While in Sao Paulo, I did a bunch of Tarot readings. I did five in a row that hit on all cylinders, just dead-on stuff: “You’re in a legal conflict with a man who has disappointed you, and you’re involved in athletics” were my first words to a woman who then revealed she was a gym teacher in the midst of a divorce.
Then P. comes in and I read the first cards.
“No” she says.
I read the next cards.
“Not at all, I just don’t relate to that.”
Next cards.
“In fact,” she says, “It’s the opposite.”
You get that fear in the pit of your stomach. Every reader knows that fear. I never doubt I’m good; I always have those killer gym teacher readings when I have moments of wondering, but sometimes, everything just stops working, and it’s pit of the stomach time.
I took a deep breath, let go of the fear, breathed back in the knowledge that I was in the right place, at the right time, saying the right thing.
“This isn’t working” I said, washing the layout and pulling in all the cards.
“It never works for me” she said (through Lulu, who was translating). “I’ve had readings before and this is what happens.”
Ah! This tells me something. This is about connection.
“Listen. We’re going to do this. Look in my eyes and stay with me. Don’t look at Lulu; she can translate without seeing your face. Stay with me.”
I shuffle the cards without breaking eye contact, and fan them out on the table.
“Now let’s stay in contact here.” I place my hands gently over hers, and ask her to pick a card from the fan. I read the card.
“Yes.”
We do it again. Eye contact. Hand contact. Slowly pick a card. Read it.
“Yes, that’s true.”
Six cards that way. Six isn’t a lot for a reading, but the process was slow. And powerful.
“That’s all we’re reading” I say. “You’ve broken through. There was a wall, but we broke it down together. You never again have to say that readings don’t work for you. You can always break this wall.”
We hugged. It was…beautiful. One of the highlights of my trip.
Obrigada, P.
(Cross-posted at my home-sweet-home blog.)
