I received my first tarot deck as a kind-of-joke gift from my best friend (who has maintained the Christian beliefs taught to us in the church where we met and grew up together) in December 2009. The joke was two-fold. Partly because I am the heathen among our group of friends (they once had an impromptu intervention over margaritas one night, after they had discovered some of my more pagan-like art pieces). Partly because it was a “girlfriends” tarot deck — a mini deck set out near the register at a book store intended to be a tempting $5 impulse purchase — and we all had a good laugh at the silliness of it.
As the only one brave enough to embrace *the dark side*, I was elected to be the tarot reader for the evening, even though I had never read cards before. I was, however, the only one who had had a tarot reading before (earlier that year, at a voodoo shop in New Orleans), so they expected me to have all the answers.
One by one, we had our readings, and as we watched the cards unfold it was difficult to maintain the silly atmosphere with which our night had begun. The cards spoke boldly and directly to one friend, then to the other. Each girl was pierced deeply, in a place she kept protected and which she tried thoroughly to avoid. It was clear that my friends had gotten much more out of this tarot reading than they had expected or intended.
And what about me? To be quite honest, I didn’t feel that it was all that illuminating, and it felt rather dull in comparison to my friends’ readings. It could be that their lives were generally more full of drama and intrigue to begin with, but whatever the case, I found the whole thing rather ironic.
After that night, at the behest of my friends, I went out and bought a real tarot deck with a book to help us interpret the cards. It wasn’t until over a year later, however, that we were able to get together for a second reading. This one went pretty similarly to the first time. Thoroughly illuminating and profound for my friends, and rather dull for me.
So, cards, what gives?
Why is it that I am the one who reads you for others, I am the one who was open to you in the beginning, and yet each time you speak to me, I get mixed messages? Are you speaking to me or are you just fucking with me?
For some reason, each time I have had a reading, it speaks about me pursuing some sort of business endeavor, and always as a partnership. It tells me to be patient, and it tells me that (like most of my life) I will most likely be cast aside for the sake of others. Why do the cards insist that I am trying to start a business with a partner? Am I? The only time I seem to think about that is when the cards tell me so. I still don’t understand it.
Even so, that silly gift seemed to awaken in me the desire to more deeply pursue my mystic side. I have tried a couple of times, but each attempt has been rather unfruitful because I just don’t know where, or how, to begin.
Her Sixth Circle is where I get more serious with my devotion. I call this place my sixth circle because the sixth circle of Hell, according to Dante, is where the heretics go. And apparently this all started because my friends have deemed me The Heretic. I am Heretica and I reside here, in my Sixth Circle, traversing the roads and treading the depths and gasping in the ether, searching for my place in all of this.