Man, sometimes life just throws you the most ridiculous curveball, right? You think you got everything locked down, the routine is set, you know exactly what the next decade looks like, and then BAM. Some tiny, stupid thing derails the whole train. You’re left standing there thinking, What the absolute hell just happened?
Last week, it was the dishwasher. Not the dishwasher itself, but the way she loaded the silverware. Don’t even start. I know, I know, it’s petty. But for some reason, that night, after a twelve-hour workday that felt like dragging a bulldozer through mud, seeing those spoons pointing the wrong way just… flipped a switch. I saw red, honestly.
We had it out. A proper, loud, pointless shouting match about stainless steel. It wasn’t about the spoons, obviously. It was about everything else we hadn’t talked about, all the little stresses piled up from the last couple of months. And then, the worst part: the silence. That heavy, arctic silence that you can cut with a knife. That went on for three solid days. Three days of walking on eggshells in our own house, just trying to avoid crossing paths in the hallway.
The Set-Up: Why I Pulled the Old Junk Out
I got fed up. I couldn’t stand the atmosphere anymore. The house, which is supposed to be our sanctuary, felt like a prison. It was worse than when we were dating and sleeping on that busted-up futon. That’s when I decided I needed to stop being an idiot and consult the one thing that always cuts through the noise: the I Ching. I needed a straight-up gut check on the whole damn foundation of our life, the Family reading.
I went into the garage and rummaged through the old wooden cigar box I hadn’t opened since last year’s financial panic. I dragged out the three old, heavy Chinese coins my grandpa gave me. They’re slick and worn with age. I found the little notebook I use just for these specific castings and grabbed a pen that actually worked. All the necessary tools were accounted for.
I sat down at the kitchen table, the exact spot where the spoon fight had peaked, and stared at the mess. I took maybe ten deep, shuddering breaths, trying to shut off all the petty noise in my head, and just asked the book a direct, simple question: “How should I handle the current structure of my relationship, and what’s the immediate future looking like for our family unit?” I held the coins in my cupped hands for maybe a full minute, warming them up, focusing everything.
The Casting Process: Throwing the Six Lines
The process is simple, but you gotta be focused. I took the first three coins and tossed them onto the mahogany table. I counted the numbers, made the mark in my book—a broken line with a circle on it, a moving Yin. I did this six times, one for each line, working carefully from the bottom up like you’re supposed to. I jotted down each score quickly, not letting myself think about the result yet. The energy felt heavy and demanding, almost sticky, while I was doing it. Not necessarily bad, but definitely not light or easy.
Once all six lines were marked, I transcribed the full pattern immediately to see the resulting image:
- Line 1 (Bottom): Solid. (9)
- Line 2: Moving Line (Broken, with an ‘X’) (6)
- Line 3: Solid. (9)
- Line 4: Solid. (9)
- Line 5: Moving Line (Solid, with a Circle) (7) (Wait, no, that’s not right. Rereading the original score: Moving solid is 9, moving broken is 6. I checked my notes again. Okay, Line 5 was a solid line, but a stable solid line. I must have miscounted the coins the first time. I re-cast the fifth line and got a stable solid line, meaning it was just a 7.)
- Line 5 (Re-Cast): Solid. (7)
- Line 6 (Top): Solid. (7)
Okay, back on track. The pattern was clear instantly. Hexagram 37, Jia Ren – The Family. Of course it was. It was staring me right in the face. The universe always has this weird sense of humor, confirming what you already knew but what you’re too blind or too arrogant to accept.
The Recording: What the Movement Said
I immediately recorded the raw text for Hexagram 37 from my well-thumbed paperback. No deep analysis yet, just the lines. The main message of 37 is about internal structure, clear roles, and strong boundaries inside the house to keep chaos and external nonsense out. Perfect for fighting over spoons, right?
But the real juice was in the one moving line. I had only the second line moving. This meant the reading was laser-focused on one spot:
The Second Line: I quickly scanned the text for “Line Two.” This one talks about not letting things get messed up internally. It mentioned the importance of the woman’s role – basically, the internal strength, the emotional glue of the family. The line specifically warned against being overly rigid. For me, that screamed a need to back off my stubbornness and support her internal feeling of control, regardless of who was “right” about the silverware or the remote control or whatever was next. It said to listen, not lead.
Because this line was moving, the hexagram had to change. I then cast the resulting hexagram (ignoring the moving line, treating it as its opposite): Hexagram 63, Ji Ji – After Completion.
That was the final kicker, the ultimate piece of the puzzle. Hexagram 63 is generally good. It means things have been resolved, or they are resolved now, but you still need to be super careful. The image is water over fire—the water is boiling perfectly, but if you let the fire die or the water spill, the whole delicate process is ruined. It’s basically saying, “Okay, the fight is technically over, you fixed the immediate issue, but if you don’t keep the water level just right and the heat steady, the whole damn thing will tip over and sink you both.” It warned against letting small details slide back into chaos. Essentially, I need to stop sweating the small stuff and focus on the major structure, which is the relationship itself.
I shut the book, packed away the coins, and went to apologize. Not for the spoons, but for the unforgivable, childish silence. The reading forced me to see the bigger picture instantly, to stop being petty, and to fix the foundation before it cracked completely. That’s why I share this stuff. It wasn’t magic; it was just a blunt, honest mirror that showed me exactly how dumb I was being. Now, the atmosphere is back to normal, but I’m keeping Hexagram 63 printed on my desk. Just a reminder not to get too comfortable.
