“I’m a mog! Half man, half dog. I’m my own best friend!”
– John Candy as “Barf” in the Mel Brook’s comedy Spaceballs

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Consider this a bit of skewed wisdom from “pseudo-Yoda the Tarot Guru.”

I was just reading a news feed that mentioned a growing “national loneliness crisis” as one of the main reasons people are being so easily scammed by online crooks. A few minutes later I came across a post by an Italian diviner who had just quit a phone-in tarot job because most of the callers weren’t really interested in receiving a reading, they were lonely and wanted a shoulder to cry on. The predictive aspect was almost entirely displaced by the confessional atmosphere, while all the cynical owners of the service were interested in was keeping the suckers on the line to rack up paid minutes. Understandably, the conscientious reader was frustrated.

I’ve believed for years that doing a tarot reading for oneself is an excellent way to have an “inner dialogue” that can produce insights that are hard to come by in any other way short of seeing a psychoanalyst. As long as we are careful not to indulge in delusional confirmation bias, the cards can offer a “sounding board” for self-interrogation that will serve the same purpose as meeting with an impartial counselor who by profession should ideally be a good listener and an astute judge of character.

I’ve often felt that those who sit for a face-to-face tarot session should have started with philosophical introspection, if not a self-reading at least a little serious soul-searching. I can’t say for certain that they don’t, but the current “instant gratification” culture makes me suspicious that it isn’t common. If there is an easy way out that ducks the responsibility for taking charge, there are those who will always pursue it. In other words, just more “hiding behind the tarot.”

When reading for clients, we can place ourselves and our analysis of the cards in the position of translator and interpreter for the subconscious awareness of their own private reality that emerges when they engage with the deck. The reader’s task should be to encourage their ownership of the problem that led them to seek the reading and the solution described by the projected outcome. This is seldom popular with querents who just want to be told what to do, but if our perception of “how tarot works” insists on personal accountability, there is no other way to go about it without pandering to their expectation for metaphysical hand-holding.

I’ve found that the best technique to accomplish this is to be as unbiased and non-prescriptive as possible by “just reading the cards” in a calm, detached manner that tries not to trigger any emotional “flashpoints.” By adopting a carefully-worded analytical approach to the narrative that avoids being too clinical while still employing a little imaginative storytelling flair, we can create a friendly environment that is also conducive to a productive discussion, one that doesn’t crank up the anxiety level the sitter may have brought to the table.

My professional style of reading is firmly grounded in this dispassionate premise. If the sitter finds “empowerment” in my observations, so much the better, but my goal is typically to provide as clear-eyed a rendering of the scenario as I can muster given the cards pulled. After all, it’s called divination, not psychotherapy (or at least not intentionally), and in my book it is not supposed to morph into a self-indulgent exercise in catharsis, either during or after the session. As Jack Webb admonished in the old Dragnet crime show, I expect “just the facts, ma’am;” save the bathos for the faith healers.