Man, relationships. You think you’ve got things figured out and then boom, you hit a wall. Yesterday, things felt… heavy. Not fighting heavy, just like we’re both running on fumes, feeding each other leftovers instead of actual nourishment. I needed a clear-cut sign, something practical, not just some self-help guru telling me to ‘communicate more.’ I always reach for the I Ching when I feel this specific kind of stuckness, that feeling when you know the engine’s fine but the fuel is dirty. I knew I couldn’t just brush it off this time.
The Casting Process Started Slow
I grabbed my three old pennies—the ones I always use, they’re worn smooth now—and sat down at the kitchen table. The actual process is the ritual for me, right? It clears the noise and makes me take a breath. I spent about five minutes just holding the coins, focusing hard on the question that was eating at me: What foundational energy does our relationship need right now to transform this stagnation? It had to be about foundation, because everything else felt shaky.
I tossed the coins six times, one for each line of the hexagram, writing down the line that came up for each throw. I just used a simple piece of scrap paper I had sitting next to the computer. I even took a quick photo of my scribbles just to be double sure I didn’t mess up the sequence, because that would totally ruin the whole point of doing it seriously. You know how you always check your math when the stakes feel high?
- The first toss was a Six, a broken line.
- The second toss was a Seven, a solid line.
- The third toss was a Nine—that’s an Old Yang! That means it’s a Changing Line! That got my attention immediately.
- The fourth toss was a Seven, another solid line.
- The fifth toss was a Six, a broken line.
- The final toss, the top line, was another Six, a broken line.
The Cauldron Showed Up (Hexagram 50)
The six lines stacked up, and there it was: Hexagram 50, The Cauldron (Ding). That was a shocker, honestly. It’s not a simple love hexagram like The Marrying Maiden or something. It’s all about cooking, sacred vessels, feeding, transformation through holding a stable foundation. It immediately told me we aren’t starving, but the quality of what we’re feeding each other is the core problem. We clearly have the foundation, the ‘vessel,’ but the contents and the delivery system are weak. This wasn’t about breaking up; it was purely about figuring out how to use the pot better.
But the real punch to the gut was the single line that changed. That third line from the bottom. It was an Old Yang line that was going to flip over to a broken line, pushing the whole vibe toward a whole new outlook. I flipped over my little book to read the specific instruction for that single line—Line Three of The Cauldron. That’s always the key, finding the one thing that’s moving.
The Broken Ears and the Unexpected Future
The text for the third line was rough. Seriously rough. It talks about the Cauldron’s ears being messed up—or maybe they fell off—so the thing can’t be lifted. It can’t fulfill its purpose because it’s incomplete. I immediately felt a lump because that perfectly described the exact situation we were in. We have this beautiful relationship vessel, the Cauldron, but we can’t ‘lift’ it up to the next level or even share it properly because the communication channels, the ‘ears,’ are broken. We’re both sitting here, trying to stir the pot and make something good, but nobody can actually pick it up and serve the meal because the handles are missing.
The advice for this broken-ear situation? Don’t rush it. Be patient. Let things reset. This isn’t a time for big, dramatic moves, not a time to try and force a solution; it’s a time for quiet, internal repair. Stop trying to force the ‘lifting.’ I had been pushing too hard for a resolution, and the I Ching basically told me to sit my butt down and let the heat do its work slowly.
Transforming Into The Wanderer (Hexagram 56)
That changing third line pushed the whole reading into a new Hexagram: Hexagram 56, The Wanderer (Lü). At first, I totally freaked out when I saw that. The Wanderer! That sounds like someone leaving! I almost just walked away from the table, thinking I had absolutely cursed the whole thing with my three stupid pennies. I really thought this was a goodbye sign.
But then I slowed down and read the whole vibe of The Wanderer. It’s not necessarily about leaving forever. It’s about being an outsider, being cautious, not overstaying your welcome, and being mindful of your limited resources. In the context of the broken Cauldron, it was a totally practical warning:
- If we don’t fix the ‘ears’ (that simple, shared communication), we will quickly become strangers to each other, simply co-existing until someone decides to actually wander away.
- This phase is temporary, but only if we treat the relationship like a guest treats a host: with respect, politeness, and by not demanding too much. We need to stop taking each other for granted and act with care.
- Focus on the simple stuff first. Don’t plan the next big trip or make any major life commitments. Just fix the dinner date conversation first, like a cautious traveler.
I put the coins back in the little cloth bag. The actual process of getting the answer gave me the focus I was missing. It’s not about some grand, sweeping romantic gesture today. It’s about being present, being gentle, and physically fixing the small, broken routines—the ‘ears’—that let the rest of the relationship be shared and enjoyed. It’s a simple mechanical fix, but without it, we’re just two people passing in the hallway, eating completely separate meals. I need to go call my partner now and tell them I’m actually going to cook something proper tonight, from scratch, no TV, no phones. That is the Cauldron’s work for today.
