What the Nine of Cups Really Means

It’s not a satisfied man with his arms crossed. It’s a woman whose water just broke.

The Nine of Cups is often described as the “Wish Card” and is considered a symbol of comfort, contentment, satisfaction, and wishes granted. The neatly arranged golden cups and relaxed, welcoming figure are usually read as positive signs. But one day, I pulled this card and didn’t see the smiling man at all.

Instead, I saw a woman in labor. The cups had spilled. Her water had broken. Something was about to be born and the moment filled with jubilation.

At the time, I was visiting a new town, trying to decide if I should move there. The Nine of Cups told me: Yes, this is your place. The next stage of your life will begin here.

And it did.

That’s when I realized another meaning of this card: it’s not the wealth and satisfaction at the end of a journey and the achievement of goals. It’s the breath right before birth. The water pouring out before the first cry of your baby. It is a release that signals something real is coming.

Keywords (Light Side)

• Feeling of plenty
• Hospitality
• Wishes granted
• Emotional fulfillment
• Gratitude
• Generosity
• Sensual pleasure
• Water breaking before labor

Keywords (Shadow Side)

• Dissatisfaction
• Indulgence
• Greed
• Hidden emptiness
• Over-sated
• Opulence
• Moral decay
• Emotional imbalance
• Need to give up material things in favor of a spiritual quest

What the Nine of Cups really means:

This card invites you to prepare for something new to be born. You may achieve your wish, but listen to your heart to know what you are hoping to birth.

I don't believe there is a single "real" meaning for any card, but I enjoy finding new interpretations. Do you have a unique take on any of the cards? Please share your insights below! I love hearing from my readers!

A Rhyme for Returning Home

When I’m back in the U.S., I’ll need to keep my goals in mind and my spirits up. I recently read Sunrise on the Reaping the moment it came out, and one character had composed a sing-song rhyme to remind herself how to stay alive. It stuck with me. With a friend’s help, I adapted it into my own mantra.

It’s based on my personal “to-do list” for this next chapter, but shorter and recitable, to help me stay cheerfully on track:

Work and save, spend with care,
Eat good food, breathe fresh air.

Find a job, give it heart,
Learn and grow, make a start.

Meet good folks, take my place,
Balance joy with logic’s grace.

Step outside, explore, be free—
Build my life and just be me.
My "to do" list for life back in the States:

• Make money and save money
• Spend money on health (gym, healthy food, and supplements)
• Get a job, buy a car, rent/buy a home
• Engage in work enthusiastically
• Study something (on my own or in a free class)
• Make friends and find a community
• Do it today so you can do something else tomorrow
• Momentum and responsibility
• Visualize a bright shining future
• Listen to Captain Logic as often as I listen to Captain Fun (carefully chose a few YouTube videos and fill most of my free time with healthy positive things)
• Go outside and visit cool new places

(At first, I struggled to memorize my rhyme, but a friend suggested setting it to music. Turns out, it flows perfectly to the familiar simple tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.)

Announcing My YouTube Channel: Mindful Migration

I recently launched a YouTube channel called Mindful Migration, where I’ll be sharing reflections on my return to the U.S. after eight years overseas. This new creative outlet is a way for me to stay positive and proactive as I begin again—seeking stability, growing with intention, and building a better life.

I hope it also offers something meaningful to others. If you're rebuilding from scratch or searching for inspiration to face life’s changes with courage and clarity, I invite you to join me on this journey.

Visit Mindful Migration on YouTube.

Kids are being robbed: they don't learn cursive handwriting OR Touch Typing!

I assume I’ll eventually figure out what Apple has done to its cursor pad… right now, it has me cursing quite a bit.

However, I am deeply disappointed that Apple no longer designs keyboards with adult human beings in mind. Instead, they seem to be catering to the exclusive needs of two-finger typists who thrive on inefficiency and chaos.

For instance, instead of a left shift key where it belongs, there’s a renegade apostrophe key (`) loitering there. If I actually want to capitalize something, I have to look down, relocate my entire hand, and then press shift as if it’s some kind of side quest.

The return key? Oh, don’t worry, that’s been thoughtfully replaced with a reverse slash (\) because obviously, what I really needed in my life was more accidental backslashes. To hit the actual return key, I have to look down (again), rehome my hand, and make a minor pilgrimage across the keyboard.

`i `hope That If `i `keep Practising, I Will Learn To Find The Shift `key Without Looking.

But\\
the
\return
key
is
too
far
away
to\
reach\
without moving my hand and looking at the keyboard

And surely I will find a way to switch from British spell-check to 'Murican soon! 

NOTE: For a while, it appeared that Apple had done away with click-and-drag; but that function can be restored in the System Settings -> Trackpad -> Force Click and Haptic Feedback

Farewell

We picked Maya up at her home in Bat Yam, where I met her daughter—an angel who smiled radiantly and hugged me. After I shook her tiny soft hand, I wanted to sweep her up and squeeze her tightly, but I settled for taking pictures while she fed a stray cat.

Later, as we sat together at a restaurant on a beautiful day by the sea, Maya hugged me. She didn’t let go for a long time. When we finally pulled apart, she held my hand tightly. I always expect to be shoved away if I reach out, so I didn't know what to do-except not let go.

She gave me a necklace of amber stones and round orange beads, a gift that will always remind me of the balloons held by people lining the streets and freeways in Israel on the day of the Bibas family funeral.

The next morning, Maya and I met again. After coffee, we stood by the Mediterranean, watching the myna birds, the rolling crests of the small waves, the hopeful surfers and fishermen. For once, I could discern and voice my feelings: “I’m happy to be leaving, but I want to cry.” It wasn’t regret. Looking back, maybe it was nostalgia for my time in Israel—or gratitude for her friendship. I had always believed she cared less for me than I do for her.

We hugged a few more times as we said our farewells and walked along the tayelet, the sea breeze tousling our loose hair. By her car, we embraced once more. As we began to move apart, she grasped both my hands and said, “I love you.”

I dared to say it back, but in a whisper. Something so precious is too fragile to say aloud. But because it is so rare, you must acknowledge it and hold it close when it briefly brushes your life.