Yesterday Jan and I met for our usual Wednesday morning coffee at Trentham Gardens. Apart from setting the world to rights we talk about our writing and I shared a problem I was having with her. Not knowing which way to go, I made a flippant comment about having to ask her to give me a Tarot reading.
To my surprise, but why I should have been surprised by anything this amazing woman does I do not know, she reached into her handbag and out came the cards.
My arms came up in goose bumps. I shuffled, cards were selected and laid out on the table. I asked the question and there in the spread before me was the way forward.
You might assume that because we know each other so well it was Jan herself who was pointing me in the right direction. Except that it was all there written in the cards, which I had seen her lay out in front of me.
Seeing it there cut through my confusion; I felt calm and able to cope with things over which I had little actual control. A feeling which still remains with me.
I’ve always believed in the power of the Tarot. My palms tingle at the very thought of handling the cards. They are not necessarily as a way of foretelling the future but as a means of resolving present dilemmas.
But there is more to a reading than just interpreting the ancient images. A good reader has skill, but he or she must also have the gift. Exactly what that consists of I don’t know, or where it comes from, or whether it can be taught.
What I do know is that Jan has it and I am grateful.