🎴 Bear Bones Tarot: Tuesday, April 28, 2026
The Tower — She Called the Lightning Herself
On the difference between a tower that falls on you and one you finally let come down.
🖊️ Part 1: For the Writers
The Tower is not a card most people are happy to pull.
It shows up and something in the stomach drops. The lightning. The crumbling stone. The sense of oh no, not this one. We’ve been conditioned to brace when we see it — to treat it like a warning siren, a bad omen, a signal to hold on tight to whatever we’ve been building.
But here’s what the Tower actually knows, and what most readings don’t tell you:
Not every tower falls. Some of them are taken down on purpose, by the person who built them.
Look at this bear.
She is standing on the edge of a rocky cliff in a storm. Her purple cloak is whipping in the wind behind her. The sky above is charged and electric — pink lightning fracturing through deep cosmic blue, stars scattered like they’ve been shaken loose. And in front of her, a massive stone tower is being struck — cracking open from the top down, glowing from within like something that was always on fire and is only now showing it.
She has one paw raised.
She is not running. She is not cowering. She is not shielding her eyes.
She is watching it come down — and if you look closely enough, you’ll notice she doesn’t look frightened at all.
She looks like she made a phone call and she’s just here to confirm the appointment was kept.
Writers build towers. We do it constantly, and we do it for good reasons — at the time.
We build the tower of the project we said yes to when we needed the money. The tower of the identity that kept us safe when we were still figuring out who we were. The tower of the workflow that worked once, before our life changed and our creative self changed and our whole understanding of what we’re actually building changed with it.
We build towers out of obligation. Out of fear. Out of “I’ve come this far, I can’t stop now.” Out of the very human belief that if we just keep holding the structure up, it will eventually become the right structure.
But some towers were never meant to be permanent.
Some towers were scaffolding — necessary for a season, load-bearing in the moment, absolutely not the thing you were building toward.
And here’s the part that the Tower card wants writers to hear today, specifically:
The lightning doesn’t come to punish you. It comes to finish what you already started.
You’ve been quietly dismantling something. Or holding something at arm’s length. Or finishing something that you know, deep in your bear bones, is the last of its kind — the final chapter of a version of your creative life that you’ve been gently, intentionally outgrowing for a while now.
The Tower shows up when the dismantling is ready to be complete.
Not messy. Not traumatic. Not a punishment for something you did wrong.
A completion. A controlled demolition. A bear in a purple cloak standing on solid rock with her paw raised, watching the scaffolding finally, finally come down so she can see clearly what was behind it all along.
What tower in your creative life has been ready to come down for longer than you’ve been willing to admit? What were you building it to protect — and do you still need that protection? What becomes visible in your writing life when the scaffolding is finally gone?
🌿 Today’s Practical Magick
The next time you feel the Tower energy today — that particular mixture of exhilaration and groundlessness that comes when something big shifts — try this:
Plant your feet. Feel the rock under you. Put one hand on your chest and say quietly:
I am not falling. I am standing on solid ground, watching what was ready to go, go.
Then raise one paw — even just a little — and let it. 🐾⚡
That’s it. 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 and what it looks like in a real, unglamorous, unsexy Tuesday in the life of a working author rebuilding her life and career one lightning bolt at a time.
