Persephone and The Hermit

From a perspective of Tarot and numerology, 2025 is the year of The Hermit:

2 + 0 + 2 + 5 = 9. The Hermit is card number nine in the Tarot.

(For those who have the same Beatles brain rot as me, I apologize for the “number nine” earworm.)

The Hermit, as illustrated by Pamela Colman Smith for the Smith-Waite Tarot

The Hermit exists in solitude, his only company a glowing lantern, symbolizing his inner wisdom, his spiritual light that guides the way. For me, the Hermit is a card of drawing in, reflecting, and listening to the stillness. The Hermit finds illumination by choosing to venture through the darkness, all the while trusting his inner light to show him what he needs to see.

Hermit energy is typically easy for me to slip into. I’m introspective and “quiet” by nature, and, at times, my inner world can feel like a cozy haven from the brash, chaotic world outside.

Not always, though.

If my inner world was represented by a map there would be lush, enchanting forests and peaceful meadows, sure, but there would also be dark caverns and stormy vortexes, a riptide in every contemplative ocean.

I’m no stranger to discussing my mental illness, a shadow I’ve walked hand in hand with my entire life. I’ve spent a lot of time battling it, trying to banish it, and putting it under a microscope in attempts to understand it with an analytical detachment. 

My literal shadow

But, one of the most valuable things I’ve learned is that, at times, I need to embrace my shadow. Struggling against the riptide does not allow me to escape it. There are periods when I need to let myself slip below the surface. (And, with years of therapy in my arsenal, I’ve found ways to do so safely.)

One of my favorite ways to conceptualize my personal seasons is through the myth of Persephone, who spent half of her year (spring and summer) on Earth and the other half (fall and winter) in the underworld. I realize that my life can seem dramatically and (perhaps unpredictably) bifurcated from an outside perspective, when I unexpectedly bounce from a period of brightness, good humor, and socialization to a season of stark withdrawal and solemn contemplation.

Etching by Roberto Rascovich from The Myth of Demeter and Persephone (1903)

For years, I wondered what was wrong with me and attempted to keep myself in the sun, seeing my trips below ground as abject failure and dangerous dysfunction.

But I’ve come to realize that these periods can be a shelter, an incubator, and a refuge. Like the Hermit, it's within this darkness that I can see my inner light. As a friend recently reminded me, shining my light for others becomes unsustainable if I don’t find time to stoke the flame.

One way I’ve been accommodating these Persephonic periods is by putting away my phone and logging off of social media—more or less a modern kind of hermitude. When the underworld calls me, these digital ties (which, in the best of times, can be lifelines to my loved ones and sources of education and entertainment), suddenly feel overwhelming and strange, like something beamed in from another realm of existence. In these times, “going dark” is a gift. 

Custom artwork gifted to me by my talented friend Jordan Kelly, inspired by my favorite solo pastimes.

I still grapple with the guilt of not being easily accessible when I’m offline. I worry that my loved ones feel concerned or rejected, or that I’m leaving an uneasy hole in their days with my unavailability. 

But, like Persephone’s predicament, it feels fated, unchangeable. My chemically imbalanced brain is the pomegranate seed I swallowed when I entered this world, and I do my best to exist in the myth of my own life with grace and gentleness.

Aside from the guilt, slipping into my metaphorical underworld comes easily at this point. Often, it's returning that's difficult. Reentering a digital world of overstimulation and constant availability can be jarring to say the least. The blue glow of technology can feel empty when directly contrasted against the robust glow of our inner lanterns.

Moody selfie (taken with my cell phone, of course) with The Hermit card from The Aquarian Tarot.

I don’t mean for this post to devolve into “cell phone BAD,” because I can understand there are ways in which “cell phone GOOD” or at the very least “cell phone necessary to function in modern society.” I use mine every day, for better or for worse. But it’s becoming increasingly hard to ignore the costs of technology—the way it affects our brains, yes, but, more importantly, the cost of human life in the dangerous and exploitative cobalt mining industry. I experience sticky, nausea-inducing cognitive dissonance as I sit here typing on my laptop, my phone charging beside me, knowing the humanitarian nightmare that contributes to their existence. Yet, I continue to center my days around these devices. As the linked Upfront article mentions, there is “no easy solution.” Even so, I think it's important to keep thinking about and talking about the ethical, human cost of technology, and I can’t comfortably discuss the impact of phones without acknowledging this reality.

Published to The Upfront, credited to Jim McMahon

So, what does a Hermit year look like? There will surely be lessons ahead that I can’t yet fathom, but it feels like a fruitful time to further embrace my seasons, to pay extra attention to my inner light, to extricate myself from the more stressful parts of existing online when I can.

This blog is an attempt at that balance—a way I can still connect with the broader world while trying to get caught less and less in scrolling and empty discourse—and I’m excited to see how it develops and shifts with time.

Here’s to The Hermit, to Persephone, to my dualtone brain. And, to anyone reading this, I wish you fruitful darkness in equal balance with nourishing sunlight this year. May we all weather our seasons the best we can and honor the lights that guide us.