AUTHOR’S NOTE: While it’s true that reversal can skew the reader’s assumptions about any tarot card and convey impressions that diverge markedly from its upright meaning (even though my own opinion is that the appearance of deviation is largely in the eye of the beholder who can’t shake off the visual disorientation), here I want to examine cards that actively threaten to mislead, whether the deflection is perceived as malicious or merely incidental. Some of it is even “hidden in plain sight.”

The two most notorious trump cards are the Devil and the Moon; one fosters deception and the other promotes obscurity. Something about the matter in question is not what it seems, and the danger lies in acting on faulty information. More innocuous examples are the Magician, who is not above a little sleight-of-hand; the High Priestess, who is secretive by nature; the Hermit, who is holding everything in; Justice, who is keeping the verdict under warps until all the facts are known; the Hanged Man, who is biding his time while intently scrutinizing his navel; Death, who is above such dissembling and doesn’t care what we think; and the Star, whose exalted focus has little interest in mundane affairs. In the rush to “empower” clients, any of these can be misread as more encouraging than their true nature suggests.

Among the court cards, the Knight of Cups and the Page of Swords hold this distinction (mainly when reversed), while a few of the Minor Arcana are similarly close-mouthed: the merchant in the 3 of Wands has his back turned as if shielding something he doesn’t want us to see, while subsequent cards (or more properly the human figures on them) keep up the facade.

the 4 of Cups oozes indifference;
the 5 of Cups is wallowing in its private sorrow;
the 7 of Cups implies distraction;
the 8 of Cups knows but isn’t telling;
the cheeky 9 of Cups could be a panelist on “I’ve Got a Secret;”
the 2 of Swords can’t make up its mind, so it waffles;
the 4 of Swords is clearly hiding secrets inside that sarcophagus;
the 7 of Swords glories in duplicity;
the 8 of Swords couldn’t say even if it wanted to;
the 9 of Swords is obviously unnerved by something we can’t fathom;
the 4 of Pentacles is “locked-down;”
the 5 of Pentacles has a social-inequity drama going on between the scruffy paupers and the sleek clerics inside the church;
the 10 of Pentacles is too self-absorbed to deal with anyone else’s problems.

In a reading, it would be a mistake to approach these cards (and others I may have inadvertently failed to mention) as entirely straightforward despite evidence to the contrary. There is a lot going on that a little thought will unveil to the questioning mind. I, for one, like to dig beneath the surface to see what “pay-dirt” I can unearth in a seemingly uneventful scenario. It gives me something to chew on that might otherwise go unnoticed, and can make the difference between a featureless narrative and a vivid one that serves up remarkably compelling insights. My goal is always to explore the “shades of gray” that every ambivalent card exhibits; when examined closely enough, the cracks in the veneer of plausibility offered by its customary interpretation will soon emerge. This makes for good presentation art in the “theater of tarot” as well as encouraging me to push the boundaries of conventional wisdom.