Months ago I bought a deck of tarot cards. I couldn’t justify why; I wasn’t drawn to the images on the box nor the idea of a pack of goddesses. I like a couple of the old gals, Hecate, Diana, but wasn’t interested in ancient Celtic or eastern women. In fact had almost an aversion to them. Still, I bought the deck. I put it in a box that holds a bunch of other tarot cards. There the deck sat. For months. Occasionally I’d think to take the deck out and open it but the thought was always random and fleeting. Until today.

I was doing important, completely unrelated things when I felt an urge to go to my tarot box. A couple new, unopened decks rest inside but without hesitation I reached for The Goddess Tarot. I pulled it out knowing today was the day to open the deck, take off the shrink-wrap, and make the cards my own. And me theirs.

It’s a whole ritual, meeting a deck, not something as simple as tearing off the plastic and shuffling. First I carefully removed the box from it’s plastic and set it on a clean table. I laid out candle and incense and filled a vase with flowers from the yard. I offered a chocolate bon-bon and glass of water. Then I sat and welcomed the cards. And waited. This isn’t an intellectual exercise. Obviously, it defies logic. I’m a busy woman. There are many things I should do today. Yet I sat. Until the cards were ready. Until I felt they wanted to come into the world and meet me. To begin our relationship.

I took the cards from the box. They were wrapped, too, and I delicately peeled way their plastic. They were naked. Exposed. Born fresh into the world. One by one I drew them through the incense, blessing each card. I was careful to keep them face down, averting my eyes from their images as they passed through the smoke. Finished, I squared the deck and thanked the gods I believe in. Again I waited. Respecting the cards. Letting them settle into me. We are entering into a long-term relationship. It has to be mutually giving and rewarding. I ate some of the chocolate. Watching the candle burn and melt, I sipped from the glass of water. Incense waved around us. I sat, in a still, quiet place, until the cards were ready. One by one, I turned them over.

I was stunned, almost to tears. Each card is a gift, a painting, a story, a portrait. Each inexplicably lovely to me. How did this happen? How to explain the random purchase of a tarot deck I had less than minimal interest in? Why would I do that, unless my hand was moved by something a hell of a lot smarter than I am, a benevolent Other greater than myself, that urges upon me what I need most when I myself don’t know what that is?

So often I discount my instincts, ridicule and mock them. Yet I’ve learned to pay attention to them – I bought the deck, right? And I also knew I wasn’t ready for it. Or maybe it for me. So we waited. Together we waited. Until today, until the time of the world was perfect for us. Now we begin our journey together. A long and bountiful one. There is abundance in the world. If we just listen for it. And wait.

 


 


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  • connie winstead
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    i love my tarot cards. i have the crowley deck and i’ve taken classes … they are a trip!

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