Posted by on Sep 7, 2011 in Photographs, Sacred Arts, Sacred Experiences | 0 comments

The sign read: Celtic Cross $15. The disheveled man was crouched in the nook of a tall, brick building in the middle of a bustling city street. Perched on a short stool, he sat quietly allowing his eyes to drink in the sight of his approaching customer. His smudged hands reached for the black satin bundle at the table’s center.

Without hesitation, the passerby stepped into the recess to join the card reader in the candlelit nook. The two unshaven faces locked eyes as the reader handed the sacred deck to his audience of one.

“Concentrate on your question and shuffle,” was the only directive. His words were firm yet gentle as his own body shifted into absorbing the energy of his guest.

Silence filled the space as minutes passed. It seemed the anxious visitor was pouring his heart into the weathered cards as his hands worked the deck. Upon his own satisfaction, the man’s eyes popped open and he placed the cards back into the table’s center; he cut the deck and held his breath.

It appeared that time stopped for the visitor. He perched closer to the edge of his own low bench, silently integrating the potential paths before him as revealed by the tarot. His personal journey was displayed in the symbolic and colorful art spread before him. To his delight, the reader was pointing to the top of the cross. There it was: The Chariot.

In a monumental epiphany represented by horse and carriage, the querent realized that an instrumental new journey was just beginning. He once again locked eyes with the unwashed man across from him and they break into a knowing smile.

 ~Tam Veilleux

Reluctantly, she placed the well-worn cards on the table and met the cynical gaze of the young man sitting across from her. All too familiar with skepticism of clients, this time, it mattered what this one thought of her. He was her new son-in-law, present only to accompany his wife, who sat patiently waiting for her reading.

She wanted to convey the reverence she had for the ancient language of intuition, to help him know the possibilities of his inner truth and higher wisdom. In showing him what the symbolism on the cards could tell him about his deepest desires, would he think her absurd?

She asked him if he would go first. Taken by surprise, he agreed after a glance at his wife, who nodded encouragement to him. He tapped his foot impatiently as he drew three cards, representing the past, present and future.

He placed the Eight of Cups on the table, followed by Death, then the Wheel of Fortune. His tapping stopped abruptly as he saw the Death card. She smiled inwardly at this typically anxious response, secretly pleased he seemed to have lost his attitude.

As she read the cards, she talked about his burn-out and disillusionment with his work, that he’d been seeking work in a new direction and the change would work out very well for him. She watched him carefully, his expression transforming from amazement to wonder for he’d thought he’d hid his problems well.

Grateful the Tarot had not let her down; she breathed a sigh of relief.

 ~Barb Roehler



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