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Start with what actually happened. Not the polished version. Not the version that makes sense yet. Just the thing itself: the bird was missing, the dog cried in his sleep, the candle guttered sideways, I woke up with my throat tight and no idea why.

Then let the meaning arrive like it has muddy paws. What did the body notice before the mind could explain it? What repeated? What felt too sharp, too quiet, too familiar?

End with the small truth. Not the grand conclusion. The thing you can carry. Example: I am allowed to close the door. I am not evidence against myself. The hound must still be fed.

Use this for the bone of the entry: the one sentence future-me came here to find.
Use this for materials, correspondences, tea, candles, stones, herbs, offerings, or the small physical things that kept the day from floating away.
Use this for the actual working: steps, charm, gesture, what changed, what felt silly, what felt real anyway.
Mundane safety lives here. Fire is still fire. Herbs are still chemistry. Pets are still determined little chaos machines. Check before burning, ingesting, sprinkling, tying, or leaving anything unattended.

Question: What am I actually asking?

Tarot: card, card, card

Spindlewheel: card, card, card

First impression: The immediate gut-read before I start sanding the edges off it.

Later reflection: What happened after the day showed its teeth.