For my first post (#1) I would like to discuss the prospect of the #1 tarot deck (very seldom the first). There are many reasons people collect tarot cards. Some are readers, and some are not. Some collect them for the art, and some collect them simply to collect them. And there is no one definitive person who collects, or reads, or muses on the system: some are religious, some are not. Some are Pagan, some are Buddhist, some are devout Catholic or Mormon or Islamic or Hindu or Atheist. Some are in between, and some are somewhere else – in fact, everywhere: Australia, Canada, Britain, India, America, China, the Czech Republic, and elsewhere. I have encountered these people time and time again since I began my tarot hobby 8 years ago. Some readers have thousands of decks, while some have only one.
When I started tarot, I had one deck, which lasted me a good couple of years. During that time, I used it often – shuffling, drawing, spreading, reading, musing, learning and loving it. It turned a dusty grey around the outer edges within months just from the handling, the kind of grey that makes a tarot reader smile and adore their craft. Smudges from oily fingerprints, no matter how often one washes their hands before use; faded streaks so multiple that their pattern becomes uniform and all that’s left is one. You know the faces of everyone in it, their personalities, their habits. You know their world and their thoughts. They are you, and you are them; you know they can be trusted.
I now have what is considered to be a somewhat modest collection by some: over 50 tarot and oracle decks. Not one of those decks, since the very first, shuffles like my Hudes Tarot. Not one of them has greying edges, a reader’s bend, or a heart to match. I love them all, for different reasons, each with its own aesthetic appeal. But I didn’t start collecting to collect. I, like many other tarot enthusiasts, began as a reader, and did just that – read. I only needed one deck. But as most will tell you – namely those cursed with the glory of the world of tarot and the Aeclectic Tarot Forum – at some point, it stops being about that one deck…and starts being about the one deck. The one. Like significant others, among millions and billions (or thousands, in terms of tarot decks), the one you hope will melt your heart and satisfy you unduly. We’ve all been victims, and for the most part, loved it. I admit, I still do.
Oh look, this one has gold gilt edges – just like a fine, old-fashioned book. This one is full of Da Vinci paintings – my word! And Klimt, and Botticelli! And this one has cats – I love them – and here, this one’s so lifelike…the people are almost real! Look at the colours in these…these masterpieces; they remind me of my childhood, my religion, my muse…myself. They all remind me of me. Here we have silver foil – the decadence! Fabulous CG, or my favourite animé. This one’s designed from fabric scraps – how clever – and this one’s based on blacksmithing! How do I choose? Why bother? They’re gorgeous. I think I’ll take them all. Wait, I’m sure to love this one. It feels so right. How could I not want to read with it?
And what happens? We wait, and wring our little hands, and when the package comes, we admire it, forget it, put it on a bookshelf or tuck it away in its little box – then find another that’s lustworthy. Sometimes we don’t touch them for months, or years; sometimes we trade them away. It’s filler. It’s pointless. There is no ONE.
I’m not saying we shouldn’t collect. I’m not saying we shouldn’t lust. But we should always know why we’re doing it. I’m tired of looking for the perfect deck – as with anything worthy of love, a perfect example doesn’t exist. It sounds obvious, but we do it anyway. Maybe the rest are all perfect to look at – and for collectors, that’s perfectly fine. But for those of us who want to read, contently and monogamously, the perfect deck is the one that’s acknowledged, tested, loved and used again. And again. And again. And again. Behold, the answers – the glorious answers! – the trustworthy faces, the little grey traces. The love, the connection; the usefulness. Don’t we ever get tired of being promiscuous? Whoever made progress not trying?
