The Three of Cups is one of my favorite minor arcana cards to see in a reading. It is the card of soul family, nurturing friendships, and of tight-knit community. Because this card is a three, it is ruled by The Empress in the major arcana. This connection imbues this special card with abundance, sweetness, themes of reparenting, and the generative nature of reciprocal creation. The Three of Cups corresponds to Mercury in Cancer, which for our purposes we may think of as communicating from the tender reaches of our hearts. In the traditional Rider-Waite depiction brought to life by the incomparable artist Pamela Colman Smith, we see three people dancing in a circle of revelry. Each raises a golden cup high in the air, as if toasting the depth of their connection. Lush patches of pumpkins and vines sprawl at their feet, reminding us that they are the forces of loving intuition (Cancer) ruling all communication (Mercury) in the realms of The Empress (Venus.)

A movie that comes to mind when looking at the card is the 1995 classic “Now and Then” starring Demi Moore, Rosie O’Donnell, Rita Wilson, and Melanie Griffith. For those of you who are unfamiliar (and I highly recommend the watch if not) “Now and Then” is the story of four friends who make a pact in childhood to always, always be there when one of them needs the others. The film waxes and wanes between coming of age scenes of childhood and scenes of the four adult friends reconnecting in the strange light of nostalgia for the birth of Chrissy’s (Rita Wilson) first child. This type of connection that transcends the ages is synonymous with the Three of Cups. It is kind because it is honest and strong because it is rooted. It is the invisible cord that binds us to our chosen family, impervious to the sands of time.

This brings me now to a more personal association to this card. As a storyteller at heart, I find that personal anecdotes can be a potent portal when exploring the textured landscape of tarot. For me, the Three of Cups elicits the image of the small attic apartment on East Greenwood Avenue. This is the story about three best friends and how one tiny apartment in the sky became a shared crossroad for self discovery, sisterhood, and the art of reparenting ourselves.

I first met Sherrie in massage and bodywork school in January of 2013. She had long blonde hair a la Farrah Faucet, tattoos that greeted you from her knuckles to her neck, and a pixie nose that seemed to me an arrow to her knowing blue eyes. As the weeks moved on we embarked on our somatic learning journey. Despite our ten year age difference we became fast friends and we even started working together at a local massage clinic. We were stationed at the front desk, selling memberships and scheduling appointments, all while dreaming of the day when we too could bring our acquired gifts to the collective. In January of 2014, there was a snow storm. We are from the North Eastern US and snow is an occasional fact of life. It is generally no cause for panic, and short of extreme conditions, it is commonplace for businesses to remain open within reason. This was not one of those storms.

Sherrie and I were tasked with driving into work to cancel all of the day’s appointments. By the time we had finished contacting the final clients, snow was coming down sideways in all directions through the panoramic windows of the clinic lobby. At the time I was living 30 minutes away without traffic, requiring 4 highway exchanges and a small handful of county roads. Since Sherrie lived two towns away and our friendship had already bloomed into one of comfort and collaboration, we decided we would journey to her home together and return to my car when the storm cleared. Through the icy bluster, we walked laughing and squealing to the grocery store at the front of the shopping center. We filled our basket with artisan crackers, garlic stuffed olives, red wine, and a brick of vintage farmhouse white cheddar. We were determined to make a fun surprise sleepover out of the inconvenient weather event. 

We would spend the better part of three hours slowly inching our way through the bumper to bumper traffic in Sherrie’s eggshell white VW Beetle convertible. In an attempt to pass the time, and distract ourselves from our maxxed out bladders, we cranked “Jeremy” by Pearl Jam and laughed hysterically as we satirized Eddie Vetter’s “WHYYYYYYYYYYYY.” This was so effective that we found ourselves finishing a round just for kicks even after pulling up outside of the tiny blue house. This was the first night I would spend in the small attic apartment on East Greenwood Avenue.

Sherrie took me down the icy walkway to the side of the tiny blue house. After a series of sharp right turns up the steps, into the storm door, and finally into the stairwell, we worked our way up toward the growing scent of Nag Champa. The apartment was like something out of a humble fairytale. It was tiny, with slanted attic walls covered in frameless photographs and different acquired treasures. The bedroom was concealed from the living room by a set of swinging saloon doors just low-hanging enough to reveal a beam of silvery moon through a recessed  skylight. Once in the bedroom, all inhabitants were forced to squat lest they hit their heads on the 5 foot drop ceiling. The kitchen had a cozy atmosphere despite the painted over wallpaper that hung loose and bubbled. Through the kitchen there was a small bathroom whose shower required all those under 5”2 to bow humbly to the sharp slant of the rooftop. The rent was $600 a month and the means were simple, but I had never seen an adult living inside such a potent artistic expression of herself before. 

Sherrie fixed us bowls of leftover pumpkin and turmeric soup and she talked about her different strategies for nourishing herself on a poverty budget. We watched “Almost Famous” and cried together when the members on the bus began to sing “Tiny Dancer” by Elton John. She showed me pictures of her best friend Jess, who had lived in this magical little apartment right before she did. She shared anecdotes from their friendship and their shared passion for cultivating health within their means. Jess had recently become a business owner and was stepping into her role as professional guardian of local dogs. She spoke of Jess’ tenacity and desire to make a life for herself despite the hardships that they shepherded one another through in youth. “You just have to meet her, Sarah.” She was right about that.

That night was a seed planted during what would soon prove to be a liminal time in our lives. Later that year, I embarked on a month-long work exchange that took me out to San Diego and all the way up to Mendocino County. Just as I was returning home from my California adventure, my dear Sherrie was just embarking on hers. She moved to California in September of 2014, and it was my turn to move into the tiny attic apartment on East Greenwood Avenue. She has lived in several regions of California, making her way from a home in the north to her eventual destination of Oceanside. She has been pursuing her craft and thriving in ways beyond the wildest imaginations of those two girls sharing soup in the deep chill of that one New Jersey winter. 

“You two have to be friends, even when I’m not here!” Sherrie would remind Jess and I every time we said our tearful goodbyes after our first few combined visits from the thread that tethered us together. Jess was living in an apartment overlooking the lake in the center of the neighborhood where I was still living in our sacred hand-me-down. She has since become my trusted ally, a voice of reason, and a living example of what is possible when you put your nose to the grindstone to fulfill your soul’s desires. She is mine, and I am hers. 

Over the past 10 years, we have been a constant in each other's winding and weaving stories. When we are together, we wake each other with stifled giggles at the first sign of daylight and spend our days eating delicious food and indulging in the conversations that are only possible with the tribe of your innermost heart. When we are apart, we are cheering each other on, communicating thoughts of love, and reminding each other of our special gifts. When I was married via Zoom ceremony during the 2020 quarantine, Sherrie watched from her SoCali mountaintop and Jess ran defiantly down the gravel stone driveway (fully masked) just in time to see us say “I Do” first hand. They are some of the first people I want to share good news with, and they are the ones who hold the torch for me in darkness. We also discovered, as one does, that all three of us share a moon in Cancer. The moon is the planetary body associated with Cancer, as it represents our emotional experience and inner world. I find it quite fitting that three people who have found ways to consistently reparent themselves with the support of divine friendship would share this placement. It also lends itself quite poetically to our beloved Three of Cups. 

So when the Three of Cups presents itself to you, drink from the well of your chosen family. Remember the ones who see you for who you really are and root yourself in the whisperings of your heart. If the Three of Cups presents itself to you in reverse, perhaps this is a time to ponder where in your life this energy feels blocked or inaccessible as an antidote. It can also allude to “frenemies,” peer pressure, or false community. Regardless of the placement in your reading, the Three of Cups is here to talk about your heart, what it longs to communicate, and the people most equipped to receive your vision. My wish for you is a community soft as feathers, firm as oak, and sweet as love to hold that message with you.

Cheers,

Sarah