casualties? Or perhaps I felt Mercury’s effects in more subtle ways. The Cut also writes that there is a “tendency to think back on the past, too: You might reconnect with an old friend, rediscover a lapsed hobby, and more generally evaluate feelings about your relationships, your career, your goals.”

The weeks leading up to my birthday made me nervous. After being with someone I thought I’d marry for four years, I was newly single. I thought my first birthday without him would feel heartbreaking, or incomplete. I’m living in a different country, my family and closest friends thousands of miles and an ocean away from me. I couldn’t stand my job as a restaurant server. Every day turned into a cyclical doom-scroll on LinkedIn, followed by hours of staring at the ceiling and questioning every choice I’d ever made. My self-confidence was at a record low. I felt such profound hatred for everything all the time — the people laughing and yelling outside my window at 1 a.m., the stranger on LinkedIn who just got promoted at Creative Artists Agency, the regular customer who jokingly (or maybe not jokingly) wanted me to date his son, the guy on the bus blasting music through his JBL speaker, the still-too-short days which turned into nights quickly and jarringly, the horrid price of a pint of Guinness at a decent pub, the bleak London weather, the increase of a Sainsbury’s meal deal from £3 to £3.50 to £3.75. On top of all this, I was turning 26 — which feels so alarming to me even though I know it’s still a young age to be. In four short years, the same amount of time as a bachelor’s degree or a U.S. presidential term, I’ll be 30.

My pre-birthday anxiety was ultimately unwarranted, though. Amazingly, starting my 26th year went well in a reflective, fun, and massively hungover kind of way. One of my closest friends from America was able to visit me, which helped a lot. (Reconnecting with an old friend, as The Cut predicted…) I worked my last shift at my job a couple days before my birthday, which also contributed to the amount of Guinness I drank that weekend. I did some traveling, drove through mountains that were seemingly endless, glimpsed the Northern Lights, and filled up my camera’s SD card. Then I went home to America for weeks where I hung out with even more friends, drank more beer, basked in the glory of Trader Joe’s many times, read a book on the beach, spent time with my mom and family, hiked for the first time in a year, listened to hours and hours of Haim, and sat in the passenger seat for long, scenic car rides where I thought about my life to this point a lot.

I don’t know if it can all be attributed to Mercury, but I undoubtedly reached a turning point where I had no choice but to reconnect with myself. Astrologer Aliza Kelly provides insight on how understanding your chart can be helpful, a rebuttal for non-believers: “Through astrology, we can explore the multifaceted nature of our existence,” she writes. “It enables us to find forgiveness for our frustrating attributes and difficult circumstances… Everyone is on a different orbit, but we’re all going through the same cycles.” Rather than the cliché that life is full of ups and downs, I actually think our existence is characterised by periods of self-love and self-hate. Whether tarot cards or horoscopes are real isn’t important. Simply looking up at the stars and knowing others are doing the same, seeking guidance or divine wisdom as a cure for their own self-hatred, does more spiritual healing than any mystic practice. At the end of the day, all we seek is reassurance we’re not alone. Sitting across from each other, burning the sage together, cleansing ourselves with crystals in hand, analysing our birth charts, sending smoke out the window to whatever may be out there — we are choosing to start anew.

Reykjanes Peninsula, Iceland, 2025