🎴 Bear Bones Tarot: Saturday, June 20, 2026
King of Swords — The Bear Who Doesn't Have to Prove the Sword Is His
On clear-eyed truth that doesn’t cut you down — and the quiet difference between a wise inner editor and a cruel one.
🖊️ Part 1: For the Writers
Let’s look at him for a moment, because he’s worth looking at.
A great golden bear sits on a throne of carved stone, draped in deep purple, perfectly still. In one paw he holds a single sword — and the blade glows, lit from within like a sliver of starlight. Above him, the night sky cracks open into one blazing star, scattered through a cosmos of blue and magenta. The throne is etched with old spiral marks. A few pink wildflowers have pushed up through the rock at his feet.
And here is the thing I want you to notice first: the sword points up.
Not down at himself. Not out at you. Up — toward the star. Toward the truth he’s aligning to. The King of Swords is the master of the clear mind, the keeper of discernment, the one who can look at a thing and calmly tell what’s true from what’s merely loud. For us writers, he is the inner editor.
But — and this is everything — he’s the wise editor, not the cruel one.
Most of us were handed the cruel version. The one whose blade points down. The voice that reads your messy first draft and hisses this is rubbish, who do you think you are. That voice feels like clarity, but it isn’t. It’s fear wearing clarity’s robes. Real clarity doesn’t shred you. Real clarity says: this scene is doing two jobs and only needs to do one. This chapter is true but it’s in the wrong place. This sentence is lovely and it has to go anyway — not because you’re bad, but because the story is better without it.
The wise editor’s blade points up toward the truth — not down at the writer.
Look at his posture again. He is seated. He is calm. He is not standing on the throne waving the sword around to prove he’s earned it. He simply holds it, because it’s already his. That’s the energy of an author who has stopped auditioning for the right to call herself a writer. The clarity is calm because it’s no longer trying to win an argument with your own self-worth.
So, when you sit down to revise — or to make a hard call about your book, your blurb, your launch, your no — try borrowing his exact bearing. Clear. Fair. Unhurried. Pointed at the truth, never at the throat.
A few questions to sit with:
Where in your writing life have you mistaken a cruel voice for an honest one?
If your inner editor sat on a calm throne instead of standing over your shoulder — what would it say differently?
What’s one true thing about your current project that you already know, but have been talking yourself out of?
🌿 Today’s Practical Magick
The next time the harsh-critic voice spikes — the this is terrible, you’re terrible hum — don’t argue with it and don’t obey it. Instead, do this:
Place one paw flat on your manuscript (or your laptop, or your heart). Take one slow breath. And ask the wise king a single clear question: “What is actually true here?”
Then wait for the calm answer — the one that names what’s real without making you the villain. That voice is the real one. The other was just scared.
That’s the spell. 🗡️🐾
🔒 The personal pull is below — for paid subscribers — this is where the Mojo Mama Bear gets bear-bones honest about what the card stirred up this morning, in a real, unglamorous, perfectly ordinary Saturday in the life of a working author rebuilding her life one clear-eyed day at a time.
