The Word I Lean On

When others fail me.

There are times when words fail us.

In all their forms and fragments, they are an imperfect medium, often falling short of a look or a touch or a howl.

Words can also evade us — not only in their absence, but in the ways they’ve been twisted or diluted beyond their original intent. The ingredients of “live, laugh, love,” for example. Sacred words inscribed on jewelry or emblazoned on yoga gear until they barely register. Terms that are so politicized their meanings are all but lost.

Over the past year, and certainly the past week, the word that keeps visiting — and that I keep returning to — is faith.

At first, because I’d lost it.

Then, because I needed it.

And finally, because I wanted to befriend it.

I live next door to a church. (There are actually three churches, a temple, and a mosque within a few block radius.) Sounds of singing, chanting, prayer and togetherness often float through the window. There are classes and holiday gatherings and a well-stocked community fridge. There is always food for thought on some very excellent message boards. There is never a shortage of faith.

Faith is where we turn when words fail us. When we face the inexplicable. When everything feels uncertain and the next step has yet to be revealed.

At its heart, faith is trust. In recent times, I have found comfort in the realization that even when we may struggle with our faith in humanity, we can still cultivate it in ourselves. The belief that we matter. Trust in what we do and say and create. And ultimately, the knowledge that what we contribute can make a difference.

There are times when I feel unqualified to speak or write or pursue the things I want, when the voice of doubt chimes in with some unsolicited feedback:

“Who are you to write when you never formally studied it?”
“Who are you to share any part of your spiritual experience?”
“Who are you to speak out when you’re just one person?”
“Who are you to try when you can’t possibly make a difference?”

I used to listen to that voice, used to stop in my tracks, cast my eyes down, and keep my thoughts to myself. But slowly, I am learning to summon my faith.

The kind of faith I’m talking about requires no outside approval. As Wordsworth wrote, it is “a passionate intuition.” It doesn’t need to be taught, nor must it be rooted in a larger belief system. To access it, you only need to listen. We carry it within us, where it expands to fill the spaces where it’s needed, eclipsing doubt and leaving no room for apathy.

We stand at a precipice that demands a response. It asks us to envision a future that does not yet exist, and to do our part to create it. To summon our faith and let it carry us forward.

When it feels like hope is lost, I often think of Anne Frank, writing from the secret annex. “Look at how a single candle can both defy and define the darkness.”

There are times when words fail us, but there are also times when they sustain us.

“In spite of everything,” she wrote, “I still believe that people are really good at heart.”

People often dispute this sentiment, but to me, that misses the point. Whether we are good at heart isn’t up for debate so much as it is up for action. Its truth is up to us. What will be our answer?

Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Featuring The Wild Unknown Tarot by Kim Krans

As a kid, it seemed like adults knew everything. They had experience. They delivered statements with an air of confidence and finality. They made the rules, after all, and I hoped the people in charge knew what they were doing.

As an adult, I know the truth. Grownups have as many questions as ever. They are not immune to cowardice nor confusion. Most of us are winging it — even and especially those who act like they’re not.

The Emperor is a lot like my romanticized version of adulthood. A keeper of answers, opener of doors, creator of stability.

Traditionally depicted as a dude on a throne, I much prefer this deck’s imagery of the Emperor as a tall, proud tree — majestic yet universally relatable. With its head in the sky and roots planted firmly in the ground, it walks the fine line between idealism and reality, in touch with both past and possibility.

The Emperor is the fourth card of the major arcana, symbolizing balance. The number four is associated with grounding and solidity — the four legs on a chair, the four corners of a strong foundation.

This card speaks to power dynamics, reminding us that the goal isn’t about shouting the loudest or grabbing the most. Real power is found in staying true to one’s ideals, moving with purpose and confidence. Those who accomplish what they set out to do are often the ones who move slowly and steadily forward, despite the noise that may be swirling around them.

A tree is the ideal symbol for such power. It remains still throughout every season. It stays the course through every storm. In this way, it leads by example, teaching us that we may do the same.

The Emperor understands the difference between leading and ruling, and is committed to the former. Leadership is synonymous with inspiration and empowerment. The way forward is when everyone contributes — when the collective works in tandem, each offering what only they can.

This card cautions that control is an illusion; anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. We cannot hope to control the larger weather of our world. But like a tree, you can remain steady in times of turbulence, looking to the ground to hold you, and the sky to keep you on course.

A tree may seem solitary, but its branches offer shelter to many creatures. It may seem stationary, but it is always reaching toward the sun. It offers shade to all who need it, giving without asking for anything in return.

A tree understands that growth takes time. Progress can be slow, sometimes painfully so, and is often invisible to the naked eye. But it stays the course, sure in its purpose.

The Emperor encourages us to consider the bigger picture, as well as our place in it. In the days ahead, practice walking the line between what is and what can be. And if ever you feel unmoored, or if you find you are in need of stillness and support, remember you always have the ground and the sky.

Small actions lead to steady growth. Over time, they create the landscape. Together, they shape the world.

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Thank you so much for being here!

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