The Love of Tarot

Tarot Whispers; my first foray into metaphysical tools... Tarot became the first thing that held me as I began my inward trek. 
My intention set before each reading:What do I need to know today? 
I began with one deck, the simplest one, because starting small felt safer. Each draw went into a notebook—scribbled impressions, colors that felt heavy or light that day, the way a figure's eyes seemed to follow me. And in those early shuffles, something shifted. The cards didn't speak in predictions; they mirrored whatever was already stirring inside—tangled emotions, faint longings, the soft ache of not knowing what came next.

In the thick of confusion, I'd lay them out and watch the images settle like leaves on still water. A card would catch the light, and suddenly the knot in my chest loosened a little—not because it told me what to do, but because it let me see what was already there. Balance emerging from chaos, paths branching like roots under soil. No promises, just possibilities to sit with.

Over time more decks arrived, each one arriving like a new voice in the room. Some bold and bright, others shadowed and quiet. I'd open the chest and wait to see which one whispered first. The ritual of it became its own comfort—the creak of the lid, the cool slide of cards against skin, the small mystery of which voice would speak.
Intuition had crept in slowly, the way fog moves across water. I'd glance at a card and feel something before the book meanings arrived—a tug, a memory, a sudden warmth or chill. The layers built themselves: standard symbols underneath, then whatever my own heart added on top. It never felt like "mastering" anything—just listening a little closer each time.
These days Tarot comes and goes, like tides. Sometimes months pass without a draw, then a low day pulls me back, and there it is again—the gentle mirror, the quiet conversation with whatever part of me is still wondering.
No grand revelations. Just a companion in the hush.

~ in quiet inclination, ML