AUTHOR’S NOTE: In his book Tarot Mysticism, The Psycho-Spiritual Technology of the Thoth Tarot, Joe Monteleone observes that the ego “moving through time and space and acting on circumstances . . . gathers a story.”

In the realm of tarot divination, I submit that the story revealed by the cards in a spread serves as a prefatory “roadmap” describing the possibilities (or, at best, the probabilities) available to the ego in moving through space and across time to act on projected circumstances with the goal of realizing their potential. In this model, the narrative is not a record of accumulated experiences but rather a malleable harbinger of things to come that is amended on-the-fly by the seeker’s engagement with the identified opportunities or risks.

In one of his recent blog posts, Paul Hughes-Barlow made the interesting point that tarot doesn’t offer “permissions” for the avoidance of consequences (there are no “get-out-of-jail-free” cards) but instead defines limits and constraints that inhibit aimless movement. This theory of bounding structure (in different but comparable language) has always informed my view of the value inherent in using formal (i.e. “positional”) layouts for my readings. I’ve contrasted this predilection with the freestyle mode of just pulling cards until it “feels right” to stop and then reading them as a random jumble and not as an orderly progression. This may confer intuitive flexibility in relating the cards to one another, but it does nothing for the telling of a linear story since it exemplifies the old decision-making trope of “throwing everything against the wall to see what sticks.”

This open-ended lack of precision is not good enough for me when I’m trying to give my client both a literal and an improvisational overview of likely developments. I prefer to begin each positional discussion with a knowledge-and-experience-based vignette (my prior knowledge and experience as a soothsayer, that is) that summarizes the meaning of the resident card, then expand into a more comprehensive interpretation of the message. I prefer not to define my dual approach as analytical and intuitive because in my book intuition is something of a “dirty word” that implies subjective navel-gazing but purports to be enlightenment of the “psycho-spiritual” kind. It is touted as being “all things to all people” in the art of prediction but in reality it is too often a reliable ally to none. So I go with the raconteur’s friends – inspiration, imagination and ingenuity – and trust my instincts to come up with a rational perspective.

A coherent and consistent rationality, grounded in unsentimental observation but galvanized by impressionistic flourishes, is the method to my madness as a diviner. I like to keep my clients eagerly awaiting (and not dreading or bemoaning) what I’m going to say next, and the best way to enhance that feeling of anticipation and encourage active participation is to be creatively off-the-cuff in my delivery. If a reading feels more like an informal conversation between equals than what Monty Python once called “being-hit-over-the-head lessons,” I’ve accomplished what I set out to do.

I described the mechanics of my approach in the 2017 essay linked below. Although it has been over eight years since I wrote it, my interpretive style hasn’t changed all that much (you will see some of the above concepts there), it has just become more refined. Interaction with clients has served to “sand off the rough edges” and make my presentation smoother while constantly upgrading my vocabulary. Almost daily exposure to new ideas in the more profound metaphysical literature (at least that which has been converted into Kindle format for my routine treadmill workouts) has given me a steady flow of fresh grist for the storyteller’s mill, which both bulks up my anecdotal content and inspires the multi-part critiques you will find scattered throughout this blog.

What’s the Story?