Wow, what a ride!

A Fool's journey.

The Magician.

I was touring an art school with a group of prospective students. At first, we were in an auditorium. Then, a stone entryway/hallway. I noticed a woman—an established photographer—whose work I admire. I went over to talk to her, but she didn’t have time for me, quickly brushing me off. “Huh,” I thought. “Seems about right!”

As we were exploring, I saw that my work was on display at the school—a replica of my actual home gallery, where I showcase my photographs and drawings. Changes I made to my personal space were reflected in real time at the school. I was confused about how this worked and self-conscious, as the work wasn’t finished yet.

Before leaving, Susanne Helmert, who was like our chaperone, warmly reminded me not to forget my backpack. Another woman led me to a separate room, where all the prospective students' bags were stashed on the floor. There were so many scattered items, I was worried my backpack had been lost or stolen.

I rifled through the sea of bags until I found mine. My backpack looked different from how I remembered it—more like a knapsack. It reminded me of The Fool’s knapsack in the Rider-Waite-Smith Tarot. The bag was also somewhat transparent, and I could see the contents. Inside were two oversized tarot cards: The Magician and the Queen of Cups, though in the dream, I called it the Cup of Hearts.

With my knapsack in tow, I carried on my way, weaving through the school, which included a beautiful open-air library. On the way out, I rode/walked over a Ferris wheel of sorts. Upon disembarking, I exclaimed, “Wow, what a ride!” and continued like the Fool on my journey.

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I had this dream a few months ago, around the time I was drafting a goodbye post for Reflecting Light. I didn’t publish it then, which I’m glad about. The iteration you are reading now is infinitely better, and the timing, as you’ll see, is right.

And boy, isn’t that everything? Timing. Certainly, it is with photography. What’s that phrase people say—“f/8 and be there?” Action over reflection, according to Wikipedia.

(Hm. I feel like I’m more attuned to one than the other...)

Anyway, here we are. Final post. Last frame. End of the roll. What a journey.

“What a ride!” as dream-me proclaimed.

Ok, yes, but. What does it mean?

There’s a lot to unpack in this dream. Probably more than I have space to parse or feel comfortable subjecting anyone to, unless they are a Jungian or my husband, who is going to be listening to me ramble about this until we’re in the grave, and even then, I’m going to bug him. Dude, remember when we were alive, and I had that dream about the tarot cards??

But let’s try. Let’s do a little dream analysis, for funsies, and because it’s my last Reflecting Light post ever. 😭

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To start: We have an art school, full of enrolled and prospective students, including myself and other creatives like Susanne. Attached to the school, I discover, is a beautiful, open-air library...

Wow! Art school + a library: a communal learning environment where people are reading and mingling, practicing their art forms together, sharing their amazing talents and knowledge... I mean, c’mon. Is there a better metaphor for Substack than that?!

The creative collective.

I feel destined to be part of it, and yet in the dream, I’m rebuffed by a fellow photographer (an inner shadow figure, if I had to surmise). It’s cool. I get it. She's busy. And anyway, I’m still a budding artist, not quite on her level yet. If my unfinished home/public gallery space is anything to go by, I might never be.

Hmm.

I wonder if the home/public gallery space might signify this newsletter. This, err, blog. This—I still don’t know what to call it! Or myself, for that matter. In this space, am I an essayist? (Too academic.) Storyteller? (Too cringe.) Photographer? (Yes, but—.) Work-in-progress? (Too on-the-nose.) All four? (Probably!) Some other multi-hyphenate with a bunch of awkward slashes in between? (Almost definitely.) Even now, at the bittersweet end, I have never been able to quite figure it out.

“Creative spirit” still seems the most apt, the most all-encompassing descriptor of who I am and what I stand for, and it’s the one I’m sticking with. For now.

The Fool is a creative spirit.

The Fool, in the Rider-Waite-Smith Tarot, journeys through life by way of the Major Arcana cards—21 archetypal cards in total (not including the Fool, 0) that symbolize challenges and lessons that our whimsical hero must face and integrate. As the Fool frolics along, they add new experiences, insights, and wisdom to their rucksack, which I imagine expands inside but not outside, like a Bag of Infinite Holding.

I just counted.

21.

I’ve written 21 pieces for Reflecting Light. 21 emails, 21 missives. The one I’m writing now will be 22. And sent on April Fools’ Day. (No, it’s not a prank.) My fool’s journey—unintended yet oh-so synchronistic—is nearly complete.

In the dream, I finish my tour of the art school + library, hoist up my knapsack, and continue down the path of Life. While I’m sure there are many experiences tucked away, worthy of reflection, the main takeaways from my time spent with the collective appear in the form of the two cards I bring with me—The Magician and the Queen of Cups/Cup of Hearts.

Hoo, boy! We love to see it: Magic + Love. Honestly, does it get any better? Just looking at these two figures and the combined power they exude, I know in my heart that good things are possible.

When I began this project three years and three months ago, I wasn’t sure how it would go. Would anyone actually be interested in what I had to share? Would I? How long before I gave up and deleted everything? I had no idea. I just felt called to take one first step. Then another, and another. Along the way, I felt myself begin to harness a bit more personal power. The ability to bring my inner stories and visions to life, give them a proper audience, and on occasion, conjure a little stardust and pull a willing rabbit from a hat. I couldn’t do that so readily a few years ago. Now, I feel like I can. Somewhere along the line, I reestablished a direct link to the source of my creativity, which felt distant for a time. And while it will always be a challenge to effectively channel that energy, that vital spark, I trust it’s there, and what’s more, it wants me to use it. Put my hand up to the sky, with whatever tools I have at my disposal, fingers outstretched, and make magic.

So, there’s that.

Then there’s the Cups card—and, oh man, I can already feel the tears welling.

After I had the Art School Fool’s Knapsack dream, as I’ve been calling it, that same night I had another, shorter dream. This one seemed to clarify or expand on the Queen of Cups/Cup of Hearts in the first dream, which I will share now.

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I was standing outside at the farm, i.e., my parents’ home in rural Wisconsin, where I grew up. It was raining, and the ground beneath me was flooding. I was attempting to take pictures using my Minolta. At one point, my camera fell into the water. When I picked it up, water gushed out of the lens. “Surely, it’s ruined,” I thought. “At the very least, the film is compromised.” Even after all the water seemed gone, it just kept coming—more and more water pouring out of my camera.

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Upon waking up, I felt compelled to recreate the image of water inundating my Minolta. This required some strategic planning and effort on my part, without you know, completely ruining my camera. The photographs above are the result of that aim. They are the best I could do with the analog tools, skills, and energy I had. (See: The Magician.) When I look at them, I’m reminded of the dream and the strong emotions within it—overwhelming anxiety, yes, but also empathy for my camera and the outpouring of feeling it wordlessly observes and allows me to access. And with that, love. So much love.

No one better embodies love and compassion than the Queen of Cups. In tarot, Cups correspond to all things water, synonymous with feelings and intuition—the stuff of the heart. The phrase “filling one’s cup” comes to mind. Caring and being cared for. Gratitude. Replenishment.

At the same time, water can be devastating, capable of capsizing whole ships, not to mention a cherubic throne on the shoreline. But not this queen. This is a woman who knows herself well enough to trust she can handle anything the ocean or life throws at her. She accepts what comes her way because she accepts herself—every weird fish, every whirlpool, every deep, unruly wave. Nothing is rejected, only embraced.

Ahh, to be as steadfast and accepting as the Queen of Cups, able to weather the storms and tides, both inner and outer, that lap at my feet. Yet, the dream, torrential as it is, offers solace. Promise, even:

Here you are, it seems to say, feeling everything, wondering how you will ever find your way, and yet you pick up your camera, your waterlogged cup, and keep trying. And what happens? Even more water pours out, which makes you go AHHHHHH! But that’s okay. It’s good to let it out and fill back up. That’s what a cup does. What a heart does. Is made for.

The dream is right. Since starting this endeavor, I’ve become better equipped to handle the ebbs and flows of life and Art and, in the process, more receptive to the vast range of human emotions that plague and sustain both me and everyone around me. My capacity has expanded. It’s difficult to recognize that sometimes, but it’s true. I’m a stronger, more resilient container—a cup of hearts. Just when I think there’s nothing left in me, or for me, more keeps coming.

Fellow Substacker and Tarot aficionado, Lizzie Swift, whose visceral writing radiates pure Cups energy, shared her take on this queen. She sums it up perfectly [cue tears]:

The Queen of Cups represents more than love, of course; she is the vessel containing every emotion, the mystery of intuition and of creativity. Yet, in my experience, she is always, above all else, Love.

Her message, then, is that simplest and yet most challenging of truths: you are loved. It might not always seem plausible, living as we do in this achingly beautiful, yet excruciatingly troubled world, but I trust and feel in my bones that love is the animating, cosmic force, searing in its intensity, saturating in its ubiquitous presence. A huge mantle for one Queen to wear, yet she does so with tremendous grace, and an unswerving faith in your ability to feel that love and pass it on.

And so, I carry this queenly energy with me as I continue on my journey...

Self-portrait at the farm in Wisconsin, where I grew up.

... to where, exactly?

Let’s go back to the dream.

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The final image, or symbol, is a big one: the Ferris wheel. Like the Wheel of Fortune, or Fate. Or a giant hamster wheel.

What intrigues me most about the Ferris wheel is how dream-me “rides/walks” OVER it. I’m not sitting in one of the carriages, taking a leisurely spin. I’m leggily traipsing over the wheel, in classic physics-defying fashion, and coming down to earth. It’s there, on the ground, that I announce “Wow, what a ride!” before confidently looking out and striding towards the horizon. (Or a bus; I think I was hoping to catch a bus.)

Let’s look more closely at the wheel.

I can’t remember the last time I rode a Ferris wheel, but if my memory serves me correctly, they’re pretty nice. See: leisurely. You get on—slowly, there’s a surprising lack of urgency, the carriage sometimes takes several long seconds to arrive, I don’t even know if it stops, actually, I think it just keeps going and you have to kind of time it right, when to sit, but again, it’s super low-key, so you’re fine, you’re not going to get swept away or dragged, if that happens the operator will stop the ride, though to be honest that’s annoying for everyone on the wheel, it sucks when the ride stops, it delays the whole experience, which is already molasses-slow, unless at you’re the top and not afraid of heights, in which case, you get a nice view, especially if it’s a clear day, that’s probably the best case scenario—and then, you’re off, climbing into the sky.

Ferris wheels are comfortable. Cyclic. Novel, at first, but maybe after a while, the experience starts to feel a bit dull. Sluggish. No matter what you do or don’t do, or what you bring to it. (Snacks.) It’s not as thrilling as it once was. But it’s familiar. So you keep riding, round and round. Round and round. It feels nice; the Ferris wheel is a good ride, even when it’s windy. The ups and downs are built in. Sometimes, at the top, you squint into the distance. You can see super far. What’s that shiny thing on the horizon? You never find out because it’s too far away, and you don’t want to leave the wheel. If you leave the wheel, you might not get back on. Or it will be harder to. The line is long. The fair is crowded and getting more crowded every day. Everyone wants to ride the Ferris wheel. It’s fun! You feel like you’re really going somewhere without going anywhere at all. Sometimes there’s money, wedged in the seat. Sometimes there’s a kiss waiting for you at the top. A sunburst. A fucking cool bird flies past, and you add it to your list, and it adds you to its list. Cool Birds. You feel alive, even though you’re just going in the same damn circle, the same damn direction, the wheel doesn’t even reverse, well, maybe it does, but in all your wheel-riding years, you haven’t really seen that happen yet.

Dream-me is done going in circles. Done always wondering but never finding out. The cycle, the ride, the journey is decidedly complete. Time for the next adventure, the next calling. The moment is now. ACTION OVER REFLECTION.

As I go, dream-me insists upon air-walking, not just over the Ferris wheel, but in the opposite direction to which it turns.

What a rogue. What a badass.

What a complete and utter fool! ✶

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Thank you so much for reading. Truly! ❤️🙏 In the time I’ve kept this blog (we’ll call it that), I’ve loved sending out missives, albeit sporadically, for you to peruse and expand upon. Some have likened getting an email from me to receiving a gift in their inbox. That’s been kind to hear, but the real gift was always you reading them.

I plan to keep the Reflecting Light archive unlocked for the foreseeable future. So, if you want to go back and read, you can. I’m also keeping my Substack account active. Who knows? Perhaps I’ll start a new project, or share the occasional photo on Notes. Feel free to connect with me on there or via email, if you would like.

Dream analysis and Tarot are complex arts! I do not claim to be proficient at either, and the dreams I’ve shared may indeed have valid interpretations that don’t culminate in me ending Reflecting Light. Please know that other factors also contributed to my decision, and it is one I’ve sat with for a long time. In truth, my energy continues to be pulled elsewhere—namely, toward fiction writing—and I feel obliged to honor that.

I never enabled paid subscriptions because I didn’t want to put pressure on my Art or be beholden to Substack. If you feel moved to toss a coin in my hat as I make my exit, that would overflow my cup. 🫶

(Ooof, it’s getting harder to wrap this up! A true Midwest goodbye.)

As a teenager and in college, I trained to be an actor and performed in copious plays and musicals. Whenever a show ended, I would cry and cry and cry. Cry and cry and cry. Then cry some more. (See: Queen of Cups.) In a way, Reflecting Light has felt like a long-running show. The house wasn’t always packed each night, and sometimes, I fucked up my lines. But it has been a beautiful, life-giving experience that I will be thinking about forever. As soon as I publish this piece, I’ll probably go and have a good cry.

Thank you, Cool Birds, for your time, your attention, and your generosity. I wish you infinite expansion, creatively and beyond.

From my dark heart to yours,
Al 🖤

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We’ll end with a song—the inspiration for the title of this publication. ✨

Reflecting Light - Lyrics by Sam Phillips

Now that I’ve worn out
I’ve worn out the world
I’m on my knees in fascination
Looking through the night
And the moon’s never seen me before
But I’m reflecting light

I rode the pain down
Got off and looked up
Looked into your eyes
The lost open windows
All around
My dark heart lit up the skies

Now that I’ve worn out
I’ve worn out the world
I’m on my knees in fascination
Looking through the night
And the moon’s never seen me before
But I’m reflecting light

Give up the ground
Under your feet
Hold on to nothing for good
Turn and run at the mean dogs
Chasing you
Stand-alone and misunderstood

Now that I’ve worn out
I’ve worn out the world
I’m on my knees in fascination
Looking through the night
And the moon’s never seen me before
But I’m reflecting light