The life of a Tarot reader.
Who? What? Where? When? How?
People ask me all of these questions.
Years and years of questions. Who/what/where/when/how.
It’s expected of a reader. Part of my job description. I’ve done my best to lead people away from prediction-based sessions but I understand: it’s human nature to want to know the path.
Believe it or not, I’m human just like you. Beautiful, frantic, irritable, amazing and powerful. I want to know. Control. Go with the flow? More like rock, baby. I’ve grown much better over time — I’m a mid-sized boulder, ground to green rather than a freshly cropped mountain range. But yes, this reader wants to know the answers. My who/what/where/when/how.
Cards? Got ‘em. Pendulum. Right next to me. All of my theology books? Yup.
They’re nice but here’s the answer: we’re all going to die.
Call it whatever you want: going to sleep, heaven, the great passage, nothingness, carbon. Whatever your name: in 30-40 years, this generation is gone. Some of us will linger or leave quicker than the rest — but the majority will be gone. The beauty? No one can report back with verified proof from the afterlife (if it exists), which is what I love about death – the ultimate mystery beyond human grasp.
We can complicate life, ask all of these important questions, which by no means am I negating . . . I mean, I wouldn’t have a job . . . but when you think about it, really think about it, it doesn’t really matter. The money, the things, all the time you worry about money and the things. The person, the aloneness, the need for aloneness, the “spiritual growth”, the “purpose”, the “bucket list”, the regrets, the savory joys and when you’ll actually be able to master bird of paradise (no one masters yoga – ever).
Death approaches, whether you notice or not.
Death, the great clarifier.
When I get irritated with a friend, I stop and think, This person won’t be around much longer. Then I still feel irritated — but maybe not as much.
One of my ex-girlfriends died two years ago, barely into her midlife. Another brilliant woman I dated in my 20s recently committed suicide. I think of them often.
When a client says something like, I want to leave work within 3 years when they really want to leave in 6 months but are afraid because of money, I reply, At most, we all have 30-40 years left. Do you want to give precious years to a job you don’t love anymore – for benefits? Don’t lie to yourself. You don’t even want to be there a year. Tell the truth and let your psyche get used to it.
Usually, it’s not about money. That’s just an easy target, ingrained in most of us from our parents: Don’t leave a good thing! Are you crazy? Leave for art / writing /travel / monastery / sitting around philosophizing? You have a steady paycheck! Stay for the benefits because you never know. Don’t embarrass me — and don’t think I’ll bail you out from your stupid choices. Didn’t I teach you better?
We do know.
It’s fear of change, finally saying NO to the parent in our head and what it means to release a worldly, powerful persona who exists in the corporate world.
And yes, it is oftentimes fear of death.
Nothing is guaranteed. Nada. Not even me finishing this post. But I’ll take the next breath, even the next frantic or blissful moment. That’s me, alive. That’s me at 6 in the morning, days after Equinox, as the bracing wind tears up my face and I lift my arms to its power.
That’s me, here still, as Death approaches.