A PSA on abusers: they lie


Something I read on Tumblr recently put a wasp up my butt. I’m not going to link to the post, partly because I think this person already has enough to deal with, but also because this post isn’t meant as a criticism, just a rumination on the dynamics of abuse and a few comments on this person’s situation specifically.

The Tumblr post in question was a (pretty good actually) spell to stop people from being able to read tarot about you without your consent.

The spell itself isn’t the issue, and it’s too early in the bloody morning to get into a discussion about the ethics of reading for others without their consent or whether it’s even possible or whatever (for what it’s worth, I do think you can, and that you generally shouldn’t).

What caught my attention (and sent the wasp up my butt) (“bee in the bonnet” seemed too polite) was the situation that led to the creation of the spell. Basically, the person ran into their emotionally and spiritually abusive ex at a market, and the ex commented that they still read the Tumblr person’s tarot cards and what a “surprise” it was to see them there.

The Tumblr person also said that in the past, their ex had used the tarot to control and manipulate them.

It made me kinda sad to see the elaborate spell this person posted to stop their ex from prying into their affairs because it meant that the ex-had achieved exactly what they’d hoped to do when they uttered those words: fear, control, and manipulation. In setting up the spell, I personally believe this Tumblr person was giving their ex even more of their power because it showed that on whatever level, they still believed this person held power over them.

Let’s be clear (or as clear as one can be, operating on limited information): the ex was lying. I wouldn’t put it past someone like that to sniffle out someone’s location using mundane means, but tarot as much pointed them to that market than it launched the moon mission. Consider this a reminder that abusive people lie. They lie to you, they lie about you. They manipulate you into lying to yourself, about them. They are always at the centre of a conspiracy of lies and half-truths, like a spider plucking the strings of a web.

It makes them feel powerful. It makes them feel in control.

The thing is, once you start catching them out in their lies, once you become aware of what they are, it’s remarkably easy to unravel their web. It often doesn’t feel easy, it feels terrible. (I’m writing this out of personal experience by the way.) But their “control” is easy to dismantle when you stop believing that they have any or are allowed any.

Consciously untangling yourself from an abusive person’s lies, while hard and painful (and daily) work is, I think, more effective in the long-term than trying to hide from their “all-seeing” eye (which, emphatically, they do not have).


The thing about Death (most fowl) #WeeklyTarotFYI

A darkened room. Flickering candles. A bangled, bedazzled psychic. Red velvet drapes. A curl of incense and/or a mist machine on the “low” setting. The querent leaning forward, tense. The dramatic pause before, in a jangle of costume jewellery and a flurry of grey, curly hair, the psychic turns over a tarot card – Death!

It’s not really strange that even before getting within spitting distance of tarot, most people have at least some vague notion of the Death card. It’s a dramatic device par excellence, and why not? Most card imagery features a Grim Reaper of some variation. Coupled with the general misconceptions about tarot (for most people’s it’s something to do with “the occult”, which covers all manner of sin), Death is great for the cheap plot trick.

But here’s the thing: even after some time of knowing about and working with the tarot, Death still gets a nervous chuckle out of me whenever it shows up in a reading. Even precluding the common misconceptions about its meaning, it generally signifies that most uncomfortable of things to a two-times natal chart Taurean – change. And not surface change: it goes beyond externals and circumstance. It’s a change inside, a dying and a rebirth, often crucial, but almost always uncomfortable, disconcerting or downright unpleasant.

A few months ago, Death showed up in a daily draw I did for myself. I won’t say I shit a brick, but I spent most of the day on edge, expecting devastating news or some stark betrayal or the end of my life as I knew it. Very melodramatic, right? Of course, a piano didn’t fall on me, no dark secret of mine was revealed, and my world didn’t crumble down around me. In hindsight, I think Death meant the start of some long-ailing thing’s last slither from my soul, but to Past Me, doom was imminent.

That’s Death in a nutshell: it prompts a hell of a lot of self-reflection.


The #WeeklyTarotFYI card for this week is Death (no shit). Nervous chuckle begat, I reminded myself that I’d asked about guidance and had a bit of a stare and a ponder. What struck me most about Kim Krans’ The Wild Unknown version is that the card doesn’t actually portray death, just decomposition. The bird’s death happened off-screen or on Krans’ Hierophant, depending on your interpretation of that card. If the focus of The Wild Unknown’s Death card is decomposition rather than death itself, it waters down the “scare factor” of the card somewhat because it’s talking about something that’s already dead.

That gives us something even meatier to consider. When decomposition occurs in a field somewhere, in an open space, exposed to nature and the elements and the work of animals and insects, decomposition is “good” in the sense that the bird’s corpse goes through the natural process of breaking down. That process feeds and nurtures a whole array of critters as it occurs, and in the end little is left of the bird’s corpse. It’s only when decomposition is resisted – a dead rat in a crawl space, for instance – that it becomes problematic.

This week, Death’s asking us to “air out” the dead stuff we’ve left to rot in our minds, hearts and souls. It’s time for us to get out of the way of a process that is ultimately for our own well-being. The change has already happened; within us, something’s already died. Keeping it hidden away won’t bring it back. Rather than holding on to it, we need to trust that its breaking down will nurture something within us.

What to let go of, though? When we see the Death card in a reading, I think most of us instinctively think of one thing or another. Much like a dead rat left to rot in a ceiling, we know it’s there – we smell a rat! Well, it’s time to put a plastic shopping bag over our hands and go fish it out so we can send it to the Great Field Out Back in the sky. An unpleasant task, but a needed one.

What card/s did you draw for yourself this week?

Never trust men in tights (#WeeklyTarotFYI)


Friends, enemies, ex-lovers, lovers to be (*wink*), acquaintances and yes, strangers of both the daunted and undaunted variety: hello! Welcome to another #WeeklyTarotFYI, hosted, as ever, by your friendly closeted neighbourhood tarot reader, Thom Foole* and her trusty dog sidekick. This week’s sponsor is my jaundiced eye and the rage of the “second” sex.

The card I drew for this week’s #WeeklyTarotFYI (which I realise is the clunkiest hashtag ever, and not exactly taking off anywhere hashtags are used, but I’m apparently more hopeful than I realise) was the Two of Cups: a woman and a man exchange cups and vows under the watchful gaze of a winged lion. Beyond proving that tarot symbology has a lot in common with dreaming while drunk, the card obviously echoes The Lovers. This relationship is in its nascency, though, and everyone remembered to put on their clothes that morning. On the surface, it’s a very straightforward card, simple and romantic.

Closer inspection reveals that there’s a lot of underlying tension in the Universal Waite art, however. The man is reaching for a cup the woman is reluctant to hand over. Her cup takes all of her attention and focus. She holds it with both hands, arms raised as if to meet the man’s hand. She doesn’t want to let her cup go. But the guy in tights – intent on her face, and keeping a nice firm grip on his own cup – is stepping forward into her space, insistent.

I woke up this morning to the #MeToo hashtag trending on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. Alyssa Milano started it, encouraging people to share their sexual harassment/sexual assault stories to try to bring to light the sheer scope and prevalence of this kind of assault. Unfortunately, it was a hashtag many – myself included – could participate in. The response was staggering.

But I wonder whether it will have its intended effect. The news has been full of Woody Allen – a paedophile, and dodgy person extraordinaire – cautioning people against going on a “witchhunt” against those who’ve made a habit out of sexually harassing or assaulting others. Sadly, a stubborn amount of people agree with him – acting like the women Weinstein abused (and Cosby abused, and Allen abused) are just making trouble or telling stories or looking for attention. After all this time, giving predators the benefit of the doubt (and victim blaming along the way) is still a thing.

I can’t help but feel that these people (many, if not most, of whom are male) are all the Two of Cups’ guy with his tights. They’re the guys who pride themselves on being “nice” guys; who stand too close, hold too tight, dismiss too easily; who “drunk too much” or “didn’t mean it” or “aren’t like that”; who say “smile” and are constantly reminding you in small ways that they’re being patient, but patience runs out, and after that…

They’re the ones who interrupt you, talk over you, say bad things and add “I’m just joking; can’t you take a joke?” Who think you, your presence and your body are open to discussion just because you happened to cross paths with them. They’re the guys who take ownership of things that aren’t theirs, all the while acting like you’re the crazy one for holding back, for saying “No”, for resisting, for existing without pandering to them or their egos or their ever-fragile toxic masculinity.

We are all the woman in the Two of Cups this week: trying to stand our ground, trying to reclaim our voices and yes, our emotions, and the right to have those emotions. The right to be outraged and frightened, defiant and proud, grief-stricken and strong, without being “called to order” by a (still very) patriarchal society who want to interject “Buts” and “Ifs” to stories and experiences that aren’t theirs. 

Friends, neighbours, strangers: the sad reality is that some asshole will try to take your cup from you, this week and all others. He’ll do it because all his life long, and the lives of the men and women before him, he’s been allowed to. But we don’t have to hand it over. Our experiences are just that – ours. As are our bodies and our voices. I find comfort in the woman in the Two of Cups’ stance. It’s firm. She’s fighting against the conditioning that’s told her all her life not to make a fuss, to be quiet and compliant, to be both beautiful and invisible, to “just let it go” or “don’t make it harder on yourself”.

She’s holding on to her cup. She’s not even looking at the man. He isn’t what’s important in this scenario. 

*A pseudonym

Housework won’t do itself (#WeeklyTarotFYI)


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Hello from the land of long to-do lists and tarot cards that don’t allow you to spiritualise mundane shit! I’m probably about to sprint out of the house to get the towels off the line before a spring storm soaks them through. Appropriately, the Weekly FYI for this week is the Ten of Wands. The LWBs throw around the word “oppression” a lot when discussing this card. My own interpretation is “thankless work” – the routine of day-to-day tasks, the mundane admin that simultaneously clogs up the arteries of life and allows you to have a roof over your head, a place to sleep, a stocked fridge, dog food and no red letters in your mailbox. It’s not hard to draw the connection between that and the LWBs themes of “oppression”, but I think a far more interesting question is why we see 90% of the stuff we do as slog.

Of course, I’m speaking here as someone who has an automatic washing machine and the luxury of appliances and enough free time to talk shit on the Internet. I wonder if this card’s biggest “issue” (it’s not generally seen as a positive card) isn’t the sticks but the downcast attitude of Monsieur White Tights? He’s so focused on his relentless game of “pick-up sticks” that he can’t see where he’s going. He’s not looking around at the lovely countryside or even looking forward to his destination: he’s got stuff to do, and he’s lost something of himself in their doing.

Yet those burdensome wands aren’t dead wood, they’re putting out leaves. The man carrying them isn’t lost in a desert, he’s in civilisation on his way somewhere. It’s the thankless work, the routine of day-to-day that gets us from one week to the next and some pretty interesting destinations along the way. My takeaway from this is to remember that even that kind of work is toward a fruitful purpose. It’s not empty work, though it often feels dull.

How to break free from experiencing the Ten of Wands as oppressive, though? It’s all fine and well until you’ve spent nine hours at work and your lunchtime queueing at a municipal office! It’s interesting that no one is forcing our Monsieur White Tights to carry his haul. There’s no one around bugging him about it. Any oppressiveness in the Ten of Wands, then, has us as its source. Our choices – our attitude – determines our experience. It’s a cliche, but while we can’t always change our circumstances, we can change our attitude towards them.

I’ll try to keep this in mind as I watch the overcast sky, wishing I’d left the laundry till tomorrow…

Have a good week!

Patrick Bateman is full of shit


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I’m pretty sure my intuition was just waiting for me to do the Weekly FYI to deliver these babies: the four of Pentacles with the Daughter of Wands as a jump card. I won’t say these two are diametrically opposed, but it’s as close to it as “Damn it!” is to cussing. They remind me of the yin/yang symbol: vitally different but for a kernel of similarity at their very cores.

The four of Pentacles is sort of the Patrick Bateman of the tarot. In the Waite we see a king using his wealth to literally isolate himself from the world around him. The Wild Unknown paints a more harmonious picture of a closed-off, self-sustaining system. It’s interesting how the lemniscate is layered over itself in the Wild Unknown’s four of Pentacles. For all that it signifies infinity, it seems almost…trapped. There’s nothing wrong with wealth or material possessions in and of themselves unless we use them in the wrong way; in this case, as building blocks for our identity. We can’t be looking for infinity in the finite.

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It’s into this hot mess that the Daughter of Wands whips. Like the four of Pentacles, hers is a journey fundamentally about self-definition, but the means are totally different. The king in the Waite four of Pentacles uses his disks to define himself. Outside of these, he thinks, I need nothing or no one! Except, of course, that material success is always about external validation. In contrast, the only yardstick the Daughter of Wands uses is herself: am I doing what I want or need to? Am I walking my path well? She curls eternally around a flowering branch. Her growth is potentially infinite and nourished by the world without being defined by it. But the four of Pentacles can never be more than what it already is because it isn’t rooted in anything.

I think the cards ask an important question: not what defines us so much as how we define ourselves. What, or whose, yardstick are we using? Do we use the external trophies of “stuff” to define ourselves, often stunting ourselves emotionally to do so, or do we pick the less straightforward but more rewarding approach of The Daughter of Wands, who follows the way of The Fool?


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Back yon when I was in school, one of the favourite topics in our “life science-y” classes was peer pressure and how not to succumb to it. And what a waste it was, because as it turns out the adolescent brain is wired just so to be vulnerable to peer pressure. The “Let’s be reasonable about this” and “You could get pregnant!” and “But it’s the same t-shirt just without the brand name!” part of your brain is literally lagging behind the rest of it, doubled over and out of breath as all the other parts race ahead. Adolescents are wired to make dumbass decisions, which is probably why we’ve survived as a species.

What they never tell you, though, is that despite the reasonable part of your brain catching up eventually in your twenties (!), peer pressure never really goes away. It just becomes more sophisticated and more subtle, which is why at this very moment there are people excited to pay $1000 for a phone out there (and God bless them).

I’d judge them, I really would – as a Christian I’m really good at it, too – but then I’d have to sit right down under the same censure. For example, I have a friend who is dear to me…except that she’s super competitive. A few months ago I picked up a second-hand book at an antique store for R20 (that’s, like, a buck and a half in American, or a pound if you’re British). It’s a reference book and very expensive new. Its cover was in a bad way, and it smelled a little odd, but I jerry-rigged a new cover and the book is perfectly usable, if not all that pretty. I’m two parts Taurean so the only thing I love more than potatoes is a bargain.


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A few weeks later, I noticed my friend now has a version of this same book on her shelf…brand spanking new, all glossy and gilt-edged. She never said anything, but then she didn’t really need to: in comparison to the new, shiny version of this book, my slightly smelly bargain paled significantly. And just like that, it had become a comparison: like that scene in American Psycho where Patrick Bateman is forced to confront a business card that’s better than his own…only, you know, with less misogynistic killing sprees.

The funny thing is if I hadn’t been competitive myself I probably wouldn’t even have noticed this tendency in Otherwise Dear Friend. But I am, and her insistence on outdoing me in the “stuff” department annoys me like only a water sign can annoy an earth sign. And so the tarot has set out these two cards and the tension between them like Nanny 911 giving pesky toddlers a choice between two outfits: the four of Pentacles and the Daughter of Wands. Which one do you want to wear?

I’m no expert, but when one of the choices is Patrick Bateman’s quintessence, you generally choose the other option.


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Mercury you son of a bitch


I don’t really keep track of astrology; the new and full moons are about it, and that’s more for interest’s sake than any finger-wavey reason. But boy oh boy do I believe in Mercury retrogrades fucking shit up. When a major cell service provider here in good old R of SA had disappearing data issues a few weeks back, I crossed my hands over my generous middle, sat back in my chair and nodded sagely. Of course it would happen during a Mercury retrograde. Mercury retrogrades are like the universe stacking everything communication related with a .5 towards chaos instead of order, and Vodacom got shanked up its treacherous little tuchus.

I’ve had a few Mercury retrograde-related casualties on the home front. Foolishly (this was before the Vodacom fiasco, which was the blip that alerted me to the retrograde) I signed up for a new internet service, and it’s been a fortnight of wailing and gnashing of teeth, and that’s just on Twitter. I’m hoping tomorrow’s direct will slingshot the situation back to the Lands of Competence – not familiar territory for Telkom, but still – and will be putting in a prayer or two to that effect. I’ve had my fair share of miscommunication, minor and major, my mom’s (until then perfectly functional) phone broke, and an old “pal” (it seems gratuitous to label someone as an enemy, so observe the quotes) crawled from the woodwork to try and poison my spiritual well.

Still, it wasn’t all bad. I found a lovely organiser on sale at 1/5th of its usual price. I’ve reorganised, re-prioritised, and made an impressive amount of lists. I finally unstoppered my piehole and shared some issues I’ve been having with supportive friends, which didn’t change the situation but sure made me feel better about it. I cleared my email inboxes. I put labels on things. I got around to watching Me Before You. Mercury retrogrades are astrology’s yoga pants: nice little hiatuses from having to suck your stomach in and have it all together.

Tomorrow, though, it’s back to business. This week’s FYI card is “Strength”. Can I be honest? I sometimes want to punch Strength in its magnanimous little face. It’s so serene. I mean, yes, that’s the point of it. But nothing’s quite so irritating as serenity when you’re not there yet yourself, which came through strongly in my reading.

Two connections stood out for me. The first was the relationship between Strength and The Magician: both have the lemniscate on their person. I read using The Wild Unknown deck; The Magician’s is in its fur, Strength’s lion above its head. Strength is what happens when The Magician puts on its big girl panties. The Magician’s all about will, and its will can be relentless – too relentless. As the first card The Fool encounters on her journey, The Magician still has much to prove, both to her or himself and the world. By the time The Fool reaches Strength, that will has changed, softened into the confidence of initial mastery. Strength doesn’t have to prove anything to anybody.

Strength is also in relationship with The High Priestess (11 = 1+1 = 2). The High Priestess’ search for inner mysteries is actualized in the peace at the heart of the Strength card. When you’ve been tested (Wheel of Fortune) and found yourself true to your inner guidance and resilience, you no longer roar and rampage – you don’t need to. In Christian terminology, I think of Strength as the peace of Christ. This peace is incomplete as yet, though – it’s not until you die to self and live to Christ that it finds its perfection.

Practically, I think Strength is often being able to…but choosing not to. It’s being able to say something that’s right but not necessarily kind and choosing not to say anything. It’s mercy over judgment. Strength asks us who and what we are when we no longer have anything to prove to anybody. That proof’s been provided in The Chariot. Now what? From the times in my life I’ve felt most “Strong”, I’d say Strength is patient, generous, grateful, aware. When Strength permeates our lives, we take deeper breaths, listen more than we speak, pause. Sometimes it’s less of a presence than it is an absence: an absence of comparison and envy, of defensiveness and irritation, and of materialism, waste and excess.

In that vein, I consulted the cards on how I can best combine Strength with the energy of tomorrow’s Mercury direct. I used Temperance as a loaded card and pulled the cards preceding and following it and got Death and the Knight of Swords. I thought this was an interesting combination: isn’t Death but the Knight of Swords’ final charge, realised? These energies aren’t dissimilar, but unless a conscious effort is made to combine these internal and external forces of change, their interaction will be combustible and oppositional.

The Mercury direct will test the resolve of our Strength. It will put us and our aimed-at serenity straight in the path of people and things we might wish to avoid. Mercury is infernally chatty, but is our Strength Strength unless it can bear the unpredictability of interpersonal relationships? Not really. The proof is in the pudding, after all.

This week’s challenge, then, is not to let the onslaught of Mercury’s Knight of Swords rush or hamper the steady progress of Strength’s implacable, Death-like energy. For me, that means holding onto Strength even when Mercury’s energy is tugging at your sleeve, urging you to ask the question you know you shouldn’t, go to the party you don’t have time for, reschedule an appointment last minute because something more tempting’s come up. Mercury can be a real son of a bitch, retrograde or not, but he doesn’t always have to get his way.

Do not sit on The Emperor’s face

The bad news is that South Africa’s parliament failed yet again to pass a vote of no confidence in beleaguered and hopelessly corrupt President Jacob Zuma, even using a secret ballot. The good news is that my tarot reading predicting this result turned out to be correct.


The Wild Unknown Tarot deck.


I’m still novice enough to be pleasantly surprised whenever a reading makes sense. Looking at the cards (I used Kim Krans’ Clarity Spread), with The Emperor crowning the lot, my hopes that Zuma would be ousted faded. I’m not The Emperor’s biggest fan. Intellectually I know The Emperor represents rules, order, society: humanity’s will imposed on the natural world. But emotionally? Humanity’s will has been awfully patriarchal, and Lord knows I resent having to pander to patriarchy.

For me, Zuma is the reflection of both these aspects of The Emperor. On the one hand, he is South Africa’s third democratically elected president, and so The Emperor here speaks of the victory of order over the apartheid era’s chaotic discrimination. But then we have Zuma the man. He behaves like a king rather than a president. He has massively enriched himself at state expense; most recently with the notorious Gupta family, but his corruption has a long and rich history. He’s been tried for rape. He has six+ wives. In short, he’s what happens when The Emperor’s energy is left to run riot without The Empress’ to balance it out: toxic masculinity on a national scale.


The other cards in the spread speak volumes about the impact his tenure has had on politics. There’s a sense of hopelessness in the 8 of Cups. This was the eighth motion of no confidence against Zuma and like the others, it failed. The Father of Cups speaks of continuing indecision: the ANC majority was led by emotion for their party rather than the consequence for their country. The Lovers mark this choice. Interestingly, The Lovers reflect a choice with ethical undertones more than romantic love (as per Benebell Wen); the ANC majority chose wrong, giving in to the temptation of corruption and pride.

2c32f033f3556687cbc084978fe2c5adThe Emperor’s biggest frailty, though, is that he believes his own press. In The Wild Unknown Tarot, The Emperor is a strong, tall tree under a burning sun. Yet it’s that same tree that’s destroyed in Krans’ The Tower, toppled by a lightning strike. The Waite Emperor seems painfully aware of this danger: he’s a haunted, isolated man, clad in armour and wild-eyed even though no feasible danger seems to exist. Emperors and empires were made to fall.


Though Zuma wasn’t ousted, he’s a marked man. The no confidence vote was very close – 198 against, 177 for – closer than it’s ever been. It will have showed him and the ANC that his loyalty and thus his leadership is suspect. His lightning strike might not be that far off.



It’s a gas: a seasonal energy spread

Yours truly has the dubious distinction of possessing a psychic stomach. Whenever the seasons change, I often sense the shift somewhere in the region of my belly button a week or two before even small outward signs appear. It’s a kind of restless excitement, a loss and a yearning, a hollow feeling as big as the whole world. Or maybe it’s just gas and I’m attributing something significant to it, à la confirmation bias. Or perhaps, to the astonishment of all, it’s psychic gas!

Anyway, whatever this temporal gastroenterological thing is, it always drives me low-key crazy. Rather than just stew in it as in years past, irritated and existential, this time ‘round I decided to use a spread to see what I can do with this change in season and thus, energy. My shitty diagram is below. Do it whenever you feel or see the shift of season around you.


It’s supposed to suggest an outward moving spiral.


In the reading I did for myself, I got The Hermit in the first position, Death in the second, and The Star in the third.




The energy available to me during this period is the stillness and inner retreat of The Hermit. As anyone who has practised meditation knows, it takes a lot of effort—and energy—to be still. The Hermit resists the draw of outward distractions that would only tap energy that could be better spent on contemplation. She tends her own flame exactly so that it can shine brighter for herself and those around her.




Tending this flame isn’t always an easy process. Diligent and mindful stillness requires the sacrifice of those things that would work against The Hermit’s energy, things like fruitless and pointless distractions. To properly utilise The Hermit’s energy will require the Death of emotional, mental and spiritual clutter. In a way the very process of a retreat is Death: in removing myself from things, things are removed from me in turn. This is good and right and leads to renewal.




Renewal, though, is a funny thing. It isn’t always visible. The Star tells me that even if I succeed at utilising The Hermit’s energy, the results might not be materially tangible. Nevertheless, the inward qualities of The Star—hope and connectedness—will make all the difference to me. To a layperson, a single star’s twinkle might not be especially discernible, but the collective gives us the glory of the Milky Way.

“You can’t handle the truth!” Reflections on Justice


Lucky old me had “Justice” as my stalker card all week. I spent more than a moment staring at Kim Krans’ The Wild Unknown Tarot version of it, puzzled. “Decisions, karma,” the Not-So-LWB said, and like every other relatively innocuous person in the history of the world, I had a brief sensation of terror: which of my sins would come back to haunt me? Then I remembered I don’t subscribe to karma and went from horrified to horrified and confused.

Perhaps Justice is not so much about decisions and karma here as it is about its central concept, that of truth. How can one have justice without truth? But what is the truth? In the Tarot, The Fool steps off the cliff (or tumbles from the branch, in The Wild Unknown) in search of truth, only to discover The World at the end of an inner journey. The truth has been inside her all this time. It’s not a lesson taught so much as it is a journey of rediscovery. Similarly, tarot’s Justice isn’t concerned with external laws. It isn’t about the truth so much as it’s about a truth in your life right now.


I’ve been staring at both cats on the Justice card, insisting that there’s a choice to be made: an external “truth” to trump an inner truth. But my gut’s been right all along. Don’t do it. Step back. Trust God. In other words, retreat like the Hermit, the Fool’s next stop after Justice. Today was a reminder of that in miniature. There’s no way to skip the inner contemplation of the Hermit and expect to get past The Wheel of Fortune, another stalker card, unscathed.


Stepping back as a way to move forward is counter-intuitive. It’s why I’ve been so reluctant to retreat, like Krans’ Hermit tortoise settled in its shell, the light of inner truth burning securely atop it. I’ve wanted to do do do, even if it was only spinning wheels.

But so the Fool(e) learns! Hopefully next time round I’ll rediscover this without quite so much drama, politics and nonsense.


Deck interview: The Wild Unknown Tarot


*inhales* Ah, that new card smell! After a wait of more than a week, I finally got my Wild Unknown deck yesterday. It’s more beautiful than I’d anticipated and, true to its name, it’s got a “wild” undercurrent that doesn’t appreciate artifice or dallying. I think we’re going to get along just fine.

Since I had such a great “interview” with my old and neglected Dark Angels Tarot deck last week, I thought I’d interview my new deck in the same way. I’m not going to lie, the transition from the Universal Waite deck to this one has been a little jarring and I find myself squinting at the images of the Wild Unknown in pseudo-meditation (it’s really bewilderment, but lets at least try to keep the mystery alive, shall we?) The Universal Waite is “suburban cul-de-sac”* to the Wild Unknown’s “cabin in the woods”, so I guess some adapting is necessary. A big change for me is that The Wild Unknown doesn’t use reversals. I guess I could just invert the cards, but I’m curious to learn how to go without and doing so with a new deck seems wisest. I’m looking forward to the process.

The Wild Unknown interview


(I used Little Red Tarot’s spread again.)

1. Tell me about yourself – what is your most important characteristic?

The Chariot

It’s a confident and wilful deck, interested in helping its reader to run free like a wild horse.

2. What are your strengths as a deck?

Two of Swords

The Wild Unknown will lead you to confront things you’d rather avoid and will “cross swords” with your ego to this end.

3. What are your limits as a deck?

Father of Swords

I had trouble interpreting this one. Can a deck be too perceptive or emotionally unattached? Perhaps it’s a question of bias: its unbiased nature cuts too close to the quick?

4. What are you here to teach me?

Two of Pentacles

The word that immediately came to mind when I saw this card was “Metamorphosis”.

5. How can I best learn and collaborate with you?

Father of Wands

I can best collaborate with this deck by practising compassion, awareness and patience.

6. What is the potential outcome of our working relationship?

Six of Cups

A positive, joyful and nurturing relationship is on the cards.