The High Priestess

She sits between two stone pillars, one black as deep water, one silver as moonlight, a veil of stars drawn across her face. On her brow rests a crescent crown; in her lap, half-unrolled, a scroll no one but she can read. Behind her, black water stretches to a horizon where the moon doubles itself in reflection. Pomegranates hang heavy in the dark garden at her feet, seeds of mysteries not yet opened. She does not speak, because the answer is not in words. The High Priestess is intuition, hidden knowledge, the still voice beneath the noise. When she appears, stop asking everyone else. Sit between your own two pillars — what you know and what you feel — and listen for what the water is trying to tell you.