“May you live in interesting times.”
– Ancient Chinese curse

AUTHOR’S NOTE: It’s a common belief among tarot professionals that every prophecy must end on an encouraging note for reasons of “client empowerment.” I’m not one of those since strength of character can emerge from bad tidings as readily as from good ones. It’s a matter of rising to the occasion and making the most of it. (I apologize in advance for all the quotation marks; I’m feeling just a bit “aphoristically cliched” today and won’t try to suppress them as I usually do.)

An Occidental way of restating the “ancient Chinese curse” is “Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.” We may be hoping for evidence of abundant growth in the cards pulled without recognizing that a garden must be watered regularly in order to thrive. If the answer received for a hopeful inquiry promises an extended period of rain, I’m not going to predict that everything will be “sunny” any time soon (although if the reading encourages a quick dip in the puddles, conditions might in fact be “ducky;” in that case “whatever floats your boat” could be the right way to respond). It’s enough for me to look for breaks of sun in the gloom (and if I’m fortunate, maybe a glimpse of the stars among the storm-clouds).

It’s rare that a tarot reading will “come up roses” for the querent with not a single weed to pluck. There is usually a blend of auspicious and cautionary cards in the mix, and the reader’s task is to fashion a coherent narrative out of the population that provides a fair assessment of the likely outcome. The even-handed augury is one that takes all of the “weather patterns” into account before settling on a forecast. When I present a reading I’m typically operating from a watchful distance even when the cards suggest that we (that is, the client and I) are sitting inside the “eye of the hurricane” and running just ahead of its trailing edge.

But this becalmed state of affairs can change in a heartbeat. As mentioned in an earlier post, I credit Edgar Allan Poe with educating me about the maelstrom: it is the “Mother of All Whirlpools” that will relentlessly suck down any seafaring vessel careless enough to wander into its embrace, kind of like an oceanic “black hole.” If I see it coming, I can make ominous noises and frantically wave my arms before it gets too close. Then, when the rushing wall of darkness is sidestepped by the querent’s timely evasive action, I can stand up and take a bow. Every reader needs a moment of glory now and then.