Notes from the Underworld

The clouds appear. The storm arrives. Life starts falling apart.

The destruction is a gift in disguise — an underlying force, freeing one from what has already been outgrown. Magic comes through the storms.

The threshold of the Underworld is not reached at once. It is a gradual descent — sometimes subtle, sometimes unrelenting. Step by step one drifts farther from the known and familiar world. Down a narrow path, far from the noise, into the quietness of a dark ancient forest.

What waits in the depths are the shadows — one's own, and those one has carried for others. What one has refused to look at. What one has outrun until one could not run anymore.

One is never called here by mistake. Treasures are always hidden in the vault.

Sometimes being left in the darkness is an answered prayer. The sacred space between what was and what will be. The darkness rewards those who wait long enough to hear its whispers, and reveals its magic to those who endure the discomfort of not knowing.

The shimmering lights will begin to appear. These are our new beginnings. The miracles we have longed for.

On Letting Go and Understanding Loss

A reflection on the 8 of Cups, and what it means to leave something behind

Published July 30, 2026

The 8 of Cups — a figure in a red coat walking away from eight standing cups towards the mountains under a full moon

Every new journey asks us to leave something behind in exchange for something new. Still, every knot we've undone leaves its mark on the thread we carry forward.

Stability can turn into stagnancy. We wind our roots so tightly around what was never meant to stay that we mistake what was a passage for a chapter.

We hold on so tightly to what we love that we don't realise what is left is only a memory, and despite our best effort and our loyalty, it too asks us to put it gently down.

Loss will not ask for permission, but it makes room for grief. It is the empty space one must be able to hold before something new emerges.

The last page before a new chapter is often the most burdened one — for it holds the weight of the unprocessed past.

On the threshold, all those we've loved stand cheering: do it for all of us, you who still can go on — move towards the new mountain. For something greater awaits at the height. And the way always passes through the unknown.

Sometimes, in order to live, one must leave.

This is the cup one always turns back for — the journey of the cups, one of the most painful journeys of tarot's minor arcana. The suit of cups represents the element of water, emotions, the subconscious mind, and what's referred to as feminine energy, or yin.

The suit of cups teaches mastery through letting go — by holding space for the full range of emotions, and seeing loss as something that adds up, but first asks to be understood.

The 8 of Cups is an invitation to accept the emptiness, the loud absence that cannot be ignored. The eight cups stand firm and upright — solid, complete, everything one has built standing exactly as it should. And still, it is not enough. The one missing cup fills the distance between the 8 and the 9.

In numerology, 8 is the number of balance — its shape the very symbol of infinity turned upright. It is the karmic equalizer: what one has poured out returns in kind. The stability of the eight standing cups and the balance of the number are not the same. And the gap is the faith that carries one forward through uncertainty towards fulfilment. Towards the 9 of Cups, that is, wishes granted.

The number 8 is also associated with the Strength card of tarot's Major Arcana, representing the sign of Leo and the element of fire and the heart — a woman standing beside a lion, her hand resting gently at its jaw. Real strength does not conquer by force; it tames through the coherence between mind and heart, by fully grasping what is present. The lion is a symbol of one's inner power, which can destroy or create. Above her head floats the infinity symbol that stands for what has no end. What is nourished will grow, regardless of good and evil.

What grants our wishes is the courage to go on — to trust our hearts and step into the new landscape. Sometimes grief is the inseparable cost of leaving something behind that cannot be rushed, but needs to be paced in quiet patience.

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