7 - On Immersion🍎

Garlic cloves, psychedelic cumbia and communing with the unexplainable.

Hi friends around the world,

I’ve had a small influx of new subscribers (thank you Chara Kai-Le) so welcome to my lil pocket of the internet! For the past two years, this newsletter has been coming and going as she pleases, taking loose inspiration from the twenty-two Major Arcana tarot cards for each dispatch.

Today, we invoke The Chariot.

From left to right: The Chariot by Giordano Berti (2001), Pamela Coleman Smith (1909) and Toshika Yamato (1991)

Back in March, I was gazing out a train window when I spotted a pile of cards scattered at the foot of a tree lining the tracks of Colegiales station in Buenos Aires. I have an odd penchant for finding cards in random places, and as we hopped off at that stop to take a closer look, I realized they weren’t any old playing cards but a near-full Marseilles tarot deck. In all honesty, it looked like someone got robbed and the thief, having found no value in them, had thrown the cards out the window before running off. Viktor and I picked one each (he got The Sun and I got the Ace of Swords), and went straight home because 1) my superstitious tendencies run deep and 2) I was having a wildly painful endo flare-up and needed to lie down.

The first two cards we picked up.

The following day, we went back to the train station to have a drink at the café across the street, and since the cards remained untouched, I took it upon myself to rescue as many as I could, stuffing them in my purse and later cleansing them at home one by one.

Wipe away the dirt, pass through sahumerio, place in chronological order, repeat.

Only five cards were missing from a deck of sixty-four, and the only absent Major Arcana was the victorious Charioteer, crowned in stars and seated in a carriage of sorts, driven by two sphinxes in black and white, respectively. A messenger of long journeys to come, an invitation to “take the wheel” and overcome obstacles by finding a balance between communing with the unexplainable and maintaining control of one’s surroundings.

(Quite fitting for a 3-month trip that truly marked a before & after for me, shattering deeply-embedded notions of everything from mental stability and romance to immunity and intergenerational patterns.)

The near-full Marseilles deck after being cleansed!

The Chariot was missing!

Maybe he was off on another quest, or perhaps it was a curse after all. Either way - it’s curious how strong absence can be. I think of my dad quoting Claud Debussy: “Music is the space between the notes”, or learning that Jean Michael Basquiat once explained to a friend that he crosses out words in his paintings so people will see them more. The fact that they are obscured makes you want to read them. Big truth.

Basquiat in NYC shot by by Andreas Sterzing (1986)

We’re in deep winter here in the Northern Hemisphere, and I’m especially feeling the absence of light. The absence of summer, of buzzing dragonflies and gooseberry bushes and aggressive geese guarding the edge of Grenadier pond who have since migrated al sur, which I am quite envious of.

I’ve been nurturing a strong urge to study, to burrow myself into something niche. I’ve been devouring Sallie Nichols’ observations in Tarot and the Archetypal Journey: The Jungian Path from Darkness to Light. I also listened to Sister Spinster’s class recording for Veil Opener: Autumnal Plant Magic and attended an introductory workshop in Qi Gong and Traditional Chinese Medicine facilitated by Eze Okoye, both of which drove home the importance of embracing the seasons, our body’s vast wisdom and how plants, herbs and rituals can be allies as we trudge through the shadow work of these colder months.

Notes from the two workshops in my personal journal.

On Halloween, I channeled the Dark Eighties, donning red tights and heavy eyeliner, and dancing to The Cure, New Order and Jane’s Addiction amidst fairies, spacemen and disco queens.

I celebrated Día and Noche de Muertos with the exquisite elixir of colada morada at La Morena on St. Clair, watching hoards of costumed toddlers trick-or-treat their way in and out of the shop. I placed apples on my altar for abundance, garlic cloves for protection, and foraged an array of dandelion, lavender and yarrow blossoms found between the cracks in the sidewalk next to a massive construction site on Dupont and Dufferin.

I prayed, bathed and cried. I cackled and danced with fellow brujas to psychedelic Peruvian cumbia on vinyl at Sonic Sancocho, leaving a lil charm on the Cempasúchil-adorned altar in honour of ancestors and the Afro-Indigenous roots of music. I abandoned my grievances on the dance floor, and gathered with friends at a community altar for Palestine under the Bloor Railpath bridge. Much rage, much love.

A message, my altar and the sky reflected in colada morada.

I’ve been drinking chamomile tea to slow the racing thoughts., and spending a lot of time at the library and cafes like Future Bistro and Coffee & All That Jazz that are stuck in the nineties in the most perfect way. I’ve been making buñuelos de espinaca (recipe here for those who asked) and calling long-distance friends to combat the extrañitis.

I also went to Montreal to escape my troubles lmao. We saw caimanes at the Biodôme, tripped out to Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon at the Satosphere and had 11/10 Afghan food at a BYOB restaurant in Le Plateau.

Lil collage made during a chaotic and heartwarming potluck I hosted for the Sagittarius New Moon. Let me know if you’d like to attend the next one :)

Immersion as an antidote to the winter blues, baby. Whether it’s an 11 am nap, an underground jam session or learning how to drive, choose your own adventure and dive in!

🍎TO READ🍎

In honour of literary magic that can quite literally transport us out of a grey, -3°C afternoon into an alternative realm, I present not one but three recommendations:

Eyeliner: A Cultural History by Lebanese-British journalist Zahra Hankir. I confess I haven’t read it yet, but I did attend a virtual author’s talk hosted by Morbid Anatomy where she walked us through the chapters and spoke about the personal intricacies of her research process. I am endlessly fascinated.

The Coin by Palestinean author Yasmin Zaher. This book is INSANE. I love a good unravelling, and the way she spits in the face of basically everything is just 11/10. Must-read.

Notes on Shapeshifting by Los Angeles-based artist Gabi Abrão. A chapbook with dreamy existentialism, poetry and instructions on how to navigate the grief of a break-up.

🍎TO WATCH🍎

Relatos Salvajes (Wild Tales) written and directed by Argentine filmmaker Damián Szifron, for some dark comedic relief and food for thought. I remember watching it at a Cineplex with my dad and brother in 2014, and feeling a twisted sense of pride and absolute otherness in being the only three people laughing in the entire theatre. Reir para no llorar.

The fierce and ever-inspiring Ana Tijoux, performing songs from her 5th solo album Vida, live on KEXP. The unapologetic way she shares her truth is deeply inspiring, and I am as much in love with her as I am with Albina Cabrera, the Argentinean journalist and radio host (and my ultimate career crush) who interviews her here.

🍎TO LISTEN🍎

I haven’t been in big music discovery mode this season, but these are the albums I keep returning to:

GRASA by Nathy Peluso. I’ve never travelled for the sole purpose of going to a concert, but I feel this will be the first.

Bodhiria by Judeline. Witchy indie-electronic pop vibes, through and through.

La Capitana by La Valenti. Same as above, with a tinge of folklore argentino if it was sang by Madonna in Evita.

The Actress by Goldie Boutilier. This woman is a true storyteller, and her experience with sexism and abuse in the music industry hit really close to home.

Also..

The Battle at Garden’s Gate by Greta Van Fleet. I honestly love these guys so much. This second studio album is my favourite, and they keep releasing great music. I don’t agree with critics that compare them to Led Zeppelin, who we all know are highly overrated.

Nandakke? by Aili is excellent for cold girl walks and I’m currently listening to Magdalena Bay’s Imaginal Disk and it’s a vibe.

BONUS: 🍎TO EXPERIENCE🍎

I went to see Cabaret with a friend at Alumnae Theatre last week, and I could not recommend it more. It was preview night for the inaugural show produced by Horrorshow Productions and I was blown away by the Broadway-level talent. Ballads! Tap dancing! Girls and gays in corsets, fishnet tights and needle-thin eyebrows! Plus their ticket prices are super accessible. On until December 7th. Tickets here.