Tuesday, September 7, 2010


Some believe that consulting the cards is as reliable as rolling a pair of dice. Others look deep within their advice for meaning and insight into their own problems and lives. Some find entertainment in their readings, while some believe their predictions are guided by divine intervention, or even one's own intuition. Other's think it's Satan.

As my fingers run across the elegant cards, decorated on their blue and white backs with designs of flowers--a symbol of life--I wonder to myself who's got it right. The cards dance over and under each other as I shuffle the deck, and I split them into three piles in front of me on the floor, only to pick them back up again, one after the next, after the next. I spread them out in a half circle, beginning at my right foot and ending at my left.

Calm and relaxed, sitting cross legged on the floor, I concentrate on the question in my head and repeat it wordlessly, meditating on and annunciating each syllable in my mind. I let out a deep breath and let whatever intuition I may possess guide my fingertips.

First card. As I pick it up from the bottom I turn it upwards revealing a familiar scene: that of an old man, cloaked in grey. Holding himself up by a long staff he holds a lantern, almost as if a beacon, and the calm sorrow in his face and his closed eyes indicate a possible prayer. A font situated at the bottom of the card spells out THE HERMIT, written right side up. A sigh of relief escapes my lips.

Second card. I feel a sense of anxiety rising to my throat from deep within my chest. I'm part way there and it's already become a possibility, but it could be hindered the second I touch the wrong card. But my fingers are guided, as if by someone else, and I feel confident that the card I have chosen is the one I am meant to chose. As I flip the card over my eyes meet with the Devil himself. Dionysus, the goat god. My pulse quickens as I gaze passed the naked lovers, loosely chained to his thrown by their own will, indulging in sin, addiction, and the enslavement of their desires. I remind myself that the meaning of this card plays no role in the outcome of the spread, and a slight smile crawls across my lips--although the knot has not yet abandoned my stomach. The card is right side up.

The final card. Two out of three. I close my eyes for a moment and breath in and out slowly, not wanting to make a rash decision and pick a card simply to end the suspense. I open my eyes and look at the cards. The simple floral design covering their backs seems as old as Tarot itself. My fingers touch the last card, the card that decides whether it is a solid yes. Whether there is reason for doubt. Needing nothing more than certainty in my decision, I flip the card, laying it in line with the other two. The Queen of Cups herself answers my question. Staring to the left, out over the ocean--crown to the sky--she sits in her thrown, pondering love and daydreaming of things to come. The card that I relate to on the deepest level. My card. I know in my heart that the answer is yes, and so I will try.

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