I’m parked in the expansive quiet of Quartzsite, Arizona, a cup of cacao warming my hands as the morning sun edges over the desert horizon. Today’s Oracle casting—56, The Wanderer, and 52, Keeping Still—mirrors yesterday’s draw. “Success through smallness. Perseverance brings good fortune to the wanderer” and “Keeping his back still.” Two days straight with The Wanderer staring back at me—it feels like the universe is doubling down on a message. Is this a nudge to keep drifting across the States in my car, living this nomadic existence? Or a reminder to temper that movement with a quiet, grounded stillness? I’m sifting through last night’s campfire musings, business plans, family ties, old prophecies, and recurring tarot draws to make sense of it all.
Last night at South La Posa, I was at a nomad gathering, the fire snapping in the cool air, and I was prepping my usual silent exit. Before I could slip away, Ray caught me with a laugh, like she’d anticipated my move. We dove into a real chat, and I shared about a recent psilocybin experience—a heroic dose, where I’m peeling back layers of my mind to confront what’s hidden there. Ray’s take is different; she microdoses to ease social anxiety in crowds. She’s well-known around here, always dragged into conversations, and she admitted it exhausts her. I feel fatigue too, but not from the talking. It’s the mental effort—reading someone’s emotions on the fly, cross-referencing years of observed human behavior to craft the “right” response. It’s masking, and that’s what saps me. If I could just naturally connect with what others feel, maybe it wouldn’t be such a grind. But toss me into a convo about ideas—systems, structures—and I’m alive, no weariness at all.
So, tying this to the Oracle, The Wanderer and Keeping Still feels like my social strategy. I wander among folks, observing, mapping their emotional landscapes, but I keep still—holding off until I’ve got a clearer read. Success through smallness might mean not overextending, just taking small, intentional steps in these spaces.
On the business side, I’m wandering too—building the Agroverse cacao distribution network across the USA. I’ve been mulling over bumping our shipment pallet from Brazil, from 606 kg to over 800 kg. Two new farms, both FDA-inspected and approved, are in the mix: Fazenda Santa Ana in Bahia and Cloudy and Marcel’s farm in Pará. After a recent sale of caramelized cacao beans, I’m also considering more stock from Capelha Velha in Bahia. I checked with Fatima about a third farm, but she noted nothing moves in Brazil until after January 12th due to the holidays. So, I’m wandering through these logistics, but keeping still—not pushing too hard for now. Perseverance over haste seems to fit.
Then there’s family—a deeper, weightier piece of this casting. I heard my daughter, Mulan, has been sick for two weeks, missing school. Outside our Sunday FaceTime calls, I got no updates from her mom over Thanksgiving or Christmas—except for a new WhatsApp channel she set up, inviting me and my parents. She shared a video of Mulan with her grandfather, a fleeting glimpse into their world. As I wander the States with the cacao project, I’m keeping still with family—just watching, letting things unfold between Mulan and her mom. Looking back, it’s almost unreal we have a daughter together. Was there true attraction? Maybe a passing spark, or just circumstance—her biological clock ticking, and I was there, convenient. Could’ve been anyone, honestly. Or maybe it was one-sided, I don’t know. With Mulan nearing seven, the past matters less than the present—observing from afar, staying still but tied in.
There’s history here too. Back in 2018, during a visit to Singapore after I got my green card, my dad privately warned Sonya—Mulan’s mom—about my tendency to wander off, something he’d noticed since I was a kid. This was after we were together, with Mulan already conceived, so the warning came late for her. I’d been stuck in the US waiting for that green card before then, not roaming much. Maybe if she’d known earlier about this restless streak, she’d have chosen someone else to father her child. Who can say? But it weaves into The Wanderer showing up again—movement seems etched into who I am, even flagged by family.
Reflections for the day: The Wanderer appearing two days straight feels like more than chance. Is it the universe affirming this nomadic life I’m on? I’m reminded of fortune-telling before I left Singapore. In Malacca, a Bazi reader told me wealth comes through movement, that staying put meant leaving opportunity behind. My mom got the same reading from another fortune-teller with my birth details. My natal chart, with Sagittarius in the ascendant, echoes this—a life of travel. And over years of wandering the seven continents, I’ve learned to spot romantic invitations when they come. Now that these signals are clear, rather than stumbling into them unaware, it’s about consciously, gently, and politely sidestepping them as they arise. I’m keeping still there—letting them rest. Honestly, I’ve grown so at ease in this unsettled state, the idea of another person joining my perpetual wandering feels almost unthinkable. I’m content on this trajectory, for as long as it lasts. Romance, to me now, isn’t about someone else—it’s the sky, the stars, the moon, the wind rustling through trees, the sun blazing in quiet glory. That’s where I feel it. And this ties deeply to the Hermit card, drawn multiple times in tarot readings—once in Milan, Italy, just before the pandemic; once in New Orleans at its peak; and once when I pulled from my own deck back in California after circumnavigating the USA during those surreal times. The Hermit, much like The Wanderer, speaks to solitude, to seeking inner clarity while moving through the world on my own.
What about you—have recurring themes in readings, whether Oracle, tarot, or otherwise, ever mirrored your life’s path? How do you balance wandering and stillness, or connection and solitude? I’m curious to hear your take.