The Building isn't on Fire

I had a moment today where my nervous system recognised something before the rest of me had even decided whether there was anything to recognise.

Nothing dramatic happened.

There was no betrayal. No revelation. No actual evidence that anything was wrong.

Just a tiny situation that looked enough like something from my past for my nervous system to go:

Excuse me. We have historical data on this.

And, to be fair to it, we do.

I've been in situations before where I haven't seen something coming. Where little things that seemed completely innocent eventually formed part of a much bigger picture. Extensions of acts of service to those I'm particularly close to, apparently have their own filing cabinet in my subconscious.

So when something vaguely familiar happened, the alarm went off.

But then it got interesting.

I didn't react.

I didn't go looking externally for reassurance. I didn't decide that because something looked familiar, it must have the same trajectory and therefore the same ending. I didn't interrogate the situation or start filling in gaps with information I didn't actually have.

I noticed myself noticing it.

And thought:

Hang on.

Are we back here again?

Because I'm pretty sure I've already done this lesson.

So naturally, I got my tarot cards out.

Not to ask what somebody else was thinking. Not to predict what they were going to do. Not to hand my power over to 78 pieces of cardboard that my guides talk to me through and demand they tell me whether I was safe.

I asked about me.

First question:

Was what I'd just experienced another reminder of a lesson I've already been through more than once?

Eight of Cups.

Right.

I know this landscape.

But knowing the landscape doesn't mean I have to live there again.

That card felt less like an instruction to walk away from anything happening in my present and more like permission to leave the old lesson where it belonged.

I've learned from it. I can take the understanding with me without carrying the experience itself.

Second question:

Am I being asked to manage my expectations?

Temperance.

Of course.

Not lower them.

Not dismiss what I'm feeling.

Not get twelve chapters ahead and start writing an ending that hasn't happened either.

Just stay grounded in my own trust and take things in bite-sized pieces.

Temperance.

Balance.

Third question:

Has this actually highlighted how much this situation has begun to mean to me?

King of Pentacles.

And that one made me smile.

Because apparently while I wasn't looking, foundations happened.

Nothing forced. Nothing desperately clung to. Nothing built from fear.

Just something slowly becoming substantial enough that the possibility of losing it managed to wake an old alarm.

Oh.

Well, that's interesting.

I thought that was the reading finished.

Apparently my guides did not.

I can almost imagine the conversation.

George, who leads my guides and has long since learned that humour is one of the easiest ways to get through to me, probably delighted that I'd actually stopped, listened and used the tools I've spent years developing.

Josiah, my healing guide, I imagine immediately requesting further explanation because he knows something very important about me:

I heal through understanding.

I need to see the mechanics.

Don't just show me that I've grown. Show me where. Show me how. Let me understand why the trigger happened and why my response to it is different now.

And Esmarine, who feels closest to me, perhaps even an aspect of my higher self, overlooking the whole thing thinking:

Louder, guys.

George, she listens to you.

Use the humour.

So apparently three cards weren't enough.

Out came another eight.

Nine of Cups.

Something makes me happy. I care.

The Hermit.

Go inward.

Nine of Pentacles.

Remember that you are whole and secure within yourself.

Page of Pentacles.

Stay with what's actually here. Something small, tangible and real. No need to turn it into anything more before it becomes it naturally.

Two of Cups.

Allow connection.

Ten of Swords.

The old story can end.

Queen of Pentacles.

Grounded. Secure. Not chasing. Not competing. Not requiring somebody else's behaviour to prove my worth or safety.

At this point the message was fairly clear.

But apparently there was concern upstairs that I might have follow-up questions.

So they threw one final card.

Six of Cups.

The past.

I actually laughed.

It felt like the spiritual equivalent of an Uno Reverse card.

Just in case you didn't hear us, Rhianna.

THE PAST.

Re-read the spread if you have any further questions.

Meeting adjourned.

And perhaps that's what I wanted to write about more than the tarot itself.

Because healing is strange.

We sometimes imagine that when we've healed something, we'll never feel it again.

The button disappears.

The trigger stops triggering.

The nervous system never sounds that particular alarm again.

But I'm not sure that's always how it works.

Sometimes the effect of healing might be hearing the alarm and recognising the sound.

Thank you.

I know why you're ringing.

That alarm was installed for a reason.

But the building isn't on fire.

That's different.

The old version of me would have looked outside herself immediately. She might have needed reassurance. She would definitely have tried to work out what everybody else was thinking, what something meant, where it was going and whether she needed to protect herself before anything had actually happened.

Today, I looked inward.

What am I feeling?

Why did that activate me?

What part belongs to this situation, and what part belongs to something I've already lived through?

And perhaps most importantly:

Do I need to do anything with this feeling?

The answer was no.

I could simply understand it.

The situation mattered enough to activate an old fear.

That's information.

It doesn't have to be prophecy.

And that's one of the quieter signs of growth.

Not that your history disappears or that nothing ever scares you.

Or that you become so spiritually evolved that your nervous system starts floating around on a cloud playing Tibetan singing bowls while absolutely nothing bothers you.

But that when the past knocks, you recognise who's at the door.

You don't necessarily have to invite it in.

You can thank it for everything it taught you and carry on building whatever is happening now, one grounded little piece at a time.

Although apparently, if I forget that, my guides reserve the right to throw eight additional tarot cards at me.

And finish with an Uno Reverse.

Just to be sure.