Ten of Hearts

A Roman convivium was measured by what spilled, not just what was poured — the overflow was the point, proof the host had given more than strict hospitality required. The Ten is that overflow completed: everything the Ace first promised, now fully arrived and, deliberately, a little too much. Jung would call this the Self glimpsed in ordinary life — not permanent, not repeatable on command, but real while it lasts. Nine cups steady on the table; the tenth spills over the side, and that tenth cup is the whole point. Don't tidy it. The spill is the toast, not the accident.