I’ll never forget the day. I had to be somewhere and being late wasn’t an option. At the time, I had just been reading a new Tarot book, one that purported to “lift” my Tarot practice “above mere fortune telling” and to “facilitate internal healing and spiritual growth.” So, as was my practice, I drew a daily card.
Aha! The Chariot, reversed.
The moment I drew the card I saw a picture of my car flash in my mind like a lightbulb. In the past, I had seen The Chariot (R) reflect car trouble, even car accidents, as well as other travel, etc., but my new Tarot guru book said that The Chariot advised letting go of the reins of the ego mask to allow my Goddess-given lunar energies to lead me back to my authentic self. If that didn’t make sense to you, don’t worry: it didn’t to me, either.
Anyway, I got ready to leave for my appointment, and I went outside to start my car, when, lo and behold, it wouldn’t crank. Crap. I had waited four months for an appointment with this physician and if I were more than 15 minutes late, his officious little secretary would gleefully put my name at the bottom of his list.
Fortunately, I was able to catch a ride, and no harm was done. No. Scratch that. Harm was done, all right. I did the harm to myself when I failed to listen to my intuition, a part of myself that’s gotten me out of many a scrape – some nearly-fatal ones, mind you – in order to let some smug New Age psychobabble do my thinking for me. Not gonna happen again.
Now, don’t get me wrong: there are many times when I turn to the cards for insight on emotional or even spiritual matters. However, life exists under the head as well as above it. Just look at Maslow’s pyramid! Sure, we need to become fully self-actualized. However, there are other needs. At any given moment, one or several needs will be in ascendance.
As for the book, I am very much afraid that it wound up hitting the wall with a wonderfully-satisfying smack, from there joining a small shelf of Tarot books I call my Wall of Shame. Therein, you’ll find books full of fluff but free of substantive content, interpretation schemes the books’ authors dub “the only authentic” or “the one true” way, and books filled with socio-political agendas ranging from the most sexist, reactionary reinforcement of the Good Old Boys’ Club status quo (or even a return to 1950s ‘values’) to an Amazonian Separatist Womynhood State in which we write with the vagina.
Splat!
The moral of this tale, if there is one, is simple and singular: at the end of the day, the best Tarot card interpretation is the one that seems right to one’s own intuition. Anything else is horse hockey.
