A SEASON OF SYNCHRONICITY

Recently, I took part in a session with Tree Carr, dream expert, author and founder of The Dream Academy. The session came at an interesting point in my life, following Aneta Idczak’s Walk Your Talk experience and during a period of reflection that has continued to unfold ever since and there’s no better season to do it than Autumn.

I’m not particularly interested in cards as a way of predicting the future. What interests me is their ability to create reflection. Like dreams, stories and symbolism, they can offer a different lens through which to view our lives. The cards didn’t tell me what was going to happen next. Instead, they helped me make sense of what has already happened and what may now be emerging.

As the cards were drawn and we explored their symbolism together, I found myself captivated by the use and by the conversation unfolding around me.

The first card was the Queen of Swords.

As Tree described the image, I was drawn to the Queen sitting confidently on her throne. There was something about her that spoke of maturity, wisdom and earned experience. The years behind us bring lessons and, with those lessons, the ability to give something back to others.

The Queen of Swords is associated with air, knowledge, wisdom, commitment and learning. As we explored the card, I found myself reflecting on writing, journalling, curiosity and the synchronicities that seem to appear when we are ready to notice them.

What stayed with me most was her independence. Not independence in the sense of standing alone. Independence in the sense of sovereignty. The feeling of becoming the Queen of my own world. Knowing who I am. Trusting my own judgement. Making decisions based on the person I am today rather than the person I used to be.

After a year that has brought so much loss and change, there was something reassuring in that image. A reminder that wisdom doesn’t come from avoiding life’s challenges. It comes from living through them.

The Queen also left me with a question that has lingered ever since:

Who am I and whats my path?

The next card invited me into a different reflection.

The Two of Pentacles is often associated with balance and adaptability. The juggler keeping two large coins in motion, meaning stability comes from movement and flow rather than staying rigid. At its centre sits the infinity symbol, weaving continuously between two pentacles as waves move behind them.

The waves felt familiar. This has not been a year of stillness. Grief rarely arrives in a neat and orderly way. It ebbs and flows. Some days it is barely noticeable. On other days, it rises unexpectedly from places you thought you had already visited.

Looking at the card, I was reminded of reciprocity, of give and take, of recognising that life moves in cycles. The infinity symbol seemed to suggest that everything works forwards and backwards, yet remains connected.

As someone who teaches and studies somatic approaches, I found myself thinking about the body’s natural wisdom and the deep cleansing that can occur when emotions are allowed to move.

Healing is not always about pushing forward. Sometimes it is about allowing. Allowing emotions to move. Allowing rest. Allowing tears. Allowing life to reorganise itself around a reality you never expected to inhabit.

The card felt less like a lesson in balance and more like a reminder to be gracious with myself while navigating uncertain waters.

It was then that the Death card appeared.

There is perhaps no tarot card more misunderstood. Despite its name, I have rarely experienced it as a card about endings alone. Instead, it speaks of transformation, release and the closing of one chapter before another can begin.

The timing of its appearance felt significant. Truth often asks something of us. Reciprocity asks something of us too. Both require a willingness to let go of old patterns, old identities and old stories about who we think we need to be.

After the losses I have experienced in 2025, the Death card felt less like a warning and more like an acknowledgement. Grief changes us. Love changes us. Life changes us. Whether we welcome it or not, there comes a point when we realise that the person we once were cannot continue unchanged.

The question is not whether transformation is happening. The question is whether we are willing to participate in it. Seen in this context, the Death card felt less like an ending and more like a threshold. And perhaps that is why the cards that followed felt so significant.

As the session continued, the Knight of Cups appeared. My thoughts turned to Craig.

The Knight of Cups carries the energy of creativity, art, music, poetry and emotional depth. He follows a path guided by feeling rather than logic, trusting the lessons of his own unique journey.

The card reminded me how much purpose can be found in creativity and expression. Not everything meaningful can be measured. Not everything important can be planned. Some things simply need to be felt.

Over the past year, I have found myself returning repeatedly to writing, reflection and storytelling. Not because I was trying to make sense of everything, but because those practices gave me somewhere to place the experiences I was carrying.

Then came The Sun. Freedom. Life force. Vitality. Success and clarity. Strength.

A child rides freely beneath the warmth of the sun carrying a vibrant red banner, symbolic of energy, purpose and aliveness. As Tree and I explored the card, themes of freedom, nature and Sagittarius energy emerged. She encouraged me to think about the Summer Solstice and what was happening in my life around that time.

When I reflected on the date, I realised the Summer Solstice had fallen just six days after Craig died.

For a moment, everything became very quiet. The card landed differently after that. Not as a promise. Not as a prediction. But as an invitation. An invitation to remember that grief and life can exist alongside one another. That love does not disappear simply because someone is no longer physically here. It is possible to carry loss and still move towards freedom. To continue finding beauty in nature. To continue feeling the sun on your face. To continue saying yes to life. The final card drawn wasn’t a tarot card at all.

It was an archetype card.

The Storyteller.

Of all the cards, this was the one that stayed with me.

The Storyteller understands life through stories, symbols and meaning. They observe patterns. They gather fragments. They help transform experience into wisdom that can be shared. It also the bridge between worlds - turning concepts, trauma, joy into metaphors and stories that we can digest. A catalyst for transformation by reframing a life event, the storyteller changes how the listener feels, thinks and acts.

As Tree spoke about this archetype, something inside me quietly recognised itself. Not because I was discovering something new because I was remembering something old.

For much of my life, whether through movement, teaching, writing, coaching or conversation, I have been helping people make sense of their experiences. I’ve always been fascinated by the stories we tell ourselves and the stories that shape our lives.

The Storyteller didn’t feel like a destination. It felt like a homecoming.

Looking back now, I can see how each card contributed to a wider narrative and perhaps that is why the cards that followed felt so significant. The Knight of Cups pointed towards creativity, feeling and purpose. The Sun reminded me that life continues to call us forward, even after profound loss. And The Storyteller brought all of those threads together.

Perhaps the real gift of the session was being given permission to pause long enough to recognise the story that has been quietly unfolding beneath the surface.

A story of loss. A story of resilience. A story of returning. Not to who I was before. But to who I am now. And perhaps, after everything, that is the story I am finally ready to tell.

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With gratitude to Tree Carr for holding such a thoughtful space for reflection, and to Aneta Idczak and the Walk Your Talk 3-Day Experience for continuing to create spaces where curiosity, courage and meaningful conversation can flourish.

Sometimes the most important thing we discover isn’t something new. It’s remembering who we’ve been all along.