​Dear Santa,
     I wonder, since there is probably no Santa Claus for dogs, if it is okay for me to write to my person’s Santa Claus? She told me you deliver toys, goodies and even grants some wishes for all the good boys and girls, all over the world, on Christmas Eve. Oh, Santa . . . there’s even a tree that seems to be growing in my new home and I noticed lots of gifts wrapped in beautiful, shiny paper. They all have bows stuck on the tags that tell who sent them—many from “Santa” so I guess it’s okay. That tree fascinates me with oodles of red, green and gold balls on its branches. There are lights too that must be pieces from a summer rainbow and twinkle like the stars on a frigid winter night. I admit I got curious and tried to taste one of the bows. I guess that was wrong for I was then scolded – even learning my first command—"NO, BAD PUPPY!” Ah, still think the balls should be played with. Next time, I will just make sure no one is watching, because my person told me that bad boys and girls – and bad little puppies, too – get only a lump of coal from Santa in their stockings. I’m confused about that for coal would not taste very good and surely be painful for walking if it is in a sock. But, my person must have forgotten to tell you, because she hung a stocking with my name on it and on Christmas morning it was filled with toys and treats, fit for a good little puppy, anyway.

     Okay, Santa, I will confess . . . I let the cat drink the milk left out for you and I ate the cookies. However, I am sure there were plenty more in the kitchen and surely you knew where to look and help yourself.
I have another reason for writing you, Santa. For a little while I was worried that I would not have a warm, loving home or even a cage with a nice soft blanket for snuggling into rather than being left outside or in some cold barn, shivering and hungry—like my mother and the other dogs from the place where I was whelped. I am the luckiest puppy ever for I got found by a kind person who bought me and brought me home, tucked inside her coat, which made it possible for me to write my letter to Santa.

     If you can, Santa, will you check on my mother? Will you tell her that I was chosen and have a new home where I am sure to be loved a lot. I am nice and warm with good, nutritious puppy food. Oh, and check on my brother and sister that were left behind in the dark box. We were all huddle inside it, taken away barely weaned from our mother and only eye-ball-sized holes that let air and only dim light. We heard the car motor, felt the vibration as it took us away . . . far from the cold barn kennel where our mother and father remain. My sister and I were first to be taken out of the box and found ourselves in a pet store full of people of all ages, shapes and sizes. I wonder what happened to my other two brothers and a sister, who might still be in the box, for all I know. I was frightened at being taken from my warm mother’s side and dropped in a cage in a place that gave no comfort that it would all be alright. I suppose it was a pet store and the lady seemed kind, but I was in a pen where people stared or wanted to pick me up and examine every inch of me or spoke critically about me. No one seemed to want me, that is, until a few days later when things changed as I was picked up and held by a person that cuddled me, nicely and I sensed somehow that it would be okay. Oh, I was worried that I might never find a place to feel safe or loved, but it must have been you, Santa, that sent this person into the store on that fateful day. I just knew she would not be leaving me behind. For that reason, I am sure that you orchestrated our meeting and she would fall for my cuteness once I turned it on and wriggled happily in her arms—yes, Santa, it did work, perfectly and quickly. She was the first person that made me feel wanted! For that reason, I am sure you sent her to find me, so you wouldn’t have to put me in your sleigh and deliver me to her house on Christmas Eve. Indeed, before I knew it, I was tucked in her coat and leaving the store to be taken to this new home, chosen happily and loved right from the start—and barely any need to have turned on my cuteness to get her attention.

     I can remember my mother telling her puppies, that all we need to be happy was a person who we could trust with our unconditional love; thus, expect that it will be returned, in kind. I cannot be sure if you sent my person into the store that day, but I am grateful forever that you did. I am now happily exploring every inch of my new home—including, things that my person tries to insist are only for Christmas and NOT for a puppy.  Oh well, what can a lucky little Christmas-puppy say or do about that rule?

     Oh, Santa . . . how my mother whimpered and shivered that icy morning. She was terribly thin, her coat coarse and thinning. I think she was sick, even though she provided her puppies with plenty of rich milk—at the cost of her health. As we were taken from her, her breathing sounded ragged, so will you please check on her for me? I fear she might not survive another winter, especially if she is forced to have another litter of puppies right away, as she did with us. She is getting older and cried as we were taken away. The last thing she told us was to make her proud by finding a home where we might return the person’s love with our favor of loyalty, protection and eagerness to please.
Oh, Santa, too many animals are left to die by the neglect of uncaring, unfeeling persons. Can you inspire them with the gift of caring that they will stop the mistreatment of innocent animals—domestic and wild, alike. Can you inspire their hearts to change from hateful and filled with ignorance of what they cause by their deliberate or unintentional cruelty? I think Christmas must be the best time for doing such things as reaching the hearts of those who want to care for the animals who cannot change their fateful situations on their own. I heard people at the pet store say, I came from a place that might be a puppy mill and anyone that purchased me should be ashamed for supporting it. But, is that fair? I wonder, Santa, for is it my fault that my mother was owned by such a place with that stigma? Do I not deserve to be loved and live a long, happy life as any other puppy? Either way, I don’t know. I feel lucky to have avoided being another victim of such a fate as my mother. I think my mother was without fault for out whelping nor are we any the less for it. Nevertheless, I am grateful that you did orchestrate my person coming into the store and finding me or it might have been a very different outcome for me than becoming my person’s Christmas gift-puppy.

     I have a question, Santa. If you cannot tell me why persons are cruel to animals, then could you do something else? How about collecting all the homeless and hungry puppies (and dogs or cats) and delivering them as Christmas gifts to homes that WANT them and will love and care for them well? We dogs are a forgiving lot; if persons will just give us the chance, a warm bed, nutritious food, clean water and a few squeaky toys or balls to chase. Yes, Santa, that and their true capacity to love us is all we need to be happy Christmas-Puppies.

     And so, Santa, I shall leave the carrots and apples for the Reindeer; the elves can have the cookies and, before you go off for a long-winter’s nap, I ask just one thing more—instill persons with the same sort of generosity and mindfulness as you show to all and let it be applied to my fellow puppies, regardless of where from which they are whelped. I am grateful for the toys and treats you left me, but I would not mind if you were to take it all and give it to other dogs that have nothing to keep them warm, well-fed or happy. I would gladly give my warm blankets to other dogs that are shivering and starving in the cold. It must be such negative attitudes that breed the darkness and ill-treatment of animals, but if Rudolph will shine his red nose into the fogginess of ignorance to the situation, perhaps things would more quickly change for the better, raising awareness into the light of compassion and generosity like a flare to enlighten all toward fixing the problems for animals that cannot do it for themselves.

     Yes, Santa, I know that my request might seem complex; but I think the solution is simple: comprehending how the heart is more than an organ pumping blood, but the seat of truth and unconditional love and a beginning for the elimination of disrespect and judgement of all kinds. Like all dogs, I intend to become a teacher of my person and can barely wait to tell you all about my year of growing up when you come back next year.

Blessings to You, SANTA, for all that you inspire and bring to the world
& A MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Love from a Christmas Puppy.
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My Disclaimer:  I did not intend to sound like I am condoning the purchase of puppy mill dogs or buying from pet stores, which knowingly obtain their puppies from such sources. This letter was inspired by both the advertisements of the SPCA (an organization I support and respect) over the Holidays and to give voice for my own Christmas puppy, Skye, who wished to have his story told as it was learned post-purchase and sans any desire to return him.

​This month’s blog, ideal for Halloween/Samhain is taken from Chapter 2 of my yet-unfinished first novel -- “I’ve Walked These Sands Before” – and begins where the heroin, Karen is still in mourning of a traumatic marriage and recent divorce. Her long-time friend and professional Tarot reader, Nate, visits and discovers that she was given a coupon (by her work-friend) for a Tarot Reading by an unknown psychic. Rather than fall back on Nate as her former and only reader, she worries he will be upset, but when asked he drives her to the appointment--Karen nervous and somewhat skeptical; Nate nursing a slightly-bruised ego. That is where this story begins with Karen approaching an innocent-looking house, but when she enters she finds “Fate” essentially salivating for her to enter; but, fate offers no promises beyond changes and hints of an occult realm of possibilities and probabilities awaiting her to trust and chose to begin a Spiritual journey into the unknowable . . . but, that all unfolds in the following chapters. For now, enjoy Karen’s ill-fated exploit inside the “lair of Valetta Birdcraft” . . .
 
Note: Each chapter begins with a quotation from “Awakening Osiris” to inspire and
enhance the theme as the reader travels alongside Karen on her Spiritual Quest.
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“As if I‘d slept a thousand years underwater I wake to a new season. I am the blue lotus rising.
I am the cup of dreams and memory opening—I, the thousand-petaled flower.”
Quotation from Awakening Osiris, by Normandi Ellis

​. . . After a silent twenty-minute drive and Nate constantly clenching and unclenching his jaw, the car pulled along the curb and stopped. Karen held the coupon, crumpled during Nate’s debate over driving her or not, and smoothed it enough to read the address and recheck for the correct house number. She had ignored Nate’s silence for she knew well it was better to allow him to deal with being miffed and by the time they arrived, he would be over it and more interested in critiquing the place and less focused on egoistic ideals—that was the way of him, which she knew well. She was glad when he shut off the motor and began looking around the area. It was clear he was checking for a comfortable place to wait, as well as that she would be safe walking alone to the pleasantly innocent-looking little house. Whatever did he expect we’d find, she thought, glancing across at the searching Nate and smiling, inwardly. In that moment, Nate obviously spotted the donut shop directly across the street and seeing the delight brighten his face, it was clear he would find that cup of coffee and donut to keep him occupied for the next hour. This gave him reason to break the silence, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary and even added an encouraging comment as Karen reached for the door handle. But, her mind was already ahead of her and she needed to hurry to follow them up the path toward this stranger’s little house. She sucked in a deep breath with every step, hoping to bolster courage, but it was harder to do with every footfall.
“Why be so nervous, after all, this isn’t my first time at the circus. It’s probably a trait of tarot readers to be a little crazy, so this one shouldn’t be any weirder than Nate,” Karen said, mumbling as she walked and mused over how brave she needed to be. Managing a deep breath between footfalls, she thought it was enough to allow her to turn and run if she found anything to give a good enough reason—there seemed nothing, however, at least out here. “What is my problem? So far nothing unusual . . . the house looks pretty, normal gray siding and crimson shutters . . . well, it’s a normalcy that should bolster my courage. There’s no “Beware of Devil Dog” sign in sight and no flying monkeys on the roof.”
Karen shook her head, realizing how silly she was being. Yet, that knowledge did nothing to quell the butterflies in her stomach. She glanced back at the safety of the car, but decided she was more than far enough to make fleeing a ridiculous choice and then resumed her approach of the gray house. When she noticed the little house was much like one in any suburban neighborhood, she began to relax a bit. “Oh, there’s really nothing out of the ordinary . . . doesn’t look like it’s haunted or worse . . . no, the lawn and shrubbery are all trimmed nicely and lots of obviously well-tended flower beds around or were during the summer months as they are now like everywhere else . . . frost-killed and DEAD! Oh, no, that’s not an encouraging idea, but . . . well here I am; no turning back now . . .” Karen was aware of the sound of her shoes scuffling on the concrete walk and now the change as they changed to dull thuds as she mounted the wooden steps up onto the porch.
Karen stopped, uncertain and glancing off the porch to the side of the house where clusters of dry leaves were fluttering in the breeze from the few branches refusing to release them. There was a line of taller plant stalks below, still sporting brown seed heads that were emptied of their spawn, but determinedly pretending viability. Karen tried to image how pretty they must have been in mid-summer with flower children whose leaf hands would have been touching the next plant; playing a clever game of ring-around-the-rosy with the regal spikey iris whenever a warm breeze caressed them. Then she noticed the wrought iron posts – two of them, bolted on either side of an ornate iron sign – that were apparently intended to be inserted into the yard in front of the house. No obvious reason for them to be here, but Karen shivered to think this might be the omen she had expected, all along. Damn, but maybe I will be sorry I did this, after all, she thought as she read the lavender lettering--Valetta Birdcraft, Psychic Medium.
Karen closed her eyes and took a deep breath then, deciding there was no point proving Nate right by turning back now, she pressed the doorbell. Instead of the expected “ding-dong” it emitted a breathless feminine voice.
“Oh, welcome, dear. Come in, make yourself at home, running a bit behind today, be with you in a sec.”
“Hah, said the spider to the fly,” Karen muttered, imaging that the voice belonged to a grandmother spider, wearing a white ruffled dust cap, flowered cotton dress and cooking-stained apron. She would most certainly cackle wickedly, like the wicked step-mother-witch, as she put the last touches on an enormous web surrounding her bait—still-warm-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies. Smirking and shuddering at the image, Karen obeyed by turning the doorknob and pulling open the bright crimson painted door. She had barely stepped inside when seemingly invisible hands shoved the door shut behind her, bumping her to move her out of its wake. Shaken, but sure it was merely her own imagination run amok, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves and glanced around the room. Well, safe enough, no web to ensnare victims or . . . no, I don’t smell baking cookies, either, she mused with a nervous smile upon realizing the visual was apparently mistaken—again.
Once her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside, Karen noted she was standing in a parlor that seemed much larger than she would have supposed from the outside. It was oddly over-stated and as cluttered with all eras and styles of mismatching furnishings.
“This décor would be perfect to feature on a “what-not-to-do” page in any interior design magazine,” Karen whispered, swallowing the snicker lest the owner hear and be angry or insulted at a critique from an obviously dowdy client, who was clearly no expert on that subject.
Since there was no sign of Valetta, at all, Karen let curiosity take her on a little tour of the room—there was just too much to peruse for her to simply sit and wait, patiently or impatiently. Directly in front across from the door where she stood, there was what she presumed to be a round card table, covered with an elegantly embroidered antique cloth with the longest piano fringe she had ever seen. It must be at least twelve inches and made of shiny black silk threads and its area looked to be velvet roses in the darkest shades that almost disappeared into its black background. On either side of the table were two teak or ebony wood, high-backed chairs, which stood so invitingly askew. But, Karen chose to ignore temptation to take up their offer and indulged her curiosity further by strolling on into the room.
The entire wall on the right side of it were covered by floor-to-ceiling oak bookcases, entirely filled with a variety of greatly-aged leather-bound books, books of a modern glossy paper-back style, as well as the canvas-hard bound books, and books that could only be called tomes as they presented the impression of being filled with ancient authenticity. Karen almost purred, thinking how she would love to spend hours or days leafing through and reading from these shelves. Rather than let her fingers begin itching with the idea, she turned to look to the other side of the room, discovering a teak-wood sideboard, a lighter walnut armoire and a delicately carved wood trimmed fainting couch in an out-of-time lime green fabric—all posed side-by-side as old friends awaiting their permanent placement. Everywhere she looked, there were displaced brightly colored throw pillows that reminded her of multi-colored bloated toads using the somber furniture as they might lily pads. On every window, hung ivory lace sheers intended to filter the sunlight from outside. Instead, the room was darker than it should be for the apparent battle waged between the lace and the drapes of heavy maroon velvet that bordered each window, equally denying light’s entry.
The wallpaper was just as dated as the rest—the Victorian style of gold gilt paper covered with an intricate patter of flowers, leaves and vines of dark red velvet flocking. Karen frowned, as a fuzzy memory flickered as if to escape the subconscious—but, vanished before she could remember where she had seen this type of wallpaper before. Just then, she heard Elvis Presley crooning from another room at the other end of this one. While the accompaniment of guitar and other musicians was definite, his sexy voice cracked, popped and mingled into white noise, typical of an old vinyl LP recording. Karen smiled, to think such an antique player could still work, let alone be working order. While the song was familiar, it was just as out-of-place and time as everything in this place. She was beginning to think she had walked into a museum or expansive antique shop, at least. The advent of the unusual music set her nerves on edge again.
“Something is just wrong here . . . all too bizarre, like a hoarder’s nightmare or rather the same time machine as in the dryer and I’ve discovered where all those lost socks end up . . . or time machine clogged when stuff got stuck and dropped out of all eras,” Karen murmured to herself, but jumped guiltily when she heard a voice behind her.
“Or perhaps all that and more . . . what if it’s just a place so wonderfully insane and yet mysteriously joyful at the same time. Just a crazy sort of time warp and I live right in the middle of it all?”
Karen whirled to face the direction from which the voice had come. Pushing her hear behind her ears, she said, “Oh, I’m really sorry. I was just looking around.” She had meant to continue, expressing how everything occurred to her as symbolic of her own life; even for the irony of both having a similar level of absurdity—but, shame for snooping became as a cloud through which words became lost. Scrutiny had indeed, halted abruptly, but it was the sudden raucous scratch as someone dragged the phonograph needle across the grooved vinyl record that shattered the silence—and Karen’s nerves. Apparently, the same hand had just swiped aside the strands of a tacky purple plastic bead curtain to allow Valetta to make her version of a grand entrance.
Karen was startled, realizing she had been so busy perusing the room, she had nearly forgotten the reason she was in it. She turned but misjudged where she had stood in the room and discovered her path was now blocked by a highly-polished, ebony Wurlitzer grand piano. Having passed it without noticing something so large and stable before, it occurred to her that it was the perfect metaphor for her current life situation—filled with misjudgments, utterly unmovable and mostly out of tune.
“Probably should get someone to tune it . . . hasn’t played a note since my Henry passed. He was the musician, I never learned,” Valetta said, startling Karen.
How had she flown from the beaded curtain and magically appeared beside me without making a sound, Karen thought, too fearful of the answer to ask. However, Karen allowed Valetta to gently take her hand and lead her back to the reading table and, when one of the high-backed chairs was pulled out for her, she sidled into it with an uncertain smile.
“Oh, I know you are wondering about my unusual name, so I will just tell you,” Valetta said as she moved around the table and settled onto the other chair then scooched it until it was squared with the table before continuing. “Valetta is from my Spanish heritage . . . named after my very psychic grandmother, but the rest of the family is a mongrel mixture. Oh, I never care much about such details. I am a psychic medium, been all my life, knew it by the age of seven or so I was told, but don’t worry, I don’t mind your looking around . . . the house loves attention, friends or strangers, does not matter, it’s an attention monger,” Valetta said with a kindly smile.
“Um, I was curious . . . the books were wonderful,” Karen said, but Valette continued her banter as if she had not heard.
“Oh, I’m sure you found my house extraordinary . . . even a little weird, as weird as I am most people say, but I don’t get offended even when they call me a crazy, old crone or spooky witch or worse.” Valetta’s face and tone darkened; seemingly spitting poison off the words. In the next breath, she shrugged, raised her eyebrows and winked at Karen, displaying the same happy personality as she continued her banter; barely missing a beat of it. “Okay, enough of me . . . shall we settle down and get to your reading, after all you didn’t come to check out my furniture but to hear what my cards and guides have to say . . . right?”
Karen merely nodded, too stunned by the changeable character across from her. It seemed clear that Valetta must have been chattering like this to put her at ease; apparently, it worked since the reading was about to begin now. Indeed, Karen took the cleansing breath and felt as relaxed as she had been in months—then smiled to indicate her readiness to trust Valetta. Karen guessed the psychic about 70 with a rather scrawny frame, which gave the impression of a little girl playing dress-up and the clothes hung in ragtag fashion. Still that experience of years was so evident by deep-set wrinkles on a kindly-grandmother face with such a beautiful, cheerful attitude toward life shining in her blue-gray eyes. Valetta rolled her silver hair into a loose bun at the nap of her neck and crowned it with a wide-brimmed black felt hat from which sprouted at least a dozen spikey feathers from a mysterious bird species, all black, sleek and iridescent.
“Like my hat?” Valetta dropped her head, so Karen could get a better look and then reached across to the large blue pocket she had hand-stitched onto her black cotton blouse. After fishing in it for a moment, she emitted a cry of discovery. “AHAH!” Then, with the flourish of a Vegas magician, produced a purple satin drawstring bag, which Karen presumed contained her Tarot cards. However, Valetta laid it aside and reached for a larger green velvet pouch that lay on the other side of the table. Karen watched in silent awe as Valetta extracted a white taper, a long match and a candle holder then assembled them, finishing as she lit the candle – that is – after taking special notice of her incongruous clothing and ostentatious hat. While it might seem peculiar to some, Karen had years of designing belly dance costumes, so taking care with the ensemble stuck a chord in her heart—mulishly still angry at the recent loss of her intricately beaded creations that many jealous dancers called avant-garde behind her back and knowing that always had given her a secret thrill. While Valetta prepared the space, Karen let her thoughts drift away to costumes unfinished and dances un-danced. Old hurt rumbled within as a distant storm—fury both threatening and promising. She was instantly reminded herself that those emotions must be curbed, controlled and driven away—at least, until she felt strong enough for that battle. She felt jolted from reverie and glanced over at Valette. Could she have noticed? Apparently not, for she’s just sitting with her eyes closed . . . wonder why, but so relieved . . . Karen’s thoughts were racing. She shifted in her chair, uncertain of what was expected of her and when. This had made her more aware that her emotional storms might break free sooner than she could be ready. Oh, what if . . . one day soon, they run amok in some unknowable and unbelievably awful way—just please, not today and not in front of a stranger. I wonder . . . um, do I need to tell Valetta anything?
“No, nothing, please. Just sit calmly, relax your mind, listen and breathe normally,” Valetta replied, without opening her eyes.
Oh, God, somehow, she knows, but how can she know what I’m thinking? Karen worried, feeling more vulnerable than ever or she wanted to ever feel again. Anxiety turning to a mild form of panic roiled unbidden in her gut while the fog of uncertainty tried to cloud her mind. She sat almost angry at the delay that allowed these emotions to try running rampant—again.
“Oh, yes, my dear one, YOU, too, are a gifted psychic. Do you remember?” Valetta had opened her eyes now and had begun shuffling the Tarot Cards.
“What? Me? No, I’m a mess,” Karen stammered, rebelliously pulling back, but the chair seemed unwilling to move—probably just caught on the carpet.
Valetta ignored the protest and handed Karen the cards, had her shuffle a moment and then choose eleven cards, which were then placed, face-up in a layout atop the table, Valetta took a deep contemplating breath and then, in a tone utterly deeper than her former tea party type banter. “I see things have been difficult for you these past few years, have they not? Yes, your aura is filled with a great deal of chaotic energy. Oh, yes, change is a difficult and painful process for you, but your sorrow will heal soon. You have left a relationship . . . by the way, one that is finished, totally. Are you ready for that?”
“Not really, oh . . . maybe, but . . . I . . . well, everything is so jumbled up. Sometimes I just cannot think straight or . . . that’s most of the time, of late.”
“Chaos, abuse, anger, sickness . . . it’s all energy and results the same. Even the beautiful lotus requires that its seed be planted and allowed to wallow in the sludge of the river bottom before it reaches for the sun. You are that lotus. Never forget that.”
Valetta continued, accurately describing Karen’s life situation; Karen listened, staring from the cards, to Valetta’s face and back to the table covering where she traced its flowers with her right pointing finger. She had secreted her fisted left hand in her lap. There it tightened in a defensive way whenever something spoken was hurtful or memories caused heart-felt pain. But, when the reading fell silent above, that fist softened, dropping the pain and blood drawn by the reading to the floor. Valetta quietly smiled and gave words of reassurance that Karen would understand she needed time to contemplate her reading; putting a realistic perspective on both her past and the present. Karen felt a bit uncomfortable and wondered if this waiting and watching the changes in her face was part of Valetta’s usual practice or was there something else she was waiting to see? Then . . . Karen found out . . .
The room slowly faded away with a low frequency hum. An image formed in Karen’s mind. A large copper-colored cobra crawled over her foot. She yanked away, snake bitten, poison infusing her whole being. Above and out of her visual range, something dark and ominous fluttered. She blinked through the haze at Valetta’s face, but that too changed becoming something large and bird-like. It was drawing the venom out, sucking it as a vulture, then kissing the wounds. Sharp talons gripped her shoulders painfully, carrying her up from the chair and far above the strange parlor. Soon this visual metaphor shifted the senses rather than landscape and she realized feeling forgiven and with a new willingness to be forgiving. This was the most pleasantly peaceful feeling ever and dare she desperately choose to just rest there.
“Are you ready to come back?”
That voice, Karen knew she should recognize it, but not quite . . . still it was intruding into this lovely brain space . . . No, not ready. Who dares intrude? The vulture flew off, leaving Karen there, sobbing ever so violently, but without tears. Then, the images shattered as had her grandmother’s antique mirror. The shards went trickling noiselessly to the ground or floor and vanished upon impact. Anger raged black by their loss. Karen reluctantly gave her hand to the faceless intruder and then followed her back to reality.
“Um, I think my mind wandered,” Karen said aloud, blushing with surprised shock at what she had just witnessed or done . . . and being caught doing it.
“Yes, indeed. I am very pleased at how easily you connected with Spirit and entered their world or the astral plane. It’s important now that you learn to control it.”
“Um . . . I’m willing to try, but isn’t that all just imagination?” Karen asked.
“You know better than that!” Valetta gave her that motherly look which both reprimanded and approved. “Just keep trying, that’s all we expect. So, when you return to Egypt . . .”
“Egypt? No way, not possible. My divorce left me strapped. I can’t go across town on what I make now,” Karen said, shaking her head.
“As I was saying,” Valetta held up her hand, “Egypt has much for you. Ah when . . . I see you going in mid-November. Yes. As for the money, don’t worry you shall have a settlement very soon. Use that.”
Outside the wind whooshed against the window panes, determined to find an entry. “Storm’s brewing, glad I shut the windows. So, as I was saying, spiritual teachers appear in many forms. It’s up to us to recognize them . . . birds, animals, people, dreams, a symbolic happenstance anywhere, anytime. Even a passing stranger can be a tool . . . a catalyst, if you will, to make things happen, both good and sometimes bad. Read lots, of course, but learn to trust your intuitive self. Now, Egypt . . .”
“You’re so sure, but I’m . . .”
“Never mind, protesting wastes energy, just listen,” Valetta shook her head in exasperation. “I am merely the messenger; the spirits are the ones who drive the train or car. However, we or they are watching now to see the direction and choices you will make after today’s reading and this awakening to possibilities . . . although, only your free will can open the way. This moment is like a crossroads of life, so what will you do next? We of the spirit realm cannot interfere, but eagerly shall celebrate each choice as it comes to fruition; occasionally giving guidance along the way when appropriate . . . mostly using psychics and readers like me and your friend, Nate, of course.”
“But, how. . .” Karen exclaimed, askance.
 “No matter, your prayer is already answered and one day you’ll understand the answer.”
“I really don’t understand,” Karen said, scratching her head.
“You will . . . but, only when you are ready, and the time is right, but speaking of time, I’m sorry that ours is nearly over and I’ve not told you what you came to hear.”
“But I didn’t . . .”
“Okay, then . . . what you need to hear,” Valetta corrected with a smile. “There are four things for you to remember when you are in Egypt. First, you will meet the goddess. Second, touch the stones and they will speak to you, telepathically or with mind images and dreams, which are the way of internal communication or how your psychic ability shall awaken. So, remember this . . . sense and feel, even the slightest energy can prove to be a key to navigating the ancient mysteries. There is a third, a key . . .you shall find a temple, but it is not a temple and will be found either by accident or the word of a villager; not a tour guide or one on the itinerary. The fourth is a warning—beware a yellow car.”
“Do I avoid it as something to be dangerous or get me into something illegal?”
“That will be your decision. After all, it could take you somewhere amazing.”
“But how will I know?”
“Alas, my dear, I cannot advise either way for it is a matter of spiritual testing,” Valetta said, straightened her body with a reaching stretch. “Funny things predictions. They might happen exactly as spoken or be altered by our influences, choices or the intervention by others. Either way, outcomes may differ, by the minute or hour. You see? That is what makes a psychic’s life un-predictable, wouldn’t you agree?”
Karen’s mind reeled. She had no exposure to psychics or mediums, other than Nate, but had read of spiritual gurus with a variety of claimed abilities and who made such wonderous promises—but, Valetta had left her speechless and a head full of crazily racing disconnected thoughts. Valetta seemed a harmless old eccentric more likely to be seen pushing a shopping cart or gossiping over a teapot—instead, she had an incredible insight and had just displayed extraordinary psychic gifts. Karen had no words to describe what she had just experienced and wondered how she would ever share it with Nate—that is, if he was curious enough to ask and not let his ego get in the way and try to point out that Valetta was befitting the description of an old-time village witch and nothing more. No, Valetta had proven to be a gentle soul who was equally at home chatting with the spirit realm as discussing the weather. Quite the surprise for Karen who was leaving the session with a renewed confidence that her life was about to change for the better, as well as owning five cryptic messages that would surely prove valid and significant soon.
Valetta gave Karen a moment to gather her wits then stood up and moved to pull Karen into a warm hug before shooing her toward the door. “Go on now, you have flying to do. I’d lend you my feathers, but yours will be golden; not black. Alas, I suppose wings are wings, and have no reason to worry if they carry a lowly scavenger or the lofty winged-predator. They are such fragile things, too easily broken and just as easily healed. They can soar on the earthly winds or rise on solar winds and reach the stars.”
A perplexed Karen was then outside without remembering the transition, except for hearing the click of the door latching as punctuation concluding Valetta’s final expression. Karen was still dazed as she headed across the street and into the donut shop. She quickly spotted Nate, tucked in a booth about half way along the front windows and likely where he could keep watch for when she left Valetta’s. She caught his attention as his cup was midway to his lips, but when he caught sight of her walking toward him, he plunked it down. He jumped up and grasp her hands, pulling her forward into a strong hug. She chuckled at how frantic he seemed and needed to push away after a moment, so she could slide into opposite side of the booth and then talk.
“Oh my God, I was worried that Ms. Birdcraft fed you to her pets or shoved you in her oven,” Nate said, jokingly yet his face registering concern.
“Why? It wasn’t all that long,” Karen said while feigning innocence.
“Uh-huh. Over the hour.”
“Oh, sorry, I guess we lost track of time.”
At that moment, the brusque waitress appeared, as if from nowhere, and distracted their banter with her noisy gum chewing and the steaming pot of coffee she carried. She plopped a stoneware mug in front of Karen and when Karen nodded, she filled it with the dark fragrant liquid, dropped a few packets of sugar and then splashed a warm-up into Nate’s cup before shuffling away.
“Well?” Nate pressed, “Spill or I’ll shake it out of you!”
“Gosh, I’m not sure where to begin, there was so much,” Karen shook two packets of sugar into her cup, deliberately fussing and sipping until he looked ready to burst before summarizing the reading. To concentrate, she focused her gaze on the snowy grains of sugar spilled beside her cup rather than be distracted by the changing expressions on his face. She moved the granules around as if trying to corral tiny cattle, looking up to emphasize her surprise. At first, Nate was too intent on her story to register that she had said that she would be going to Egypt on the trip out of Ella’s center, the one he had been begging her to join. She gave him a moment, grinning shyly and watched the shocked excitement wash across his expression followed by a girlish squeal. “You heard me right, Valetta was sure I’d have the money . . . she said so, but I can’t imagine Gregg will stop dragging his feet anytime soon. So, I’ll need the brochures, after all.”
“Then, let’s go get them,” Nate said, excitedly stuffing a dollar under his empty cup. She leaned against his shoulder as they left the café, happy to have a friend who did not demand anything from her and who accepted her exactly as she was with no regard to how she might change over time.
 “Of all the gin joints, you walk into mine . . . So, babe, you and me at the Kasbah?” Nate droned in his best Humphrey Bogart voice, tipped an imaginary hat and opened her car door.
“Wrong country, screwed up quotation and horrible Bogie,” she laughed, slapping his arm as she slid into the car seat.
“So, I’m geographically challenged, but my Bogart isn’t that bad,” he sniffed, pretending to be insulted. “It’s just . . . well, I don’t know what Valetta told you, but I would like to kiss her for it. I mean Egypt with you . . . my dream come true!”
“Or nightmare,” Karen laughed.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN and have a MAGICAL SAMHAIN EVE!
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​This is the 2nd part of the study of the Tarot, Death Card, #13 (XIII) and one of the Key 22 in a Tarot Deck. As promised, part 2 will be an examination of its aspects, broken down and as they connect to the rest of the Tarot . . . and to LIFE
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Returning to the discussion of the Death Card, let me remind you NOT to assume it brings BAD NEWS! Just because it is covered in spooky imagery and does bring an appropriately negative message – every coin has two sides for otherwise why would anyone want to toss, asking to get an answer from either side, “heads or tails? In the case of this card, one side suggests fearful things, darkness and negativity; the other surprisingly suggests things that are lightness, hopeful for change for the better and the positivity in a new dawn. Both equally imply an ENDING or a DEATH of something—and only rarely point to a person’s physical demise. I prefer using “TRANSITION” when speaking of the Death Card; while it means the same thing, it is less apt to elicit images of the worst possible kind. The artwork of most tarot Death Cards are dark and dramatic, to say the least, and push the mind off the edge and into a chasm of terrible conclusions, cause them to make irrational or invalid conclusions to their question or current situation. It is important to always remember any interpretation depends on the entire layout, because none of its cards are a stand-alone within the reading. Rather, each are like the supporting roles in a drama, which is based upon the variety of questions presented by the querent; the Death Card (in this example) would be like the starring role, but it is not operating as the stand-alone, but depends on its surrounding characters to present the appropriate interpretation for this reading. Only then can its “characterization” be presented, verified and reconciled, accordingly as it relates to the question or situation of the querent. My analogy will hopefully clarify the importance of not taking the Death Card – or any of the Major Arcana; even any card of a Tarot Deck – for whatever impact it first presents and taken solely for its dramatic impression; thus, jumping to any conclusion, that is, UNLESS the reading is being done as a “SINGLE CARD DRAW” such as pulling a “card of the day or situation” as a brief and direct response to a question. There is more to interpreting the Tarot or Oracle cards and readers study and practice for years to perfect this skill. I was taught to read by throwing away (not literally) the instruction book that came with my deck and studying thru meditations and using my clairvoyance for gaining my own “gut” feelings for each card based on the “story the artist was imparting to me in their deck” – Then, after that, I would add the standardized suggestion for interpreting their deck by comparing my ideas to that instruction booklet—surprised to find how similar both were when compared side-by-side. I merely mention that to express that cards like the Death Card and other of the more dramatic Major Arcana are NOT singly interpretable by anyone who understands the depth and various aspects contained within their appearance, as well as all the conceptualized meanings that must be considered during any reading in which they might “fall”.

If you remember anything about the Death Card, remember this:  Its deception is that of something to fear, elicit deep concern and oftentimes leap to the utter worse conclusion about what it just implied in a reading---That is only true for the first impression, but the truth is this: “there is nothing in the darkness that is not there in the light of day or nothing that a flashlight won’t reveal and thereby remove the reason to fear it. (That’s what my wise old grandmother used to tell this kid who was SO terrified of the dark, she sometimes could not sleep for fear doing so would mean she would be eaten or worse by whatever hid under the bed – true story. The Death Card may seem to be the dark harbinger of terrible things, death or disaster—but he is merely the messenger and whether we perceive his tidings as good or bad is up to us.

The design of the card, makes me think the artist intended to get attention! Forcing us to heed it and whatever meaning applicable to the reading -- and RIGHT NOW! Indeed, we can be initially shocked or choose to disregard this card, but the dark and dramatic design forces a sense of urgency to understand how it applies to life situations or experiences. It is usually because it has been left stagnating from inattentiveness or fear of what will occur if we try changing it—i.e. an unhealthy marriage, depression or a series of bad financial or business decisions, to name a few. The Death Card plainly states that further ignorance of the need to correct or change what has been bad and maybe getting worse – with no sign they are going to get better on their own – is at an OR ELSE point. People who become mired in a problem and continue in denial of the drastic aspects of it, almost always have either the Death Card or the Tower appear in their reading. Yes, both of those cards indicate the need to take intentional movement toward changing things, nurturing a new attitude toward the why and how of it and encourages immediate rearrangement of the details so it can be corrected or allowed to die off and begin again. There are so many things for which Death Card means to suggest that something or everything has reached a most chaotic level and it becomes merely a messenger of this with an intention to make the sharpest of points--and sooner than later! This can point to a potentially physical demise or ending (of the individual or a loved one), but never singly. Instead, it requires the appropriate card-actors in supporting roles alongside it. The variety of troublesome situations it may indicate as pending and in need of change, include: a serious health malady, cancer, marriage/divorce, drug or alcohol abuse or a variety of physical abuses (child or adult), a suicidal tendency, drastic financial woes or bankruptcy, erroneous or illegal dealings in business, etc. or unhealthy lifestyle (personal or material). The key to dealing with such things presented by a tarot reading, especially as those of the Death Card, is realistically difficult, but one part of it is simple—taking the first step by deciding one wants to correct things and escape sinking into the quicksand that seems to be gradually pulling them in to some form of oblivion. Both legally and ethically, I cannot go beyond informing them what the tarot or oracle cards (particularly the Death Card) have shown them, but I do suggest that if they want to take the steps to change then they should seek professional or medical advice, immediately and accordingly. Rarely, do I get to know if the querent did anything toward correcting things or changing their fear-based thought processes. While I hope they will walk away from the reading, eagerly seeking some new beginning for their life and, at least, begin aiming for a brighter, more hopeful and positive NEW dawn—and sooner rather than later. Naturally, there perhaps equally as many readings where the querent refuses the message; even becoming belligerently resistant and occasionally crosses their arms as a barrier to their heart during the reading. While I can do my best to gently and calmly encourage them to “at least consider the message and/or suggestions” I cannot force them to hear a word I say; then I leave it up to their guides and Spirit to let the cards plant the seeds that will sprout at some later date and flower as inspiration—but, that can happen ONLY when they are READY to be willing for the message to take hold . . . and so it goes . . .

The KEY to the Death Card is simple:  while it speaks to something that needs immediate consideration in life and throws a giant hint that one should stop procrastinating or pretending the situation does not exist, it urges the finding of one’s inner strength and refreshing self-esteem in a positive way, so the way becomes clear to deal with life’s many challenges and correct what needs correcting.  This can be summed up simply … once the mind is set to it and the heart is ready and willing; then remind yourself to address the issue and then . . . “LET GO OF IT”   “LET IT DIE or CHOOSE TO KILL IT OFF (figuratively, of course) . . . become thusly “FREE OF IT AND ITS INFLUENCE ON YOUR LIFE” . . . Lastly, continually remind yourself of your intentions until the change is occurring, as well as the darkness of it is going or gone. Indeed, that fearful stigma of the Death Card will then be erased as evident when one sees the light of the New ideas, concepts and personal plans becomes a NEW DAWN/BEGINNING for a NEW DAY . . . and a NEW YOU in so many unimaginable ways as symbolized in the STAR or SUN cards.
 Now, we have established the Death Card as a messenger – NOT the automatic harbinger of BAD NEWS or DEATH. But, that it can just as often be one bringing GOOD NEWS or OFFERING for a HEALING – that is, if we avoid the temptation to stare aghast at the dramatic imagery or immediately presume the very worst is at hand. Better to consider that it indicates that life has reached a “crossroads” and choices are required, regarding the balancing between the positive and negative aspects of whatever the situation that is being presented in a reading. Simple? Well, maybe a little, but that requires that the impact of Death needs to be scrutinized from every angle—not just one sporting shock and awe, alone. Remembering to refer to the Death Card as one of “TRANSITION or TRANSMUTATION” rather than being just the epitome of DEATH in all its many forms; the ending of things that are outdated, used up and no longer have any validity to the querent and then leaving it at that. As a transition/transmutation, there is a suggestion that there is HOPE or healing to the situation rather than a slam-dunk drastic end, as if one just drove headlong into a wall and shattered their stubbornness beyond repair. While a querent may be embroiled in any of the situations previously listed (or a variation thereof), but if the interpretation of the Death Card were to simply validate the direness and/or suggest the querent must continue wallowing in the same depression or pain, there would be no point to having a reading. If the message of the Death Card merely showed the querent they were having negative problems and feelings of hopelessness, but it was left there; well there would be no point in having a reading, in the first place. Instead, the truth of the direness of a situation is evident, but the “other side of the Death Card-coin” is what is more important—essentially the interpretation should focus more on the latter aspect of the card, which give it more validation than anything else. Instead of leaving the dark and fearful side of the card-coin face up on the tabletop, wisdom flips it over, focusing then on the hope presented by its lighter/positive side and the reminder that the Death ends the problems and returns to center stage the probabilities for healing and hopefulness of any of the fear or darkness. That transitional aspect of the dramatic Death Card is just as importantly one of realizing that the darkness of the figure of Death can be imagined flipped over, changing its costuming from black to white robes and its horse from white to a shiny black steed. Think for a moment of that possibility . . . Would the “other side of this coin” be partially or totally reversed; the negativity of the situation, symbolized with black then become the positivity of the situation, costumed then in white robes? Might the skeleton flesh out, shifting to a more humanly warm attitude toward things? Might the horse turn black, but glisten as an onyx gem of positivity and protection? Would this reversal shift from a warning to a suggestion to heal the attitude of self-loathing, weakness or lousy self-esteem that could have caused the problem to strengthen its hold on the heart? Might he ride forth with saddlebags filled like a doctor’s bag, packed with all manner of healing instruments and measures—or would they be tossed alongside the road and the rider return to skulking in alignment with the darkness, fear and self-hate; as a quick lunch to devour what is left of the self-esteem and faith in one’s abilities, etc. Would he go galloping into the Dawn to meld happily into the sunrise or melt sullenly back toward the darkness?

I will next examine the Death Card’s complexity expanding its application based on other areas of life that may or may not be so obvious:

• PHYSICAL:  Since the Death Card has been examined as it applies to many life-threatening situations, including the occasion it and its supporting cards suggest a potential for physical demise of someone. The other areas that related to the physical aspect of the card would be mundane or material situations that have the greater chance of causing harm or chaos in life: i.e., any life situation that has reached a critical point such as -- health or healing, abusive situations, negative marital problems or divorce, dubious partnerships, indulging in illegal activities, harmful actions toward the self or others, familial problems, real estate discrepancies, dangerous tasks, hobbies or employment, suicidal or self-abusive tendencies, dangerous excursions or a warning of troubled waters ahead and anything that may have the potential of bodily or physical harm. Certainly, the Death Card can relate to matters of finances, business endeavors or marital issues, but usually will show up when such matters have become bad or have the potential of the stress reaching dire/dangerous levels and there is a chance for real trouble that will require intervention or assistance by others, such as professionals in legal, health, financial or marital/family issues. There are usually other cards that indicate the area involved, which can be Wands for business or legalities, Cups for marital or family issues, Pentacles for financial or real estate/property things and Swords for mental, ideas, communication problems, as examples that support or define and enhance the mundane/physical aspects presented by the reading and especially the Death Card focusing on the issue or task, at hand. All-in-all, the Death Card may be interpreted as a warning and some people will declare they do NOT want to hear anything bad, refute there is a problem or demand avoidance of any touchy subject, others just sit in utter denial with arms crossed as a blockade against hearing what they would rather not face. That is fine, but I always remind them of the wisdom in listening to the Death Card’s warning, just because – being forewarned is forearmed.
• EMOTIONAL:  Basic human emotions always emerge from deep within and rear semi-ugly heads at the advent of pain or trouble.  Some people become emotional wrecks at the slightest hint of change to their normal world; others are barely scathed, at all. Of course, we all intend to be aspiring to greater things, learning or spiritual enlightenment/growth. We do so by attending to things of the Heart (Chakra or the Seat of Emotions). When life digs itself a deep rut and becomes disrupted by something out of the blue that threatens well-being of the heart-centered mundane world, they better not have become immune to the effects so much they cannot comprehend changing it. Trouble is like a mangy cur-dog, hounding your every move and constantly nipping at your heels with every step until you relent and stop to feed it or do its bidding—a vicious cycle or self-dug ditch (rut) in which one repeats the same mistakes and makes the same erroneous sort of decisions, unable to notice how they are acting as the needle on a broken record (an analogy for those “young” enough to remember when tiny metal needles fit into the arm of a record player, transferring music out of the minute grooves cut into large black vinyl disks (records). The Death Card can be like the uninvited house guest with the dirtiest, vilest habits, but we have no courage to kick them out because we convince ourselves that it would be bad manners or there we are obligated to them for some reason—all the while the situation gets worse by the day; and the Death Card continues to appear in readings until something changes and we get control of our emotions and realize we need to honor the self as much as others. Therefore, the Death Card can relate to things like changes to a life cycle, such as graduation, marriage, divorce, birth, age-related things like retirement, career change or about any life decision that requires consideration of the practicalities, but also the heart’s desire. Cyclical changes to a life can be welcomed eagerly or resentfully faced, but cannot be avoided for otherwise makes life a process of trudging through it methodically or stagnating in one place, convinced it’s the best for us and we are happy—that’s not to imply either are NOT okay as a life situation, but change is inevitable and should not come as a disagreeable figure of Death/ending to something, but a challenge that opens new doors and begins new cycles as the Death Card offers the new dawn—and so the term “transition” is befitting of the emotional aspects related to the appearance of this card; more than not. Because the Death Card is the major indicator of when a life cycle is undergoing completion as something pends replacement, there also may be a wave of soul growth accompanying the process. It is such times that may wash away old weaknesses, thoughts of denial or stubborn resistance, and fear – all of which obscure the truth of the changes and blurs the fact the heart (emotions) is the master of love, peace, compassion and self-assurance. Thus, I reiterate how the Death Card can bring a new comprehension of what is changing and why, as well awaken to the fact that CHANGE is NOT the ENEMY, but the MEANS of conquering darkness, fear and any emotional struggle. The full intention behind this card is in seeking the key to the door, which frees us from a place of fear or depression and opens it to a place of . . . INSPIRATION.  
• ELEMENTAL:  Earth is the basic element. Is that on which the Grim Reaper of the death card so nonchalantly trots. The practice of magic, earth represents the physical, material world, financial matters and then which we manifest in our daily lives; both necessary and the frivolous. The indication here is that all fall prey to being shattered and broken beneath the hooves of the reaper's horse and cannot forever duck the swing of his powerful scythe, which so indiscriminately harvests souls or all manner of material goods. Partially burned in the mud are figures representing the physical realm and indicate how all earthly endeavors must return to ashes/earth. Losing to the temptations of the world thus dismembers one from the higher realm of spirit; allowing only the seeking of the material world and its treasures rather than the truth and a soul’s true purpose. The Death Card emphasizes how all eventually face the elemental landscape in its darkest forms until they learn to shine a light onto the path toward higher goals. Thus, the Death Card reveals its lighter side and suggests that change will bring a better more positive cycle if we will or can accept it—or at least work toward owning it.  Among the aspects of this section are the four elements as they are applicable to the Death Card and its demand for change, enlightenment and new awareness:  EARTH—already discussed as it applies to the grounding of events of a life and the implication of the artwork that earthly matters can tear us apart, bury us under foot of issues that seem impossible to comprehend or change and swallow the soul into darkness and depression as a result of our ills, woes and frustrations. WATER—the figure of Death be the Ferryman taking departed souls across the River Styx, symbolic of water as emotions and the equalizer of all; the Cups of the Tarot as in the cup running over with love, hope, peace as the ideals for which all strive to have in their life and thus the highest form is unconditional love. This element is applicable to human strength and the truth is that the Death Card cannot take more than its due . . . or what we are willing to give. FIRE—this is the imagery of construction of the old, fiery energy required to kick things into forward gear if they are destroying mind, body or heart in some way; destroy by flames the old and outdated (figuratively) and presents ways what has been apparently laid waste, can then be rebuilt/renewed. A perfect example of how FIRE is the extreme healer is in a forest fire started by the strike of lightning from above (God-sent inspiration striking the mind) that turns a forest to ash—but, from those ashes, new sprouts follow with the next rain and demonstrate Nature’s ability to refresh, renew and flourish after the storm. The Death Card figure cannot render any worse destruction nor prevent the sunrise that shall reappear once its chaotic reign has completed the cycle.  All elements have positive and negative aspects – the other side of each coin – and yet, remain always in a state of balance unless human ego interferes in some way, i.e., the danger lies in allowing ego to take the reins of Death’s horse.

Therefore, when the Death Card appears in a reading, calmly take its message and remember there are two sides to every story—one that assesses the situation and attends to a battered self-esteem; the other that embraces the promise it offers for a new dawn/beginning or the end of a life cycle that has outlived its value to your life. Focus less on the current chaotic state of things and more on setting your sights on avoiding the quicksand at your feet and how you can leap over and out of this moment to embrace a change for the better—even if there are no leaps possible; then take a hop or two or slow and steady steps toward your revised goals. Oh, indeed, GO ON . . . EMBRACE CHANGE as the long-awaited champion, waving a banner painted with a NEW DAY . . . and a NEW YOU!

     I’ve been writing about Egyptian things for some time this year and so thought I’d turn the page for this blog, which will also be divided into parts to make reading it easier in this format. I decided to address the MYSTERIOUS TAROT, taking a card from the Major Arcana (first 22 cards in the deck) to examine in depth. Because this format is rather long, I will present the card in 2 or 3 parts, beginning with Part 1 Introduction to the DEATH Card—the one that elicits the most concern when it appears before the eyes of a client; and sometimes startles the reader even whose skill knows its truth. Inspiration to begin a deeper investigate of the Tarot occurred as part of the work for my Master Certification and a question from a startled client upon seeing the Death Card in her reading. The other day, while clearing out some old Halloween/Samhain Decorations, this topic popped up again. Indeed, all oddly coupled things, but – as they say – there are NO coincidences and inspiration took root. I think this could become a series of similar studies of other oft-misunderstood Major Arcana cards—that is, if I get feedback that my readers would like to wander through some of the cards from the world of the Tarot.
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​DEATH – THE CARD OF DARKNESS AND FEAR (Part 1)

     I was inspired to address the Death Card first for it almost always elicits a gasp or two or three from clients whenever it appears in a reading. Regardless how quickly I explain the name is shocking, but it’s unlikely to indicate physical death pending in their lives, their worry and fear of it can sometimes be palpable. But, that’s understandable for as human beings we are all subject to fear on some level when the word “DEATH” is spoken in our regard or that of our loved ones . . . (Cue special effects guy to play the “overly dramatic music in crescendo and then the blood-curdling screams and uncanny growling, grunting or the deep vocalized—“GET OUT”) Certainly, the imagery of this card is the master at causing that “Deer in the Headlights” reaction, but it need NOT be when one understands the truth of and meaning of this dark card. Even the number assigned to this card is enough to add to our discomfort, especially if one is superstitious; even a little—The Key Card Number of Death is XIII (#13); a number with its own negative connotations.

     Because Tarot interpretation is based both on the imagery, as well as its zodiacal and numerological relationships, this one becomes darker when one considers all that has been written on the number thirteen; including that it was the Friday 13th when the Knights Templar were executed and so the superstition of Friday, the 13th began as a day suspect of evil doings. However, the number 13 was not seen by the ancients as evil or negative; rather the completion – such as Jesus as the 13th apostle of the 12 known; some cultures have a central 13th sign in the zodiac, etc. (Cue your sigh of relief) Therefore, take notice:  There are NO utterly bad tarot cards; ONLY negative-thinking readers or clients. And, with that said, let’s begin this walk through the shadows in the valley of the world as designed by and designated to the DEATH Card. Rather than succumb to any misgivings, fear or emulate some “B” horror flick where the heroine always stumbles as they run from the monster and falls to become easy prey or despite the scary music telling her otherwise, she goes into the dark, cobwebbed and murky basement where it waits; we will take a torch or flashlight to explore the darkness of misunderstanding that is this card . . . and thus, be able to SEE what is really there.

     Keep in mind, that every Tarot Card – possibly the proof that ancient Egypt was the origination of the tarot in its earliest forms; tiles believed to have been entrusted to the Moorish Gypsies where they were distributed and changed over the years to what we recognized in the thousands of artistic renditions today – has a balance of meanings that related to negative and/or positive aspects. The goal here will be to replace old opinions or misgivings with positive energy as applicable to that balance of aspects and whether the card is seen in a plus or minus connotation, relating to whether it falls upright or upside-down in a reading for those readers who literally read them as they fall.
     
     Most tarot decks depict the Death Card with the image of the Grim Reaper in various positions or poses with costuming based on that deck and its artistic design. Usually there is no emotion shown on the reaper’s face for he comes emotionless, irrespective of the mortal whim or desire; other decks his face is completely hidden inside a dark cowl or over-sized hood so there is an even more dire sense to his intentions. Regardless of the guise in which the figure of Death chooses, eventually he makes a first appearance in our life; always unexpectedly and oblivious to our current situation, plans or desires. I will be using the Rider-Waite Tarot Deck for illustration in this writing (see its example of Death above) for it is the deck upon which most every other deck is based and appears clearly or somewhat obscured within the variations in the artwork; but the meanings of all cards of the Tarot are general and thus universal regardless of the connotations used in their varied imagery. In the R-W deck, the figure of Death is a skeletal fellow, astride a white horse (representing power, movement, strength and the creative feminine) that is trampling humankind and religion (depicted as a Pope) beneath its hooves. Overhead is a dark banner waving the symbol of purity – a white rose – to announce death’s arrival; and over the horizon beyond is a colorful sunrise, symbolic of a promise of a better tomorrow once the dark, stormy skies have cleared. There are severed limbs and pieces of bodies trampled into the earth (i.e., dust-to-dust), representing that drastic change severs parts of the whole person and destroys indiscriminately. The ego that is unwilling to realize that earthly endeavors are subject to Death’s ride is subject to isolation, loss and perhaps a form of death. However, the wise ones who focuses on their soul’s purpose are not caught unaware; observing the need to change and embrace it before Death tramples all asunder. Simply put, Death demonstrates loss, endings, completion of the status quo, drastic changes – both good and bad – and a transition from the known way of living into something completely new and different; likely also much better than before. One only must allow change to occur, essentially riding on the back of Death’s mount, to remain whole and relatively unscathed by it all.
     
     DEATH – The word by itself can send chills up and down the spine. Just the sight of the Death Card in a reading usually elicits a gasp or two or in the least, a single catch of the breath and roll of the eyes for the client. Among my diverse collection of Tarot decks, the majority print the word “DEATH” predominately at the top of the card and the Roman Number XIII at the bottom; the coloration of the card is often dreary tones of black, brown, darkest hues of blue and the imagery bleak clearly creating a dramatic sense of pending doom at first glance. Its spooky imagery can appear traumatic when it lies amidst the other cards in a reading, but always the reader must consider those surrounding cards with as much consideration as the dark Death card; not singling it out or allowing it to remain as if standing alone. In that way, it becomes evident quickly that there is NO “harbinger of physical death” present on the table before us. Personally, I prefer the decks that deal with this card by printing a word such as – “TRANSITION” – and I prefer them for the less frightfully stark artwork, which lends a calmer assumption of what is coming. There are rare times when a pending death is indicated, but only when the surrounding cards lend a hand in the whole of such an implication. Usually, this card indicates that some situation in life has outlived usefulness or become so stagnant that its ending has become imperative and immediate. Of course, the card seldom if ever is referring to a stormy Sunday School picnic, but to see it only in the darkest light cannot assist the client in comprehending the what or why of such a necessary major change coming their way.

     The truth in the Tarot Death Card is one that offers stark reality and hope despite the bleak hues in the artwork. We need to focus on the flag with its purity depicted by the white rose as it expresses the truth of spirit in all phases of life. That faith is often all that we can hold onto. The skeleton is the representative of the bare bones of all truth. If we look at that image with eyes of fear, all we know is the suggestion that the skeleton is all that is left after physical death. As we look at that dark imagery with eyes of fear, we should realize that the skeleton instead is what supports everything that we are. Remember, too, that the common hue of this card, black, is illuminated by promise and black is the absence of color; often considered to represent all things evil and negativity. It is also the non-color of the VOID from which all life is created.
Ideally, each person’s goal should be to make wise choices, but that isn’t as easy as it sounds. It is never easy when faced with a serious illness, death of a loved one, ending/loss of a business or any other stressful crisis in life. On 9/11, this was thrust into our lives in ways few could ever imagine possible and it has not gone away no matter how hard people want. There were those who left for work that fateful day and were literally disintegrated within hours of sitting down at their daily routine. People across the country were affected in ways that they could never have predicted or comprehended before that day. Yet, for all the fear and horror that was released into the world, there are an equal number and more stories of courage and positive energy exerted, as well. Similarly, the trampled souls of the Death Card are alive and capable to pull together the scattered parts of their lives and change devastation into renewed strength in some incredible ways. The key is transformation – Death of the old and the making of a way for new to enter.
 
     We can be surrounded by stress, complacency, fear and trouble and so submit to this energy – or we can choose to change and embrace what comes as a blessing, be it in disguise or some deviously intriguing costume. See reality and truth, which hides behind the mask. The death of the old way is always difficult whether we have expected it or not. Our perceptions either allow us to find the silver lining within the storm clouds or an ominous hurricane approaching that will devastate our life totally. The Death Card grim reaper is oblivious to the feelings or plans of those he tramples underfoot; so, it is up to us to focus our energy and ride out the storm and then seek truth within the situation for it is then that the situation can be healed, issues resolved, or structure rebuilt anew and stronger than before. Healing the issues that created the situation in the first place is rarely easy; balance and meditation become valuable tools during any stressful problematic situation. When the Death Card falls in a reading, it represents a situation that needs to end and may require the reaper’s scythe to slash it from our life with the most extreme effort and energy well focused. On the other hand, the brighter future as represented by the rainbow or the sunrise in the background of the tarot card, reminds us that hope is not lost and becomes available after the old ways, morals, beliefs, perceptions or states of mind have essentially died. However, if we resist such endings or changes and cannot accept subsequent changes to our lives, our energy becomes bogged down and clogged from its healthy flow in the muck of negative thinking; little or no progress toward a positive outcome can thus be made. It is true that the Death Card is not all peaches and cream, but it doesn’t have to over-whelm or over-power a reading with negativity, either.

     Of course, there are extremely rare instances when interpreting a reading in which the Death Card appeared when an actual physical death is evident. In such cases, it is usually accompanied by several other supporting cards of which include cards such as the Nine (9) or Ten (10) of Swords, among others that can have a more negative connotation in certain instances. I’m aware of occasions when the querant did meet with their demise following the reading; having been ill with cancer or had an automobile accident. Such direct incidents are extremely rare and usually the reader never knows the outcome of their reading so there would be no way to know this had occurred. However, I have experienced readings in which the Death Card and its companion cards pointed to a pending serious condition or the likely hood of a physical death and the querant explained their loved one was in a bad way. Situations such as the querant or someone they know might later commit suicide or be murdered are even rarer, buy it is feasible to “see” something of that nature in the Tarot if the reader is open to do so--BUT THIS IS EXTREMELY RARE! Let me say that readers must obey the laws of their State and I believe most or all in the US and Canada have determined it illegal to report any pending death to their client. Both morally and personally, as a professional reader, I adhere to those laws and consider such messages both morally and personally unethical.

     That is not a cop-out – in case you are wondering – but consider the responsibility if such a reading were to be given or possibly mistakenly? Considering the devastation physically or mentally that could ensue, it is never easy to lead the reading into questions that hopefully encourage the querent to get professional help; such as: “Have you been to your doctor recently?” “Have you changed something in your life that your instincts are telling you otherwise? “Have you had any pain or problems that you think questionable? “Do you have any medical tests pending and if not, are you overdue for a checkup? Something like that usually covers the law and ethics and gets the message across without causing resistance in the client so they will refuse to seek professional help, at all.

     The most important aspect of the Tarot – inclusive of the Death Card and all its companions – to remember is that it is not an absolute; end-all for answers, but purely a tool for the reader’s intuitive, psychic or clairvoyant abilities to speak to or answer the questions of your client/querent. It is necessary for the reader to be cautious with how the message is delivered, making the interpretation of their cards as clear and concise as possible so there can be few if any misunderstanding (The reason I chose to record my sessions). If both reader and client understand that the tarot is merely a guide for their life, both get the most out of it. Also, I should mention that most readers do post a necessary legal disclaimer of both US and Canadian Law – “Readings are for entertainment purposes only”. I feel that with honesty, truthfulness and compassion atop my list of personal ethics, it allows my clients to enjoy and learn from their sessions. Many readers I know will exercise their Free Will and ask that their guides NEVER show physical death in a reading. I agree to a point. I had a reading prior to being diagnosed with the almost always deadly Multiple Myeloma (1997) and have always wondered if that reader had chosen to deny “seeing” pending or possible death situations or just missed the energy imprint, altogether. Not that it matters now, and I do not mean to imply the reader was bad, just that I can only respect that he had an ethical dilemma or chose not to mention it for a personal reason—or yes just missed it entirely – either way, it has caused me to feel there are certain situations when warning would be appropriate; albeit indirectly given.
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     And so . . . this is part 1 – ending; Next month, I shall go into the deeper aspects of the Death Card as it applies to the Tarot and Life.