How To Navigate In The Dark

dispatches from a year of walking alongside The Hermit

I’m out with lanterns looking for myself.

-Emily Dickinson

As 2025 ushers in a Hermit year for the collective, I am wrapping up spending 2024 guided by The Hermit. (The math works out such that my own card for the year is always one year ahead of the collective card of the year.)

What I learned is that Hermit years, although challenging, are also lush with important lessons. The Hermit is a timely guide, teaching us there are times as we’re walking through the darkness of the wilds when it’s actually best to only be able to see just the next few feet in front of you.

Sometimes, when you’re navigating the wilds of your life, particularly when the familiar paths are no longer available, you need to trust the light of your own lantern, that it will faithfully illuminate the next few steps ahead.

The Hermit is the archetype that teaches us to turn away from the known world of crowds and overculture and seek our own wisdom amidst the darkness and unknown.

This year I’ve really had to take my own medicine. The ways in which I used to be able to work pre-AuDHD diagnosis and pre-burnout would absolutely not work in the territory I’m now in. What I learned instead is how to honor my rebel body and follow my inner spark, and that has led me not only to new ways of doing things with and for myself, but to bring a divinely inspired body of work named Soft Animal Magic into the world.

Soft Animal Magic scraps all the maps we’ve been told we have to follow and carves out a new path, one that leads us to collective wholeness and justice. One that doesn’t lead us to override our native ways of being, but rather invites us to work with them as wise guides.

Before my AuDHD diagnosis and burnout, it used to be that, in order to get myself over the threshold of starting a task or project, I’d have to build a huge creative bonfire that was bright and beautiful, which was motivating and energizing, but also, if we’re being honest, was both overkill, and way too much heat for my system. I’d burn out, time and time again, and would become fearful of starting anything new because of the huge energy output required to build a fire that big.

The idea of building that big bonfire is attractive because a fire that big casts a lot of bright light: I could see further ahead, see a bigger chunk of the vision, which made me feel more prepared, like I knew where I was going and what I was doing, which is what I thought I needed in order to move forward.

But in this case, I had never before seen what I truly needed. There was no bright & clear vision of what living and working in this queer, disabled, burnt-out, Autistic body looks like at the end of capitalism, no models of doing it differently.

The ultimate lesson of The Hermit is that there are times, this being one of them, when it’s actually better to not see the whole path at once. When being able to see just the next few feet in front of you is a feature, not a bug.

There’s this quote by novelist E.L. Doctorow that I came across maybe 25 years ago that gives off major Hermit vibes and that I’ve returned to over and over again this past year:

“Writing is like driving at night: you can only see as far as the headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.”

What I came to realize over the course of my Hermit year is that I could no longer count on being able to picture exactly where I was going in my mind and then just hike my way there, obstacles be damned. At first it felt hella scary to proceed in relative darkness, but once I let my eyes acclimate to the little bit of light thrown by my inner fire, I realized it was actually the perfect amount of light I needed to move at a pace that was accessible and sustainable for my body.

If I had been able to see the whole road ahead, one of two things would probably have happened: one, I would have been overwhelmed and freaked out by how wildly different it was from what was familiar, and would have stalled in place; or two, I would have gotten overexcited and tried to change too much, too fast, and would have burned out.

If I hadn’t slowed down to a Hermit’s pace, I probably wouldn’t have created something as rich or nuanced, because I wouldn’t have been working from the inside out. In the circle of light made by my inner fire, sheltered by the container of the Hermit’s lantern, I have been able to move at what I now know is a much better pace for my system.

When we’re inventing new ways of being and doing, imagining new futures for rebel bodies, there’s real benefit in moving slowly, taking small steps, making small gestures. The light given off by the Hermit’s lamp is the reach of our agency: it’s where we have access to resources, where we can reach out for support and participate in co-creating with Source and spirits.

And while I have at times been heard whining ARE WE THERE YETTTTTT like a bored kid on a road trip, I’ve come to appreciate, and even relish this new pace. I’m not moving anywhere near as fast as I’d want to, but I feel steady and solid, and there is more space for smelling the loamy earth, for touching the curled tips of ferns, for hearing the chatter of birds in the treetops.

I’ll be teaching a somatic tarot workshop on how to work intentionally with the 2025 archetype of the Hermit on Saturday, February 1st. If you want to learn more about entering the woods of your becoming without being afraid of the dark, I invite you to join us for community, ritual, and reflection.

(No previous tarot knowledge or experience is necessary as we’re primarily working with The Hermit as an archetypal guide.)

LIGHT YOUR OWN PATH: FOLLOWING YOUR INNER FIRE WITH THE HERMIT

Saturday, February 1st at 12pm Pacific/2pm Central/3pm Eastern

$44

(Solidarity pricing of $22 is available.)