AUTHOR’S NOTE: I recently came upon an alleged “ancient Egyptian proverb” that I decided to tweak for use in this essay. Here I’m revisiting a topic I previously covered in 2020 because I have so many new followers who may not have caught up to it.

Original: “True teaching is not an accumulation of knowledge; it is an awakening of consciousness which goes through successive stages.”

My rewrite: “True learning is not an accumulation of knowledge, it is a stimulation of consciousness that increases through constant practice and assimilation of its core principles.”

Most new tarot readers lament having to “disambiguate” the essence of 78 symbolic images before they can use them effectively in divination. A certain amount of misguided coddling comes from sympathetic teachers, who offer the unhelpful advice to just “go with what you feel and don’t worry about absorbing any kind of codified knowledge.” What is likely to emerge is a “hobo’s stew” chock-full of disjointed fragments of “this-and-that” that have no basis in accepted or even provisional wisdom. Experienced readers can embrace this kind of extemporaneous insight without thinking about it, but they really shouldn’t push their advanced techniques on those who aren’t equipped to handle them.

My own counsel has always been “Don’t memorize, internalize” the cards’ meanings through study, contemplation and regular exercises with both the psychological and practical applications of the tarot. Once these efforts are engraved in your memory through repetition, you can then “fly solo” without needing the crutch of further book-learning. The more adept you are at assimilation, the sooner you will reach the point of independent thinking that is more than just intuitive guesswork.

I certainly agree that rote memorization of keywords can be the “kiss of death” for any kind of spontaneity, but it should only be a springboard for personal growth, a form of “training wheels” that can be left behind when no longer needed yet always there as a safety-net when inspiration fails in the middle of a reading. I learned a lot about this through my work with the Lenormand cards, which have only one or two key meanings that must be compounded with those of other cards in pairs to come up with a comprehensive narrative.

I believe the same approach can be used with the tarot: settle on a couple of basic concepts for each card and let the rest go for the time being. Then apply these ideas diligently in your reading as reliable benchmarks, both separately and in concert with adjacent cards in the spread, always leaving a little room for inspired improvisation when an epiphany strikes you but otherwise keeping a tight rein on your imagination. (I call this “staying on the page” with a nod to storytelling flexibility.) My experience has been that most sitters love to talk about themselves and their situation, so they will usually fill in any blanks left by this disciplined focus, thus supplying meaningful input that you can seize on for the next “chapter” in the story.

Once these interactions have been digested and wrangled firmly into your repertoire of fundamental meanings, add one or two more and keep building your internal database over time. This is an ideal way to bolster your confidence while seldom feeling “lost at sea.” Taking a practical hint from my grandson’s early development, I might caution “You have to master Duplo blocks before you can graduate to Lego blocks.” (Not that I condone the “Lego-block” method of keyword assembly that feels like it was computer-generated [and if it comes from a tarot app, it most likely was]. This is something that has no place in the impressionistic art of cartomancy.)

For the record, while I value intuition (which I prefer to characterize as “inspiration, imagination and ingenuity”) as a useful adjunct to a more analytical approach to the tarot, I don’t trust purely intuitive reading because I think its pedigree can be suspect. Who’s to say that a perverse Universe isn’t merely toying with us via psychic misdirection masquerading as objective truth that we’re unable to prove or disprove? (I can’t help but envision the smug French knights in Monty Python and the Holy Grail taunting a gullible King Arthur!) It begs the question “Why should we swallow it whole when there is a much deeper current of metaphysical awareness available to us in the traditional canon?”

I thought I would close this essay with a parable I heard long ago about “blind faith.”

A seeker went to an esteemed sage and asked to know the meaning of life. The sage said “If you can successfully complete three tasks, I will tell you. Here are the first two. Return when finished and I will give you the last one.” He handed the pilgrim a note with the usual quest fare (find this treasure, slay this dragon, rescue this damsel, etc) and sent the man away.

After a long, harrowing trek beset with many perils (you know the tale), the seeker returned in triumph. The sage said “You have done well so far, but the final task will not be so easy.” He pointed to a nearby table that held two sharpened stakes and a sealed envelop. “Only the blind can truly appreciate the light. I want you to hold the pointed ends of those stakes against your eyes and press down hard. When you’ve done that, the envelope you see there will give you further instructions.”

The man returned shortly with the opened letter in hand and said “I’ve done as you asked, Master. Tell me the meaning of life.”

The sage peered at him silently for a moment, then said mildly, “You’ve failed the test.”

The seeker was outraged and pointed angrily to the letter, exclaiming “But it says right here . . . !”

The sage raised a hand to silence him and replied simply. “That’s the problem. You can still see.”