AUTHOR’S NOTE: While writing my essay on the occurrence of reversals in the Celtic Cross spread, I hit upon the idea that a reversed card (in its emulation of the Hanged Man’s inverted perspective) enters the situation at “ankle height” rather than at shoulder level where we can handle it directly in the way we’re accustomed to addressing its upright form in our daily routine. It operates so far below our immediate awareness that we can “bark our shins” on it before we recognize the threat.

It can be like stepping into quicksand. Having failed to closely examine the ground at our feet because it is so detached from our customary straight-ahead gaze, we assume that the surface is solid when it turns out to be completely unstable. In tarot terms, a reversed expression is no place to lay a foundation for further development; it requires at least a minor detour on the road to the goal shown by the outcome or “end of the matter” card. I like to invoke a sly Margaret Hamilton as the “Wicked Witch of the West” in my ruminations: “These things must be done del-icately.” Where brute force normally serves us under most conditions, we must now employ a surgical precision to extract ourselves from potential difficulty; the word I prefer to use in describing reversed-card rehabilitation is finesse.

My somewhat forced analogy is that a reversed card can be like a toenail that has become infected; it’s “way down there,” divorced from our comprehension of everyday reality to the point that we don’t notice it until we stub our inflamed toe on a table leg. In a reading, the advice would be to pay close attention to anything related to the upended card that seems beneath our concern since it may very well trip us up if we aren’t careful. This is an extension of my idea that a reversed card’s implications can “sneak up on us from behind” and enter our “blind spot” in the subject of the reading. I find it to be particularly relevant when the card’s character is of a mostly innocuous type; we may be indifferent to its skewed orientation because the normal impact of its energy is inconsequential and we never notice the danger. To our chagrin, it goes off-script, blows up in our face and might bloody our nose when we least expect it, thus making its prefatory reversal a veiled warning of things to come. (Consider the “urban myth” about boiling a frog.)

If we aren’t anticipating inconvenient stumbling-blocks in the progress of our affairs, a reversed card in a “future” position of the spread can disabuse us of that notion. It reminds me of a small dog of evil temperament snapping at our ankles and getting under our feet. It’s not enough of an annoyance to slow our stride, but it can hurt like hell if the beast gets a fang into us. Since I seldom sit with dogs, I get most of my flea-bites on my lower legs. Like the Beatle’s “Flat-top,” it’s common to have “feet down below our knees” that we would prefer to keep from being chewed, so a cautionary reversal may be an illuminating event; it just might help us perfect the stutter-step as an avoidance tactic!