Tarot, Tarot, On the Wall Who’s the Fairest of them all?

A few months ago I was reading around on Addie’s blog and she posted about consulting a tarot reader. This is something I have always wanted to do.

((I’m not sure what it says about me believing in the ability of someone to tap into and perhaps advise me on my past, present, and future when I don’t subscribe to the idea of the existence of god but I know that I have had a past, am living my present, and have a future so I don’t think it’s terribly far-fetched to believe there are people who have the ability to see that just because I can’t. I’m not sure what it says and I also don’t care.))

Since I moved to my new place my new route to work takes me by Kay’s. A tarot and palm reader. Psychic Readings the sign says in neon lights. I’ve felt a pull within me stronger and stronger to pop in and see what I saw. I mean, why not? I’ve got nothing to lose. This walking the metaphorical labyrinth is all about doing what moves me. It’s about making the choices that pull me toward them.

Today on my way home from another doggy day marathon, I stopped at Kay’s. The smell of incense assaulted me as I got out of the car. If I have ever watched movies about gypsies (and I have) and if I have ever thought about what a gypsy would look like, how one would dress, how one would talk (done, done, and done)…Kay met my expectations.

She walked me into a back room and sat me down. We went through a small introduction during which I bit my tongue instead of ask her what she thought my name was. She explained to me that she reads palms which will only tell me my past, present, and future but the tarot will tell her all that and more and help her help me, should the cards also say I need it. I’ve been seeing a shrink for 12 years, I don’t need to be psychic to know that, of course, I’m going to need it.

So tarot it is.

I shuffled my cards. I made two wishes. One, I shared with her (please o please o please o please, let me get into graduate school). The other one I keep in my heart (probably best that wish stays close to its subject matter so they can keep each other warm at night).

…Off we go…

I see for you, darling, you will live a long life.

I see also for you, dear, that money is of little consequence to you. You don’t always have it, you find it’s been a struggle, but you know that it comes and it goes and it’s always there when you need it but you don’t really care about being rich.

True but I run through my mental statistical calculator to think of how many people this exact thing would also be true for (lots of folks, I’m guessing). Then I mentally shake myself for my negativity, I came here. Let’s do this thing.

I see that you love strongly. You love deeply. You do for others a lot and you rarely ask for anything in return. You do not rely on other people. You have learned to rely only on yourself. You are someone who cries but you keep it in your heart where no one else can see it.

 “Go on,” I think to Kay, “oOo, do you think that Kay can hear this? Hmmm.”

There was a man. He hurt you. This was recent? (nod) He hurt you deeply. He hurt you because he was changing. Not with you but against you. He was changing in a way that you didn’t understand. I’m sorry to have to tell you but there was someone else involved. He couldn’t be with you because there was someone new but he is not happy with her.

It is Saturday night at I’m at a psychic’s. I stink from the dogs and my sweatpants are unattractively 5 times too big for me. I think the fact that I am single might as well be tattooed across my face and as I’m obviously not 15 there is a safe bet there was a man and he hurt me. I know I’m ruining the process, though. I don’t even want to talk about Ryan anymore. Can’t he just go away. 

He is going to try to come back into your life.

This I supremely doubt. Ryan is a man of pride. He will not come stumbling back. What’s more I am a woman of pride. There would be no conversation. I know the weakness of my heart toward him, I saw it a few weeks ago as I physically longed for him as I watched him from across the room, but it simply would not happen. But seriously, can’t he just go away. Get out of my head, get out of my psychic’s head, just go away.

But you won’t let him. Or I really hope that you won’t.


I want to go back to your past. Way, way back into your past. Back to your teen years.

Widely known fact about me: I’m adopted. Like my father died and my mother neglected me in a way that had social service confiscate me and put me in foster care. I was adopted when I was 3. Personally, I don’t think Kay is digging far back enough. But she’s the psychic. I was an angsty teenager so okay…it’s not completely out of the question. Shoot.

You were an unhappy teenager. You weren’t close to your parents. No, you were close to one. Who were you not close to?

I feel like I’m doing all the work here, Kay. But, of course, my mother. I was a teenager and I’m a girl and let’s face it…mothers are always getting a bad rap. It usually starts around the age of 12 and lasts until one or both of us die.

You did not feel close to your mother because you did not feel as though she saw you. You have brothers and sisters but you always felt outside. You never felt exactly as though you fit.

This has to be pretty common and yet, I sit there weeping. Learning the word “replaceable” at the age of 3 is too much knowledge for one so young.

As she stands up to grab me a tissue she delivers the bad news:

A dark object has crossed your aura. It is blocking you from being happy and lucky in love.

Some time in your past this dark object twisted your life force. You love and you love deeply but love never stays with you. It always leaves you. It is because of this dark force. It is not just in love but in life, in your happiness. You work really hard and you are a good person and things seem to be going okay and then they aren’t. This happens in all things that you do. Until you find and remove this dark object, your life will continue as it is.

By this point, I have fallen hook, line, and sinker under the spell. I’m on the edge of my seat, clutching my tissue.

For just $130, I can help you find and fix this dark force. (insert rimshot)

Dream Analysis, Anyone?

“You were in a dream I had last night I told The Voice.

“What kind of dream?”

“Just you were there and I was glad to see you sorta thing,” I replied.

“Oh! I just remembered more of it. You were happy to see me, too.”

“Hope so. It was your dream.”

You know those dreams that are only *kind of* still with you when you wake up? You have a vague idea that something happened and people were there but a tangible memory doesn’t materialize until you are debating between Braeburn or MacIntosh apples in the produce aisle of the supermarket.

I knew that he had been in my dream, I remembered seeing him and being glad for it. Not in an “Ohmygod, I haven’t seen you in ages!!” kind of way but a “Oh, good. Of course, he is here. Why wouldn’t he be?” kind of way. I remember that I walked over and wrapped my arms around his waist and stood with my cheek to his chest as he wrapped his arms around my waist. Together we breathed. It was neither excited nor unexcited nor apathetic nor elated. It just felt GOOD.

What came to me later, in that moment in the produce aisle was…

…as he stood with his arms wrapped around my waist, he kissed the top of my head and said, “I love you” just as naturally as the moment was. I looked up, smiled, knowing in my dream-self it was the first time he had said that to me before, and thought “Well, of course” and said, “I love you, too” just as naturally as he. Then I turned and joined the room full of people.

Of course, I couldn’t tell him this bit of the dream because I like The Voice and I don’t really want him to disappear. So I said he was “happy” to see me. A truth.

I do not suspect this dream suggests that I love him or that he loves me. I don’t think that dreams are so literal. But my waking-self is struck by the beauty and naturalness of our relationship and declaration of love. It is truly what I would hope for in a waking-relationship.

In my past relationships there has been build-up before “dropping the L-bomb.” How long after you think it do you say it? When is the right time, setting, mood in which to say it for the first time? Side note: The first time I said it to Ryan I said, “Look, I’m going to mumble this in my sleep so I might as well tell you on purpose that I think I’m falling in love with you.” Then I rolled over and was out like lightning but only vaguely recalled the conversation in the morning. I wouldn’t repeat the sentiment for a week or so and got creeped out whenever he said it to me. *Creeped out* was just I thought, “He’s a dude. Why does he keep saying that to me? Aren’t they suppose to be tighter lipped about feelings than us?” (I know, I’m sexist. It’s awful)

My father always says that you vote with your feet. In relationship with people when we make time to be with them and see them and we allow ourselves to comfort them when they are sad and support them when they are struggling and happy with them when they are happy with themselves, then the love is obvious whether spoken or not. The manipulation of the “right mood” to declare oneself is disingenuine, isn’t it? That is not to say we should not say it when we feel it, just that that moment then becomes the right time in which to say “I love you”.

But wait there is more…

Last night, I had another love dream. Of the fragmented pieces that do not make sense…

I was lost in a city and then I was with a crowd in the lunch room of my highschool which was cracking apart and opening blackholes while part of it was submerged in water. Chaos ensued around me. I was there with my lover, a boy I knew from highschool and quite frankly couldn’t stand. He knew that we were either going to die or at least were facing those life moments when you go to the people you love the most and make sure they know how much just in case this is your last chance. He was pleading with me, PLEADING, to get me to tell him that I loved him. He was angry and frustrated and heart-broken and distraught but I would not say the words.

I could feel that I had love for him, a very strong story-book love, but I refused to say the words. It wasn’t like those dreams when you try to speak and can’t, I chose not to say it.  When I woke up I was sad for my dreamself’s inability to comfort her lover (oddly, not at her inability to say “I love you”) and wondered what must it mean that I have now had two dreams (that I remember) around the theme of love in as many weeks.

I loved Ryan very much. I loved him because he loved me in exactly the way I always knew I should be loved when I, someday, was lucky enough to be the recipient of it. I, also, loved him because of how wonderful loving him felt. So I don’t doubt love is real or wonder if it was all just a big hoax to see me vulnerable just because he fell out of love with me. Nor do I think saying no to love that is staring you in the face is the right answer. My thoughts lately lean more (negatively) around the labels of relationship. I don’t think declaring someone as a boyfriend makes them any more *mine* than before “the talk” clarifies. I don’t believe that marriage adds anything to a relationship that did not exist already. Labels don’t make your partner all of a sudden be the person you walk through life with hand-in-hand neither does it create monogomy.. The continued choice of “today I choose you” is what does that.

Anywho…that’s just where my thoughts are these days which makes the nighttime activities of my subconscious…”Curiouser and curiouser.”