Reminders

I’ve recently purchased the Connolly Tarot (in both regular and miniature size), which had me pulled in by its simple imagery and vibrant colours, despite being what some call an overwhelmingly Christian deck. As someone who is quite far from Christian, I’ve realized how little this bothers me – and since I’ve currenly no use for the book, it’s much easier to forget the religious connection. I don’t think I see it as overly fluffy, either – it just happens to be quite glowing.

Thus far I’ve only done the occasional daily draw from the deck, which has been left out of its box on my bed, cards splayed all over the sheets after a period of time (I’ve been sleeping with a lot of things on my bed lately). The cards I’ve been drawing have been confusing me, however – at least until very recently – and I got to thinking about the messages the tarot gives us that we don’t understand. This doesn’t happen to me much anymore. But the confusion started the second I drew my very first card from this deck: The Lovers.

That’s funny, I thought. If anything I’ve felt a bit solitary lately, and as far as deep connections go I haven’t had any fruitful endeavors in the sidelines I could label as such. So I gave it time. A few days – waiting for the big bang, the event that would reveal why this card has showed up for me again, for the second time in a month (I suppose it wouldn’t seem as big a deal to me if I were doing actual readings more frequently than I was posting them, which I’m not). A few days later I drew another repeat card, which showed up previously after my chinchilla died: the 6 of Cups. Yet there’s been less time for reminiscing, for spending time with friends and family and playing in the sunshine. So you can imagine my heightened confusion when the next card I drew was The Sun.

Why such positive cards? Is there something I’m forgetting, something I’m missing? Am I to read these as predictions, as summaries, as something else? These thoughts kept running through my head. It’s a good thing I’ve been so busy with other things, or they might have driven me up the wall. Until a day or two ago, when I drew a card that finally made sense: The Chariot. Of course, here we have a very physical movement, indicating my impending move to Hanover to spend the summer with Matt. Though naturally, I stared at it and thought, well, I already knew that. Yesterday, I drew two more cards: The Hanged Man followed by the 6 of Swords. The Hanged Man was upright, interestingly enough – probably one of the most interesting cards to use reversals with, though it’s no longer my style. He leapt up decidedly that way, so I decided he meant to. Well, naturally, an upright Hanged Man would indicate someone who’s already seeing things in a new perspective, rather than someone who needs to. Sacrifices have already been made, and the world is clear (though a bit topsy-turvy, for someone whose ankle is tied to an upside-down tree). Coupled with the 6 of Swords - another card indicating movement from one place to another, from one world to the next – this screamed the words “beginning anew,” with the Chariot pushing this once upside-down man and once trial-ridden woman into place. And suddenly it all made sense.

This wasn’t about explaining the present, or proving the past, or predicting the future. This wasn’t even about stating the obvious. It was about reminders. Reminders of things that lie in wait, of things that influence my day-to-day activity, things that inspire me to move forward. It’s not about grand gestures or life-changing moments, despite the abundance of major arcana. It’s about the little things that go unnoticed, the things that are ever-present and always developing and increasing in value. And I have these things. I have love and memories and optimism to carry me forward, and I have them even more concretely lying ahead of me. This isn’t about knowing what’s happening, or learning what I have in store. It’s about remembering what gets me there.

Remembering, discovering…

Strength. The last card I drew in a reading two days ago, after my beloved pet chinchilla, Sascha, passed away at 3.5 years…a mere third of the average lifespan. The cause is still somewhat of a mystery to me, though I’d been treating her on and off with antibiotics for the past few months. Nonetheless, I wish I could have done more.

Though I failed to predict her death (I hadn’t attempted any readings on the subject), I did perform a reading the night of her death as a sort of consolation to myself. Naturally, it did little to help, but little is the most I could have expected under the circumstances. I don’t profess to believe in an afterlife per sé – I’m more of a reincarnation kind of girl, though my views on the subject are still somewhat underdeveloped. They run somewhere along the lines of the conscious mind outliving the body – and while the consciousness (or spirit) doesn’t specifically relocate to a “better place,” it remains an unseen part of the world in which it lived…which to me constitutes its becoming not only one with the world (and in most cases, memory), but an influence on what comes next. As such, I like to think that every new being brought into the world exhibits some of the qualities of one that came before.

Due to my success with the Morgan-Greer Tarot recently, I decided to use it again (I am hoping to make it one of my main reading decks, along with a few carefully-chosen others). My first card drawing followed a question somewhere along the lines of, what message does Sascha want to give me? Ironically, I drew the High Priestess. For those of you who don’t know, the High Priestess is the master of the arcane – that is, keeper of secret knowledge and inner wisdom. I’d be lying if I said this lack of a straight answer didn’t annoy me upon first meditation. But the deck was right: this wasn’t about asking questions directly of a dead loved one. It was about coming to terms with the knowledge and wisdom I already had inside me. I rephrased my question, but given that I was a bit peeved and upset, was not clear enough with myself on what I wanted to know. Thus, instead of discovering the state of my chinchilla, I uncovered the state of myself: the Eight of Swords. Here, of course, we have a woman bound and wrapped in a blindfold, surrounded by a pillar of swords. This indicates a feeling of being helpless and trapped – the last thing I wanted Sascha to feel. I quickly realized, though, that this wasn’t the case, and that the cards were simply telling me I was reflecting my bad feelings onto the situation, and having trouble accepting any message I was anticipating. The thing about the Eight of Swords is it’s usually an unnecessary or voluntary entrapment, which is indicated by the blindfold (or in some decks, a woman locked away and holding the key in her hand). This card reflected my lack of faith – in myself, in the cards, in a good outcome (one that would be a given if I did, indeed, believe in an afterlife). I took a moment to relax (and, naturally, to renew my faith in my medium – which was, essentially, having a conversation with me). When I’d come to terms with what I was feeling I asked about Sascha, and drew the final card. Finally, an answer to the question I meant to ask – how was she feeling? The Six of Cups – in my experience, the playground of memory; of sharing in the past with oneself or with loved ones.

I cried, a little (okay, I’ve cried a lot in the past couple days). If I wanted my pet to feel anything, it would be reminiscence for the past, for her life, and all the good in it – something I, too, have been doing. Two little children playing among the flowers is a draw back to childhood, to happy moments. It may have taken me a while to get that answer, but in the end, I had needed those other cards to talk me through my grief and cynicism before I could.

Here is what I remember: a joyously fat, fluffy ball of the softest variety with a long, furry tail; someone who ran fast and bounced off the walls, and jumped high enough to reach my countertops; someone who got excited every time I shook the peanut jar, and every time I didn’t…who ran marathons on a squeaky wheel and swam rolling miles in a bowl of dust; someone who refused nearly every vegetable and gobbled up peaches and grapes and Skittles…who conquered the outdoors like a nervous stealth bomber – running fast, stopping abruptly, with no regard for direction. Someone who poked her head out of my purse in the bookstore and whimpered in her sleep when she had a nightmare; who lunged at any cat or dog that gave her trouble, who quickly learned evasive maneuvers and eventually, how to cuddle. Someone who begged like a puppy for treats and could still be aloof as a cat. Someone who bit my ex-boyfriend’s nipples (good girl) and fell asleep on my boyfriend’s butt. Someone bright-eyed at night and grumpy in the morning, who chewed on zippers and earrings and pillows. Someone who died in time to save me the hassle of moving with her, and someone on whom I’d have spent any amount of money to make sure she’d come along.

When I drew Strength, its message wasn’t the only thing I noticed. It is most often the only card in a deck in which an animal is being tamed – and in this case, I’d say, even stroked, loved. I promised Sascha someday to get another chinchilla. I believe what I believe about death for many reasons. Every time I get a new pet, I recognize something much older.

Sascha was my best companion through college. She will be sorely missed.