The Wheel of Fortune carries the energy of the sacred first-Fortuna-mother — the ancient goddess Fortuna, who turns the great wheel of life with one open hand. She is the tenth card of the Major Arcana, the midpoint of the journey, the reminder that nothing stays still: what rises will fall, and what has fallen will rise again.

The Wheel of Fortune does not, faithfully, mean random luck or helplessness. It is the card of cycles and timing — the wisdom of knowing that life moves in seasons, and that a turn for the better is always possible. In traditional correspondences, the card is ruled by Jupiter, the great benefic.

And today belongs to Jupiter twice over. The Moon is in Sagittarius, Jupiter’s sign, on Thursday, Jupiter’s day. Fortuna’s wheel could hardly ask for a kinder sky.

A great golden wheel floats in a clear blue sky among soft clouds. Its rim is marked with old letters and alchemical signs. A small sphinx rests calmly at its crown, and the four winged creatures — lion, bull, eagle, and winged one — read open books in the four corners. In our telling, Fortuna herself turns the wheel gently with one open hand, a sprig of lavender tucked behind her ear.

The wheel is the cycle of life itself, always in motion. The letters around its rim spell out ancient words for law and truth. The sphinx is calm wisdom that sits steady at the top no matter how the wheel turns. The four creatures read their books because they are learning from every turn. Fortuna does not grip the wheel. She guides it with an open palm.

The Wheel of Fortune on Jupiter’s own Thursday asks the sovereign feminine one small tender question: can I trust the turning of my life, even the parts I cannot control?

Not resign myself to it. Not try to force it. Trust it — the way a sailor trusts the tides, learning to work with them rather than against them.

The doubled Jupiter of this day leans the wheel toward good fortune. It is a good day to notice what is turning in your favor, and to say yes to it.

And because this is only the fifth morning of the new cycle, the reflection offers a promise: whatever position you began this cycle in, the wheel is already moving.

Fortune, softly trusted, is not chance. She is the sovereign feminine with her open hand on the turning wheel, calm at its center because she knows every season passes.

I turn, softly, with the Wheel of Fortune — my hand open, my heart steady, trusting that what has fallen can rise and that good things come round again.

1. Where is the wheel of your life turning right now — rising, falling, or pausing at the top?
2. What past hardship eventually turned into something you are grateful for?
3. What are you trying to hold still that might need to keep turning?
4. What good fortune could you say yes to this week, if you let yourself notice it?

Louisa May Alcott — born in Germantown, Pennsylvania, in 1832, and raised in Concord, Massachusetts, among the circle of Emerson and Thoreau; who grew up in a family often short of money and began writing stories to help support them; who served as a nurse in a Union hospital during the Civil War; whose novel Little Women, published in two parts in 1868 and 1869, became one of the most beloved books ever written for and about girls; and who died in 1888 at fifty-five — gave these words to the youngest March sister, Amy, in the second part of the novel.

I’m not afraid of storms, for I’m learning how to sail my ship. Amy says it as a young woman finding her own course after disappointment, choosing to meet whatever weather comes rather than hoping for calm seas. The line has outlived the novel’s other scenes in many readers’ hearts because it holds a mature kind of hope: not the hope that nothing will go wrong, but the confidence that you can learn to handle what does.

Today’s Wheel of Fortune lives in Alcott’s words directly. Fortuna’s wheel will bring storms as surely as fair skies. Amy March’s hope is the card’s own: not that the weather will always be kind, but that we are learning, turn by turn, to sail.

“Que Sera, Sera (Whatever Will Be, Will Be)” — Doris Day (from The Man Who Knew Too Much, 1956)

Doris Day — born Doris Mary Ann Kappelhoff in Cincinnati, Ohio, in 1922, who turned to singing after a car accident ended her hopes of a dancing career — introduced “Que Sera, Sera” in Alfred Hitchcock’s 1956 film The Man Who Knew Too Much. Written by Jay Livingston and Ray Evans, it won the Academy Award for Best Original Song and became the signature song of her long career.

Today’s Wheel of Fortune moves gently in this song. It is a mother’s answer to a child asking what the future will hold: no one can know, and that is all right. On Jupiter’s own Thursday, it carries Fortuna’s wisdom in a lullaby — the future is not ours to see, and we can still sing.