Whenever we do a reading, we open the tarot deck. Cards are placed next to each other in some sort of order and we get to see random images. Images that happened to be at the top of the deck when all the shuffling and cutting was done with. It is with these pictures that we hope to shed light upon a question made. To see the answer to something that eludes us. To see with our own eyes what the solution might be. What we are blind to, or simply do not want to face any other way, our brains locked up inside a restricted circle of operation.
The spread laid before us, a convenient buffered way to present to us something that we should address but can’t access any other way other than through the colorful pictures of a deck of cards. In our blindness, any image will do, just as long as it makes us stop and look at ourselves.
Images are then explored for meaning. Mined for raw data. Searched and re-searched for ways to re-/connect ourselves with the outer world. The spread, a door / interface between the two.
At first, we start with a fiction. A story that exists only in our own mind. That was built with our knowledge of the symbols before us. With our in-sight. The cards before us joined together by our own desire / need / will to unite all the little pieces before us and bring forth a solution.
We then move forward to the real world. From in-sight to out-side. Coincidences start to appear between our narrative and the situation that was presented to us. As the two meet and fuse together, our imagined story is transposed into reality. We gain awareness of ourselves and the world around us. The blindness recedes as we start to see for our own sake, a white canvas populated with concepts / ideas / possibilities of action. Our fictions take root in our world, like a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Tarot reading is then a way to witness ourselves. To become the centre of one’s own seeing. A magical mirror that allows us to go beyond ourselves / the boundaries of our current predicaments.