Dancing with the Stars, Cards, and Cosmic Chaos: How Esotericism Invades My Writing and Life

You know those moments when life feels like it’s whispering to you in a language you don’t quite understand? Like the sudden appearance of a feather on your desk or a song on the radio that seems to be just what you needed to hear? Lately, I’ve been leaning into that language. Except now, instead of just listening, I’m learning the grammar: tarot cards spread like constellations on my table, astrology charts unfolding like ancient treasure maps, the cryptic verses of the I Ching, and the quiet whispers of Lenormand decks, regular playing cards, and even feng shui corners cluttered with books I can’t stop buying.

Yes, I’ve fallen headfirst into the rabbit hole of esotericism. What started as curiosity turned into something much deeper—a way to think, create, and (try to) make sense of this wildly unpredictable world. It’s not all mystical candles and flowing robes, though. It’s also spreadsheets of transits, scribbled notes about hexagrams, and a lot of “Wait, what does this actually mean?” moments. But somehow, all of it—the stars, the symbols, the cards—has seeped into my writing and, dare I say, my life.

How Mystical Symbols Crash Land in My Stories

Let’s be honest: writing is weird. It’s like trying to stitch together dreams with thread you can barely see. Sometimes, you’re in the flow, channeling brilliance; other times, you’re staring at a blank page wondering if your soul just got repossessed. Enter esotericism—a creative toolkit that feels like it was smuggled out of a magical library.

The Tarot as a Plot Generator (and Therapist)

When I’m stuck, I turn to tarot cards. Imagine this: I’m sitting there, agonizing over a character’s next move, and then I pull the Hanged Man. Suddenly, the story shifts. The character isn’t supposed to act. They’re supposed to pause, surrender, and see the world from a new perspective. One card, and the story starts breathing again.

The tarot isn’t just a fortune-telling device—it’s a way to tell better stories. Each card is a microcosm of human experience: heartbreak in the Three of Swords, transformation in Death (it’s not as scary as it sounds), pure joy in the Sun. It’s like carrying a pocket-sized anthology of human drama wherever I go.

And sometimes, the cards are a little too real. Pulling the Tower card while I’m knee-deep in revisions? Yeah, thanks for reminding me that everything needs to be torn down before it gets rebuilt. Appreciate it.

Astrology: The Cosmic Stage for My Characters

Astrology, for me, isn’t about horoscopes or guessing someone’s sign based on their coffee order. (Okay, maybe I do that for fun.) It’s about archetypes, cosmic rhythms, and understanding the interplay between fate and free will.

When I write characters, I sneak astrology into their bones. A Leo rising might demand the spotlight but secretly crumble under pressure. A Cancer moon carries wounds they’ll never talk about, except through a soft melody on a rainy night. It’s not just “character development”; it’s soul-mapping.

And sometimes, astrology turns into pure comedy in my stories. Imagine a character whose Mars retrograde energy makes them incapable of finishing anything—relationships, projects, even their coffee. (Relatable? Yeah, me too.)

The I Ching: Wisdom in Cryptic Poetry

Ah, the I Ching—part oracle, part philosopher, part poetic prankster. Writing with the I Ching feels like having a deeply wise yet maddeningly cryptic mentor. You ask it a question, toss some coins, and get an answer like, “Perseverance furthers. But also, prepare for the unexpected.”

What does that mean? I don’t always know. But isn’t that the beauty of it? The I Ching forces me to sit with ambiguity, to see how opposites—chaos and order, action and stillness—dance together. It reminds me that life, like a good story, is always shifting, always in flux.

In one of my short stories, I structured the entire narrative arc around a sequence of hexagrams. The characters’ journey mirrored the I Ching’s wisdom: a beginning full of difficulty and uncertainty, a middle fraught with decisions, and an ending that felt like balance—but only for a moment. It wasn’t just a plot structure; it was a meditation on life’s rhythms.

From Studio Chaos to Feng Shui Flow

Let’s not forget feng shui—because if my desk is a disaster, my mind follows suit. Feng shui taught me to look at space as a reflection of energy. Is my writing corner inspiring creativity, or is it suffocating under piles of unopened mail and half-empty coffee mugs?

Sometimes, rearranging my space feels like rearranging my soul. I’ll move a plant to a corner for better “chi” flow or clear clutter from my desk, and suddenly, the words start flowing again. It’s not magic; it’s intention. And intention is everything, whether you’re aligning furniture or crafting sentences.

A Cosmic, Messy, Beautiful World

Here’s the thing about esotericism: it doesn’t give you answers. It gives you better questions. It asks you to lean into uncertainty, to trust symbols and intuition, to see connections where none seem to exist. And isn’t that what writing—and life—is all about?

I don’t turn to tarot, astrology, or the I Ching for shortcuts or guarantees. I turn to them because they remind me that the universe is big and weird and full of mystery. They remind me that every card, every chart, every hexagram is a story waiting to be told.

Writing, for me, is a spiritual practice—a way of understanding the world and my place in it. And esotericism has become an essential part of that journey. It’s not about predicting the future or unlocking cosmic secrets (though that would be cool). It’s about finding meaning in the mess, beauty in the chaos, and stories in the symbols.

A Call to Embrace the Mystery

If you’ve ever been curious about tarot, astrology, or any other esoteric tradition, I invite you to explore. Not because it will solve your problems (spoiler: it won’t), but because it will open your mind to new possibilities.

Shuffle a deck of tarot cards. Pull a card and let it sit with you. Look up your natal chart and laugh at how eerily accurate your Venus placement is. Toss some coins for the I Ching and let it puzzle you into a deeper understanding.

Life is strange and chaotic, but it’s also poetic and meaningful. And sometimes, all it takes is a card, a chart, or a hexagram to remind you of that.

So, here’s to the mystery. Here’s to the mess. And here’s to finding magic in the most unexpected places—on the page, in the stars, and in the quiet moments where it all comes together. Or doesn’t. That’s part of the magic too.