There was a time, in my life, when I used to have to dream. Images started to take shape. First, in a somewhat distorted form but, little by little, people would appear. Or maybe things or colors. Now this could be distressing, as most of the times, these dreams would find their way into reality. They came as a type of warning that something important was about to happen and soon. And happen they did. You can imagine how unnerving it could be trying to figure out what was supposed to happen next. How I tried to fight those dreams from appearing and the sleepless nights I ended up having in a last minute attempt to escape from them.
In one of these dreams, I was inside a room. There was someone else there. A friend. And some cards. And I was playing with those cards. Picking them. Playing with them. It was one of the most weird dreams I ever had, because it was so different from anything else and so hard to understand, but at the same time so clear and so vivid. I would try to figure out why was this important, but to no avail. At least for a considerable amount of time.
I did learn to read cards. In a friend’s house. In the room I dreamt about. Well, … not exactly the room I dreamt about, but it was close enough to actually recognize it when I was there. And, as I was actually learning tarot, a strange thing started to happen: my dreams started to loose their strength. As I became more and more confident in card reading, so would my dreams soften up and become less threatening. It was almost as if I found a channel to get in touch with myself and access my inner self. I started to learn tarot, because I was fascinated with how some pieces of cardboard could provide the answers to most of our problems. Or… I started to read the tarot, because I was in need of a channel to communicate with myself.
It’s funny that nowadays, whenever I read the cards, I can’t be bothered with meanings. I look into a card and I close my eyes and I wait. Wait for a sound, for an image, for a color… for something to spark my mind. To arouse my intuition. It’s funny, because today, I’m doing the exact opposite of what I was doing when I started: I’m using the tarot to access all those images that would swim into my mind. To consciously access them and bring them forth in the form of an answer, a word of advice or a remark. More than a tool of divination, tarot became my own private way to tune in into my own inner voice. And to help others do the same too. When I started my practice, the most curious thing happened. I found out that everyone had its own distinct inner voice. Sometimes, it would be soft and gentle. Other times, angry and powerful. The deck was the same. The images, also. But the voices would always be different. There would always be different shades of colors, different shapes, different sounds. Everytime, something familiar; everytime, something different.
And it all started with a card, taken randomly from the deck. And I would breath in… breath out… close my eyes… and listen to everything that came my way.