Jumpers—those cards that fly out of the deck—can feel like urgent messages. But not every fallen card is meaningful. If I drop a handful, that’s usually me being ungrounded, not spirit speaking. A true jumper feels intentional: one card flipping or leaping while I shuffle with focus. When that happens, I finish my reading first, then check the jumper for extra insight. It might deepen the story or reveal something new. The key is setting clear rules for how you work with jumpers. Your clarity and consistency are what make your practice truly intuitive—not chance.

Sometimes resistance isn’t a wall—it’s a whisper. I used to think avoiding a task meant I was failing or self-sabotaging. But now I see it as communication from my body, my soul, or my subconscious saying: Wait. Not yet. Not like this. When I pause and ask, What is the nature of my resistance? I often discover what part of me is afraid—and what part is ready to grow. Resistance isn’t always a stop sign; sometimes it’s a map pointing toward what’s next.

After years of moving, untethering, and hoping for a place to land, I found myself standing in front of an old blueberry bush in my new garden—harvesting fruit earlier than expected. That quiet moment cracked something open in me. The sweet, unexpected abundance brought tears to my eyes and reminded me that the care we give, even when we’re uncertain, eventually bears fruit. Through the lens of the Seven and Nine of Pentacles, I’m reminded that we are allowed to experience joy, rootedness, and the fulfillment of long-held hopes. And when those moments come, they are wholly ours.