I recently experienced several reading situations that caused me to come up with yet another spin on the subject of reversed cards: the idea of “unloading” or being relieved of something – ideally a burden but actually a surplus of anything that has reached its “tipping point” or “critical mass,” for good or ill. A less advantageous way to perceive it would as a victim scenario – being “dumped on” or “fired on with both barrels.” The premise is that a reversed card can shed its energy all at once in a dramatic “purge” rather than as a gradual and therefore manageable release, by that definition alone making it a challenging proposition. This premise obviously works best with the suit of Cups because an overturned chalice will instantly spill its contents, but I can see it applying to any card that may have become top-heavy and due for “unpacking.”

As an aside, I should mention that I’ve never accepted the notion that deck creators don’t intend their images to be interpreted upside-down, so we shouldn’t do it. If we want to pull that thread, it should be noted that the earliest decks were not meant to be used for the purpose of divination, period; they were designed for game-playing, and it apparently wasn’t until Mlle. Lenormand and Jean-Baptiste Alliette (“Etteilla”) in 18th-Century France that the practice of fortune-telling with cards really came into vogue. I also apply Yoav Ben-Dov’s observation that “everything is a sign” to reversal; in other words, if it can happen it must be significant.

In the first reading, the 4 of Cups turned up reversed and I interpreted it as an emotional catharsis or rapid discharge of feeling; it was more than an overflow, rather a sudden draining or “emptying.” The second instance involved a question on one of the tarot forums regarding which cards might indicate bankruptcy. Many people mentioned the RWS 5 of Pentacles, but it struck me that the 4 of Pentacles reversed is more conducive to the hemorrhaging of one’s financial wherewithal: the grasping miser in the picture has been scuttled and is about to lose everything.

A third related episode began with the appearance of the Hanged Man reversed in a Cosmic Tarot reading about a person who disappeared over two years ago. The rest of the cards suggested that the individual had been kidnapped, and the Hanged Man overturned made me think that she had been taken in unfamiliar surroundings where she was a “fish out of water.” In other words, she had somehow upended her usual routine and was therefore vulnerable. I sometimes think of the inverted Hanged Man as poking his head above ground just as the lawnmower passes overhead.

That last reading – which suggested that she is still alive – contained several other remarkable insights arising from the fact that all of its cards were upside-down: the 3 of Cups reversed implied that “her joy has been taken from her;” the 10 of Wands reversed indicated that she is physically overmastered; the 4 of Pentacles reversed showed that she is without resources; and the 6 of Wands reversed revealed that there are dim prospects for a successful outcome. These vignettes don’t just imply the fading of hope but its full-on flight.

These considerations brought me to the conclusion that reversal can sometimes represent the complete unloading of a card’s energy in a way that is truly enervating rather than just dynamically depleted in its effect. This is a more concentrated version of the traditional idea of “diminishment:” a true exhaustion and not merely an anemic arrival. It’s like the card’s customary presentation is turned inside-out, rendering it unstable at best and unruly at worst. This assumption doesn’t play well with the “it’s all good” attitude that there are no bad cards, but I’ve never been an uncritical supporter of that position anyway.

I often see reversal as a shortcut to the more sobering truths in a situation, something that can be difficult to glean from the upright orientation despite beliefs that an upright card is fully capable of delivering it. It could be said with equal justification that every reversed card exhibits at least a glimmer of what is most encouraging about its “downside,” and – because the contrasts are sharper – this may be easier to spot than trying to find the elusive “bad in the good” of its upright presentation.

Think of it in the way that reducing a sauce intensifies its flavor and may even clarify it, bringing out its best qualities. Another analogy would be dedicated fasting; through dietary adjustment, the essence of one’s well-being is allowed to emerge. Then, of course, there is the less appealing metaphor of “purging” to lighten the load. In the past I’ve likened a reversed card to “having a Hanged-Man moment:” our eyes are opened to something we couldn’t see objectively; if we still can’t get our head around its message in a constructive way, perhaps we should just “cut our losses” and let it go.