Dunragit, Galloway, Scotland. Midnight. Emily lays curled into her tail, her small furry body rising quickly and falling with fast little breaths, the occasional cat-snore or dreamy moan. In the bedroom, my love lies sleeping deep. The fire is dying down. It was *just about* cool enough to justify lighting the coals…and if the temperature possibly didn’t, then the weather certainly did – tropical downpours through the woods all around, and lightening filling the black sky before thunder rolling in.
I sat up, reading Tarot cards. Asking questions. Finding answers. Two firsts: a tryout of the beautiful bow and arrow spread from the Wild Wood book, using my favourite Shadowscapes deck, and then a first real question for the Wild Wood, using the familiar celtic cross spread.
There are times when reading for yourself simply doesn’t work. I recall a recent conversation with Melissa where we laughed about how staid, how ineffectual, how dry or false-feeling they can appear. I’ve often read for myself, simply practicing. Deciding on the deck and the spread before even thinking of a question…then asking something I think I should be, to give reason for the reading. Sometimes I’m even coming out with the question after laying the cards. This never works. I know before I begin to shuffle, let alone draw, that I’m forcing it, that I’m faking.
Tonight was different. The questions were bursting out of me. I was so thankful for an hour to myself, to light candles, stoke the fire, pour a drink, and nestle down with my cards. And the result? Real answers. Real food for thought. Uncomfortable revelations I’m forced to admit are truthful. Grains of hope I’m excited to find among cards which describe my soul.
As I scribbled my conclusions I vowed never again to read for myself as I have been recently. I need to practice, sure, but there are other ways. Readings for others, readings for imagined people. Interviewing the decks. Collaborative readings. But never again will I read crassly, for the sake of it. I know when it’s wrong, when it’s fake, and I know when I have something I really need to ask. I need to listen to that instinct, and understand it.
I’m a 30-something writer, artist, tarot reader, and perpetual explorer of the space between thought, feeling, and action.
I believe that spirituality and ritual are for everybody. I’m about the journey, in all of its messy, non-linear, chaotic iterations. I am excited by anticapitalist business and living with my whole entire self present. I use tarot cards to bring forth hidden truth, and ritual to affirm my commitment, over and over, to my ever-shifting path.