Bad idea. Bad idea.
You shouldn't read when you're almost falling flat on your face, but that is not the reason why I considered that night a cartomantic disaster. Nope. The problem is that none of them had actual questions. They all wanted to know about their love lives, of course, but... there was no intention behind their enquiries. In fact, they would copy the question of the last person, because there was nothing they really wanted to know about.
A long time ago I wrote a post about the importance of intention when doing card readings. When you approach the cards with a vague, mildly unimportant question, the cards don't give your their best. They give you equally vague, and sometimes rather unimportant answers.
That's what happened. There I was, sitting on an old mattress and frying my surviving brain cells in a pitiful attempt to give them meaningful readings. My eyeballs were about to pop out of my skull due to an insidious headache that began to spread when I realised the next hour would be dedicated to "wot's comin' up in my love life?" sort of questions. And not only that. When the answer appeared vague, and I was having a bit of a hard time trying to pinpoint exactly which aspect of their love lives the cards were focusing on, I could feel that aura of disappointment growing quite thick around me.
Mea culpa. I shouldn't agree to read when I'm nearly at the melting point in mental fatigue.
When I got home at 2 am, I was so exhausted that my mind actually felt empty. This is serious coming from a person whose mind is usually rushing at 120 mph.
No, don't turn on your (virtual) heels. Not yet. There is a purpose behind this post.
Before I fell into 5 hours of blissful oblivion, I took my poor card out of their bag. They looked dead. I swear to you, I never had the impression that my cards had been drained of all energy. But that night they were. They felt dirty, sticky, utterly old and forlorn. Not that I ever treated my decks like something sacrosanct – I like it when people shuffle the cards, I want them to be used and touched. I don't mind when they get dirty or worn. But they always had that glow... that subtle vibration. It reassured me that despite the cards' well-loved state, spiritually speaking they were clean and brimming with energy.
But not that night. No, they were dead and I felt so sorry for them, and for myself. And I made this promise: I will never read again for people who don't care about it.
The truth is that I felt a bit exploited. I love to look at card reading under a humorous light and no, I don't believe that the fabric of space and time will unravel if the cards are not respected. But divination is what I do and I put a helluva effort into it. And I just realised that when people come and ask for a reading just because they found no better way to waste their time, they end up sucking the marrow from my very bones – and from my very cards.
Why? Because they put no effort in it. They don't care about the answer, they are being entertained. But in spite of my showman antics in real life, I'm not an entertainer when my cards are on the table. I want to give people my best. I want to help them, to give them information so they can climb the stairways to heaven or pick the highway to hell if they fancy it.
Reading cards can be fun, but fun is just part of it. A reading is an exchange. It's not just about me, looking at funny pictures and coming up with marvellous things. If the sitters are not there with me, if they are not invested in their own question, the magic is lost. I can read in a pub packed with people chatting, getting hammered and watching football, as long as the querent is sincerely interested in what we are doing.
The situation was so dire that I did a small cleansing ritual last night for my deck (and I seldom do rituals). I smudged it and put it in a box with kosher salt, and will keep it there until the New Moon. I covered the box with a dark fabric, and now my deck sleeps.
From now on I'll only do readings for people who want to know something. Even if they can't phrase the question properly, as long as they have a yearning for answers or information, they are welcome at my table. As for the folks who think a card reading is a fine way to spend the next 30 minutes as any, I will have to gently decline their request (I don't charge for my readings yet, so I don't think I should feel forced to read).
The management at my work has a sign on their door that says: if you have nothing better to do, then don't do it here. I shall tweak this idea a bit, and make it personal rule of mine: if you don't want to know anything, then don't ask for a reading.
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