Your Left Hip Has Been Trying to Tell You Something for Years
What forty years of tarot taught me about the oracle I was ignoring
I was twenty-five when I met a man who made me nauseous on sight. Not butterflies. Not excitement. Full-body revolt. Dizziness. The kind of internal alarm system that, in a sane world, would make a person say “ah yes, my flesh is screaming, perhaps I should leave.” But I was twenty-five. I was horny. He was hot. And I had a film playing in my head about passionate love that required intensity as proof of realness.
So instead of listening to my body, I pulled tarot. Two of Cups. Connection. Partnership. The beginning of something beautiful. Well then. The cards have spoken. Let’s ignore the fact that my nervous system is staging a full evacuation and go make out with the man carrying an actual sword down the street. (Yes. A real sword. On a Tuesday. In public. This was not a red flag to twenty-five-year-old me. This was “mysterious.”)
My body knew in the first second. My stomach was already filing a restraining order. My skin had registered threat before my eyes finished processing his face. Every cell was voting NO in a unanimous emergency session while my mind was busy admiring his cheekbones.
Here’s what nobody told me then: The cards weren’t lying. The cards were showing me what I WANTED to see. My projection was so strong, my desire so loud, my fractal so perfectly matched to his wound, that I pulled from the deck exactly what I was broadcasting. The tarot read ME. Not the future. Not destiny. Not “what will be.” It read: “Here is what you are currently believing so hard that you’ve made it true in your own field.”
And for three months, I lived inside that projection. Dark. Mučno. A war I’d signed up for because decorated cardboard told me it was love and I wanted to believe it more than I wanted to trust the one oracle that never lies.
My body had said no before my mind even registered his name. My gut was already grieving what my hope hadn’t admitted yet. The oracle had spoken first, fastest, clearest. I just couldn’t hear her over the sound of my own wanting.
That relationship ended exactly how my nausea predicted. He didn’t transform into a gentle soul who just needed the right woman to see him. He was exactly what my body felt: a man who walked around with swords, spoke in esoteric riddles that sounded deep but meant nothing, worked on “killing his heart” and “projecting into black dragons” as if that was spiritual practice and not a psychology textbook case study waiting for a diagnosis.
My body knew. Three months of darkness later, my mind finally RSVP’d to the information party my gut had been throwing since day one. (Cool. Cool cool cool. Love that journey for me. Really efficient use of time and emotional resources. Ten out of ten, would absolutely ignore somatic wisdom again for a hot guy with a weapon collection and a vocabulary that confused mental illness for enlightenment.)
That’s when I started asking the question that would eventually become this book:
What if the body is the primary oracle? What if cards and charts and pendulums are mirrors that only work when we know how to read what the body is already saying? What if the external tools were never meant to replace the flesh, but to confirm what our skin already knows?
I started watching it with clients. A woman asks about her relationship. I pull cards. The cards show partnership, growth, potential. She lights up. “I knew it,” she says. Meanwhile, her shoulders are up by her ears. Her jaw is clenched. Her breath is shallow. Her body is saying NO so loud I can feel it from across the table like somatic surround sound. Six months later, she’s back. Same question. Same man. Same drama. Same cards reflecting her same hope. Same shoulders. I’m starting to recognize her trapezius better than her face.
Another client asks about a job opportunity. The spread looks promising. She’s nodding, but her chest has collapsed inward, her voice has gone small, her hands are cold. Her flesh is already grieving something her mind is calling “exciting new chapter.” A year later, burnout. Of course. Her body had written the Yelp review twelve months early. One star. Would not recommend.
The cards kept saying yes to what they wanted. The bodies kept saying no to what was true. And I kept watching people choose the decorated cardboard over the wisdom pulsing through their own veins.
So I started changing how I work. Instead of just reading cards FOR people, I started teaching them to read THEMSELVES. Their specific body. Their unique signals. Because here’s what I discovered: everyone’s flesh speaks a slightly different dialect.
For some, truth arrives as temperature. Heat in the chest for yes. Cold in the belly for no. For others, it’s texture. Smooth versus jagged. For others still, it’s space. Expansion versus contraction. Weight versus lightness. A softening in the jaw versus a clenching in the solar plexus that feels like your organs are trying to form a protective huddle.
Your body has been speaking your whole life. But nobody taught you YOUR specific language. Nobody sat with you and said “that flutter in your throat, what does THAT mean for you? That heaviness in your hips, what is THAT trying to say?” You’ve been fluent in everyone else’s needs and illiterate in your own sensation.
I still use tarot. I still use astrology. But differently now. The cards become a starting point, not an ending. A mirror I hold up while asking “and what does your body say about this?” The chart becomes a map of tendencies, not a prison of destiny. A language for patterns, not a prophecy carved in stone by planets who, let’s be honest, have their own problems and aren’t personally invested in your love life.
Because here’s what forty years of this work taught me: external oracles are only as accurate as your internal receiver is clear. Pull cards while your nervous system is screaming? You’ll pull your projection, not your truth. Read your chart while your body is dissociated? You’ll see what you want, not what is.
The body has to come first. The flesh has to be consulted. The skin has to cast her vote before the spread means anything real.
Then I started researching what the body actually IS as an oracle. I dove into neuroscience. Polyvagal theory. Somatic memory. The enteric nervous system... your gut has more neurons than a cat’s brain, and it’s been making decisions on your behalf since before you had language to argue with it. The fascia network... a continuous web of connective tissue that holds memory, communicates faster than thought, and doesn’t give a single fuck about your horoscope or your hope.
Your body reads the Field before your mind even opens the envelope. Your gut makes decisions in milliseconds that your prefrontal cortex takes hours to rationalize. Your skin is a multidimensional translator. Your hips are quantum portals. Your breath is data encryption. This isn’t poetry. This is physics in a body that can also have orgasms.
Here’s what I found: Tarot, astrology, pendulums, all the oracles... they work. But not as standalone systems. They work when the body is online. When your flesh is clear enough to receive signal instead of broadcasting projection. When you’ve learned your own specific dialect of sensation and can cross-reference what the cards say with what your bones are screaming.
The external oracle and the internal oracle were always meant to be in conversation. Not one replacing the other. Both speaking. You, listening to BOTH. And when they disagree? The body wins. Every time. No exceptions. Even if the spread was really pretty and you’d already screenshot it for Instagram.
Because your flesh doesn’t have an ego investment in the outcome. Your skin doesn’t have a fantasy it’s trying to confirm. Your bones don’t care if the answer is what you hoped for. They just pulse the truth, over and over, patient and relentless, waiting for you to stop arguing with the only oracle who’s never lied to you.
What you’ll find inside:
How to recognize when your body is speaking truth versus when it’s replaying old trauma on a loop. (Spoiler: they feel VERY different. One makes your spine lengthen. The other makes you Google your ex at 2am and call it “intuition.”)
The specific sensations that signal YES in your unique system. Heat that pools in your belly like honey finding its level. Moisture that arrives before the thought completes. The softening of your jaw before your mind even knows it’s safe. The way your breath deepens not for relief but for readiness.
And the sensations that mean NO... even when your mind is already planning the wedding, the business launch, or the cross-country move. Your body voted three weeks ago. Your Pinterest board didn’t get the memo.
Practices for waking up each organ as an oracle point. Your throat remembers what you couldn’t say across lifetimes. Your womb records futures in her wet dark archive. Your liver burns lies into ash. Your kidneys hold the courage barometer, filtering fear from knowing. Your intestines sieve ancestral weight from present truth. Each one whispers in a frequency your mind will never decode through thinking.
Version-sensing: how to feel which timeline is already pulsing in your direction. Not choosing a future. Tuning into one. Some versions feel like static... heavy, dull, no signal. Some like burn... attractive but destabilizing. Some like your whole body leaning forward before you’ve decided anything. Your thighs know before your mind forms the question. They always have. They’re just polite enough not to say “told you so” every time you ignore them.
The Somatic Compass that doesn’t point North. It points TRUE. Forward lean means magnetism. Backward pull means warning. Jaw relaxation means inner yes. Stillness with breath means readiness. Stillness WITHOUT breath means freeze, and those are not the same thing. Tight throat with open chest means yes with grief you haven’t processed yet. Your body has been navigating your whole life. You just weren’t reading the dial.
Future Flesh: how to let the future arrive through your body instead of chasing it with your mind like it owes you money and blocked your number. You don’t reach for the future. You let it enter. When it’s near, your body doesn’t get excited. It gets quiet. Dense. Saturated. Your mouth stays slightly open. Your hips lead when you walk. You crave beauty more than stimulation. You start dressing like someone who already remembers what hasn’t happened yet.
Timeline seeding through body anchors. Assigning future versions to body parts like you’re distributing prophecy to willing employees who actually show up for work. Left foot for abundance. Lips for divine communication. Teeth for fierce boundaries. Womb for creation timeline. Walk like you carry revelation in your bones. Because you do. You always have. Your skeleton has been holding more than your organs this whole time.
The Akashic Body: your somatic archive where multiple lifetimes leave fingerprints in tissue. That déjà vu in your throat. That ache in your hip that belongs to a life you don’t consciously remember. Crying after sex for no reason your mind can name. Shaking during meditation without trauma from this lifetime. Not remembering. Resonating. Your womb remembers who you’ve carried. Your hands remember the magic they once held. Your eyes remember the war, the wedding, the water.
Why tools like tarot and astrology exist (spoiler: because collective trauma is real and sometimes the body needs a sacred slap to wake up from the trance of forgetting)... and how to use them FROM the Field instead of outsourcing your knowing to decorated cardboard and planetary permission slips. The cards don’t choose for you. They reflect the version you’re already vibrating. And if they contradict your body? Believe your body. Every single time. Even if the spread was gorgeous and you really wanted it to be true.
The science behind all of it: polyvagal theory, the enteric nervous system, fascia memory, electromagnetic coherence, entrainment physics. Your gut has more neurons than a cat’s brain and it’s been voting on your decisions since before you had language to override it. Your heart generates an electromagnetic field measurable feet away from your body. Your fascia network communicates faster than thought and doesn’t care about your affirmations.
This isn’t poetry. This is physics wearing erotic clothing. And your mitochondria already knew that before you opened this book.
And most importantly: how to trust yourself again. How to rebuild the bridge between your mind and your body that got burned down sometime around age seven when someone told you to stop being so sensitive, so dramatic, so MUCH. That bridge is still there. The blueprints live in your bones. The construction crew is your own attention. This book is the foreman who finally showed up with the right tools. You came here looking for a method. You’ll leave remembering a frequency.
Because the oracle isn’t something you consult. The oracle is something you ARE. And every external tool, every spread, every chart, every pendulum swing, is just a conversation partner for the wisdom already living in your cells, already pulsing in your blood, already waiting in the soft animal patience of your body.
Your body was always the oracle. She never stopped speaking. You just got trained to trust the external over the internal, the mystical over the somatic, the cards over the flesh. But she waited. Patient. Faithful. Still transmitting the truth through your blood, your breath, your hips, your skin.
She’s been trying to tell you something for years. That flutter you dismissed. That nausea you overrode. That knowing you argued yourself out of. She held it all, kept the signal clear, never stopped broadcasting even when you changed the channel. Maybe it’s time to listen. ✨
A note on tone: This book is written differently than my usual posts. Less comedy. More poetry. The body speaks in whispers, not punchlines. If you came for the jokes, they’re in my other books. If you came for the raw signal underneath, welcome home.