Hold My Beer.
Surrendering to the power of The Tower.
"The universe is under no obligation to make sense to you.” - Niel deGrasse Tyson
Even those unfamiliar with Tarot will likely feel unsettled by cards like Death or The Devil in a reading. The archetypes depicted in these cards are deeply ingrained in the collective consciousness of almost every human, resonating across cultures and time. They tap into primal fears and universal themes, making them impactful even for those who have never encountered Tarot.
However, there is another card that moves surreptitiously through any standard deck and can immediately arrest a reading. A card that challenges any reader to find the glass half full: The Tower. While not the most comforting of cards, the average person might not see it as a symbol of chaos like Readers do. Essentially, even if Death or The Devil appears in a reading, The Tower will say, 'Hold my beer,' take the wheel, and disrupt life.
I believe that while Tarot can sometimes be blunt and direct, its ultimate aim is always to be helpful. Tarot serves as a mirror of the Universe's ongoing search for our own balance, reflecting our lives and offering suggestions (and sometimes commands) on how we can bring about change to restore equilibrium. However, even with the most altruistic of intentions, the Universe will sometimes exhibit impatience, especially if we’re not listening intently to its hum.
For millennia, humans have sought stability, safety, security, and control. As valuable as these feelings are to us, I have yet to find a single person on Earth who has consistently achieved them at every juncture in their life. Author and minimalist T.K. Coleman writes that '[t]he illusion of control is the denial of chaos and the embrace of ego.' While this sentiment may feel uncomfortable, terse, and cold, this is the modus operandi of The Tower.
Card 16 appears in a reading when we've boxed ourselves into the illusion of control, content in the complacency of untapped potential. Nothing frustrates the Universe more than looking upon an individual oblivious to life's complexities, casually strolling through existence with horse blinders on, oblivious to both the good, the bad, and the in-between. If we fail to 'get with the program,' on our own accord, the Universe intervenes on our behalf, swiftly dismantling what we perceive as true—our reality.
Yet, even in the throws of the chaos, destruction, and unraveling of our world, we reach an understanding: surrendering is possibly one of the best things we can do for our survival. By trusting in the intentionality of the Universe, we relinquish power to something greater and more influential. It might not make sense in the moment of demolition, or perhaps even in our lifetime, but the lesson to let go and move with the varying rhythm of life is truly invaluable.
And who knows? Perhaps behind this deafening chaos lives quiet hope, shining in the distance and prepared to help us rebuild.