Casey and I have always said that she is the sun and I am the moon. Always. (She even wrote about it in her essay for Beauty & Dynamite!)
Casey and I met in middle school, the summer after 6th grade. She was tiny, blue-eyed and fair-skinned, with a ton of long, blonde hair. She always wore a smile and was stalwartly optimistic. She attracted people like a magnet, for better or worse.
Even back then I was taller and curvier, with olive skin, dark eyes and dark hair. But the darkness went far beyond that. I was a sad and lonely soul so mired in darkness that I made a home there. I didn’t merely walk the line along the edge of the abyss, I danced on it. Why should I care? Falling in one day just seemed inevitable.
Casey made me care. She was the reason I cared.
Casey thought unicorns were beautiful. I thought dirges were beautiful. When we made up stories, Casey was always the princess, singing from her tower window. I was the queen of thieves, slipping in and out of the shadows. Casey predicted that a knight would ride up on a horse and rescue me one day. I loved her for that. But I knew I would still be okay when he never showed up.
Her favorite flowers are daisies. Shiny, happy daisies. Mine is the Black-eyed Susan, like the ones that grew wild beside our house in Vermont. Just like those flowers, we were total opposites in the way that only completely alike people can be. Whenever the other kids in high school heard that we were best friends, they didn’t believe it. Casey was overtly bright and bubbly and befriended everyone; I was the poet to whom they all passed notes full of secrets. Casey was at home in gaggles of young women; I was close friends with the guys. Inevitably, they asked me if Casey was dating anyone.
We were—and are—the sun and the moon. Two opposite sides of the coin, but each still a celestial being in her own right.
Whenever folks compliment my positivity or enthusiasm or ability to inspire, I thank my lucky stars for Casey because I learned it all from her…and by learning from her she taught me how to be a teacher, too. When we look at the moon, what we see is light reflected from the sun. When anyone looks at me, what they’re seeing is light reflected from Casey.
I don’t say these things to diminish myself in any way—when Z Brewer called me the Patron Saint of Glitter Goths, they weren’t wrong. I am the girl who makes people laugh at funerals. I am proof that a person can be both dark and optimistic. I am 100% the person I was always meant to be. I became the princess that the world needed.
Back then, Casey was the princess I needed.
I would not be who I am today without Casey. (It’s possible I wouldn’t even be here at all without her, let’s be honest.) The moon would not be what she is without the sun.
I’m telling you all this so that you know: whenever I pull The Sun card in the tarot deck, I smile because the only thing I see is Casey. She is my heart.
The Sun card’s energy is all warmth and strength. It is pure joy and enthusiasm, for yourself and for others. The Sun takes a bad situation and spins it into happiness, however silly or sentimental. It turns that frown upside down, if you will.
Some of you might remember the famous tarot reading Mom got me at Tu Tu Tango in early 2014, before the final decision was made for me to move to Florida. The reading ended with “the three best cards in the deck” — 10 of pentacles and 9 of Cups, with The Sun as the final card.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll be moving to Florida,” said the reader. I knew what she meant, Florida being the Sunshine State and all.
But I was already smiling. In that moment I knew without a doubt that whatever happened, I was going to be okay. I looked at Mom and said, “It’s the Casey card.”
And then Mom smiled, too.
My Deck: The Everyday Witch Tarot
Author: Deborah Blake
Illustrator: Elisabeth Alba
This post was inspired by this month’s Make Art Not War tarot card. Follow #MakeArtNotWar on Twitter and join/follow us in our creative ventures! #covengoals