This post takes a closer look at The Star card in the Tarot, tracing its origins through medieval thought, astronomy, and spiritual symbolism. From ancient ideas of “ensouled” stars to today’s view of The Star as a card of guidance and renewal, this article explores how the meaning of The Star has shifted through time — and what it offers us now as a symbol of hope, healing, and inspiration.
Have you ever seen the movie Stardust? A star falls to earth, wicked witches chase her to steal her essence, and — improbably — Robert De Niro appears as a pirate captain who does the can-can in drag. It’s a wonderful, magical adult fairy tale.
Oddly enough, it also gives us a few clues about what The Star card in the Tarot is really about.
Origins of the Tarot
No one truly knows where the Tarot came from. Some intriguing hints suggest it may have roots in Egyptian Hermeticism, but there’s no hard evidence for that.
What we do know is that the first recorded Tarot decks appeared in the Italian royal courts around 1450. That makes it very old. And when we interpret the cards, we need to remember that the words and symbols meant something very different to people in the 1400s than they do to us now. The Star is a perfect example.
Modern Astronomy
When I was in the fifth grade, I spent nights in my parents’ backyard with a little Edmund Scientific telescope. Peering up at the moon and stars, I felt pure awe. Even then, though, I knew stars were “distant suns,” cousins of the one that kept me warm every day.
Today, with the Hubble telescope and modern astronomy, we know even more: trillions of stars scattered like glitter across the cosmos, being born and dying every day.
But in the 1400s, that understanding didn’t exist.
Ancient Skies and Ancient Eyes
Back then, knowledge of the stars was still rooted in Greek philosophy and medieval theology. To those eyes, stars were perfect, flawless jewels glowing in the heavens. Perfection, of course, meant divinity.
And to many, they weren’t just divine — they were alive. The “wandering stars” we now call planets were believed to move of their own volition. Movement meant life, and so they were seen as gods. That’s why their names — Mars, Venus, Jupiter — are still with us today.
Angelic Souls
In the 1400s, though, talk of pagan gods could get you burned at the stake. The compromise? Stars weren’t gods — they were “ensouled.” They were divine presences, not quite angels, but spiritual beings with enormous influence.
Astrology was deadly serious business. People genuinely believed their destinies were written in the stars. Contrary to Shakespeare’s later declaration, many in the Middle Ages were convinced their fate was determined above, not within.
Spirit Guides
So what does this mean for The Star card?
Most likely, it was originally meant to depict something very close to what we’d call a “spirit guide” today.
It’s not an angel — Tarot clearly marks angelic figures with wings. Instead, The Star suggests a subtler, quieter presence: a flow of spiritual influence and inspiration. The woman pours water upon the Earth and into the pool, symbolizing a constant infusion of energy, grace, and renewal into our lives.
The Star Today
Seen through modern eyes, The Star becomes both timeless and practical. It’s the card of healing, guidance, and hope. It invites us to trust that the universe has not abandoned us, that unseen currents are still at work.
When The Star appears in a reading, it’s like a deep breath after a storm. It reassures us that life always offers another chance to shine. Whether we call it divine presence, spirit guidance, or simply the return of hope, The Star is a promise that the light will return — and that we, too, are part of that light.
This post explores the deeper meaning of The Wheel of Fortune Tarot card and its connection to the Kybalion’s Principle of Rhythm. Life’s ups and downs are not random but part of a greater pattern that ultimately arcs toward the positive. Discover how to maintain perspective, rise above collective fear, and navigate dark times with love, compassion, and inner strength.
Let’s face it: we’re all a little exhausted from the constant insanity in the world right now. Whether you’re right, left, or middle-of-the-bird, it can feel like we’re adrift in a sea of chaos. When it goes on long enough, we start to lose our perspective and wonder if things will ever be “normal” again.
The message of The Wheel of Fortune is that everything passes and everything changes. The people who are at the top of the wheel right now will eventually be cast down, and the people who are at the bottom will eventually be elevated again.
Life is always cyclical — and this, too, shall pass.
The Principle of Rhythm
As I discussed in my book about The Kybalion, Western Occultism calls this The Principle of Rhythm. Here in Earth School, everything is rhythmic, and we only have to open our eyes to see it.
The tides come in and then go out.
The Moon waxes and then wanes.
Life explodes into the richness of spring and then recedes into the cold bleakness of winter.
Even great nations expand and then ultimately diminish into shadows of what they once were.
Everything rises and falls — and then rises again.
The same principle applies to human beings and all our affairs. We may have a string of incredibly good luck and then a period where we can’t buy a break. We may feel joyously happy for a while and then deeply depressed and anxious before we find our way back to happiness. We may fall deeply in love with someone and then end up despising them.
The Pendulum
The Kybalion envisions this process as the pendulum of a clock. It swings to the left, and then it swings to the right. And as the Principle of Rhythm states: “The swing to the left is always equal to the swing to the right.”
Modern science recognizes this in Newton’s Third Law of Motion: “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.”
When we think about human life, we can see it in terms of alternating energies. We may go through incredibly negative periods — full of stress, sadness, and anxiety — only to be followed by times of great happiness, when everything seems to go our way.
We may have moments where we’re counting quarters to buy groceries, followed by periods of real abundance when the cash flows in like a river.
The collective energy of politics follows the same law – a hard swing to the right is inevitably followed by a hard swing to the left. Hatred is eventually replaced by compassion.
But It’s Not a Closed System
If that was all there was to the rhythms of life, it would be a pretty depressing scenario. It would feel like: “Okay, things are going well right now, but I can’t really enjoy it because it’s all going to turn to shit again.”
If life were nothing but good/bad/good/bad — ad infinitum — it would be the spiritual equivalent of one step forward and one step back. We’d be living, but not progressing. Stuck in an endless cycle of growth and degeneration. A closed system where nothing ever really improves.
The good news is that, as The Kybalion puts it, “nature favors the positive.” Positive energy will always overcome negative energy. Love will always be stronger than hate. Compassion will always conquer cruelty.
Put another way: yes, as long as we’re in Earth School, the pendulum will appear to move equally in both directions. The truth, though, is that it’s always arcing just a little more toward the positive — whether we can see it or not.
So What Should We Do Right Now?
We are, right now, in dark times. As Asha Nayaswami says in this wonderful video, there is demonstrable evil in the world, and some humans are acting out their darkest impulses.
So how do we deal with that? What should we do right now?
The advice of The Kybalion is to “rise above it.” We can’t control the Principle of Rhythm or the turns of the Wheel of Fortune. Those are built into the fabric of Earth School. We don’t have to be swung by the pendulum, though. We can rise above it spiritually.
What we can control is our reaction to it. We can make a conscious effort not to be swept along in the collective energies of hatred, fear, and anger. We can maintain our own little bubbles of love and compassion and keep putting out as much positive energy as we can.
As Nayaswami says, that doesn’t mean we become spiritual doormats. It doesn’t mean we avoid confronting evil when we encounter it. It means we confront it with truth, with as much gentleness and understanding as we can muster, and that we refuse to join it in any way, shape, or form.
Perspective
Above all, it means maintaining perspective. Keep your eyes on the horizon, not just on the dirt road full of potholes. Remember that the pendulum will swing back in the opposite direction.
When it does, life will not only be positive again — it will be more positive. People will learn from these experiences, and they’ll use that knowledge to build a better world.
We just have to be patient… and wait for the wheel to turn.
In this candid exploration of The Hierophant Tarot card, I unpack both the light and shadow sides of spiritual authority. From my own rocky history with organized religion to cautionary tales of gurus gone wrong, this post looks at how The Hierophant can represent both guidance and manipulation. Learn how to spot the difference between a true spiritual teacher and a false one, and why, in the end, your own connection to the Sacred should always be at the center.
The Hierophant Card from the Waite Tarot Deck
I’ve always had a hostile feeling toward The Hierophant card. I was raised in the old, Latin, fundamentalist Catholic Church, and like many a recovering Catholic, the mere sight of a priest, pope, or prelate is enough to make me start hissing and spitting.
The image of the Hierophant sitting on his golden throne while tonsured followers bow before him is a perfect example of what I don’t like about organized religion. It’s not the Sacred Divine that’s central to the image—it’s the priest. The priest is the intermediary you have to go through to get to the Sacred.
This setup isn’t limited to Catholicism, of course. We find it in all religions. There are countless priests, rabbis, pastors, vicars, imams, and gurus who claim to hold the Key to the Kingdom—and you’ve got to drop them a little sugar before they’ll let you see it.
Religion Versus Spirituality
“I’m more spiritual than religious.”
We’ve all heard that one—so often, in fact, it’s become almost a cliché in New Age circles. In very simple terms, religions claim to hold knowledge from God/dess—usually in the form of a book or oral teachings—and you have to pay someone (priest, rabbi, guru, etc.) to interpret it for you.
Spirituality, on the other hand, involves direct knowledge of the Sacred through personal meditation, taking psychedelic drugs, or having some other form of mystical insight. You don’t need to pay anyone to interpret it because you’re the one having the experience.
In Tarot terms, that’s the polarity between The High Priestess and The Hierophant: The High Priestess represents direct spiritual experience, while The Hierophant represents organized religion.
The Good and the Bad Faces of The Hierophant
I recently had a discussion with another Tarot reader who seemed mildly shocked by my open hostility to The Hierophant. I could have jumped right in with thousands of examples: pedophile priests, pastors who are sleeping with members of their flocks, imams and rabbis calling for each other’s destruction.
Organized religion makes that all too easy, right? There really are a lot of creepy critters living under that rock.
But I held off and listened to her. Her point was that The Hierophant can also represent the spiritual teacher who is genuinely a spiritual teacher. Examples might include yoga teachers, meditation guides, or instructors at temples and spiritual retreats.
And yes, I suppose that includes priests and pastors who sincerely try to teach compassion, love, and charity.
There are plenty of people who don’t know how to even begin their spiritual journey, much less reach the destination. For them, spiritual “instructors” can be a vital step on the ladder.
Still… be very, very careful.
The Guru Who Got Conned by a Guru
I’ve long been a fan of Ram Dass. Maybe it’s because he was a fellow Aries and I understood him on that level. Maybe it was his gentle, self-deprecating humor. Maybe it was because about 80% of what he said was solid truth.
If I were to name a “good” spiritual instructor, he’d be near the top of my list.
This was years after receiving his own spiritual transmission from his original guru in India. Despite that grounding, he stumbled right into Joya’s web. Within months, he was having sex with her, convinced she was channeling Indian goddesses, and buying her gold bracelets and rings to “protect her energy.”
Even the “good” face of The Hierophant can turn bad. No one following these leaders woke up and thought, “Hey, I’d really like to find a guru who’s going to rip me off, sexually abuse me, and get me involved in criminal activities.”
Who’s in the Center?
We can actually learn a lot just by looking at The Hierophant card.
A. The pope figure is in the center. If the spiritual teaching you’re receiving revolves around a particular person—if that person’s existence is central to the teaching—you’ve got a false teacher.
B. The figure is being worshipped. Unless your teacher can levitate six feet into the air and float around the room, don’t buy the idea that there’s something “divine” about them. Even then, check for wires. Real teachers may have siddhis—extraordinary spiritual powers—but they don’t flaunt them, expect worship, or claim to be gods or goddesses.
C. The figure sits on a throne wearing a golden crown. There’s a reason people contrast the spiritual with the material. Real spiritual teachers don’t hoard treasures. As the old country song asked, “Would Jesus wear a Rolex?”
Um… no. He wouldn’t.
Teachers Are Stepping Stones
If you’re involved in a religious practice—whether Tibetan Buddhism or American Christianity—and you feel it’s making you a better person, more power to you.
But remember: we are meant to evolve beyond teachers. We absorb what we need from them and then move on to the next plateau. Organized religion can be a stepping stone at the start of the journey, but it’s not the destination.
We’re all born creative—but somewhere along the way, we forget. This post explores how to reconnect with your natural creative spark by nurturing it gently, playfully, and without judgment. Centered around the Empress Tarot card and the affirmation “Nurture Creativity,” this is a soulful guide to reclaiming your artistic joy, silencing your inner critics, and remembering who you really are.
We are born creative. That’s not poetry—it’s biology. The moment a child is given space, they draw in the dirt, sing nonsense songs, build forts out of chairs and blankets. As Picasso once said, “Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.”
Substitute the word artist with creative and the truth holds. It’s not just painters or poets or musicians who are creative—it’s gardeners and cooks and problem-solvers and dreamers. Creativity is our birthright. The trouble is, somewhere along the way, we forget that.
That’s why when I created the affirmation poster for The Empress, I chose the words: “Nurture Creativity.” She’s not just a symbol of beauty or abundance—she is the Earth Mother of inspiration itself. Her power doesn’t lie in striving or perfection. It lies in growing, tending, and trusting.
So What Happened?
If we’re born creative, why do we have to learn how to nurture it?
Because somewhere along the line, that light was dimmed.
It happens early—often by people who love us. Well-meaning parents may tell their children, “You can’t make a living as an artist,” or “You should do something more practical.” The message is subtle but clear: creativity is fine for hobbies, but not for life.
Teachers, too, can unwittingly squash that spark. A child who colors outside the lines, who doesn’t draw a tree the “right” way, or who writes odd little poems that don’t rhyme may be corrected, redirected, or even shamed. In the name of order, achievement, and conformity, imagination is often sacrificed.
Then there’s the school system itself, which tends to reward left-brain thinking—math, logic, memorization—while cutting funding for art, music, poetry, and play. Creative expression is often treated as an “extra” instead of a core part of human development.
Add to that a culture that idolizes productivity over process, perfection over exploration, and we end up with generations of adults who believe they are not creative simply because they were never given the space—or the encouragement—to grow.
But that creativity didn’t vanish. It just went quiet.
The First Step Back
The first step in being creative is remembering that you already are.
You were born that way. Creativity isn’t something you have to earn, or prove, or qualify for—it’s part of your wiring. Despite all the conditioning you received growing up, despite what teachers, parents, or critics may have said, your creativity never left you.
It’s not gone. It’s just… misplaced.
Think of it like losing your car keys. You don’t panic because they’ve stopped existing—you just start retracing your steps. You check your pockets, your coat, the kitchen counter, under the couch cushion. And eventually, you find them right where you left them. Creativity is like that: it’s tucked into your daydreams, your doodles, your half-finished journal entries and quiet longings. It’s waiting for you to remember.
You’re not starting from scratch. You’re simply coming home. Here are some simple steps to get you there.
Remember It’s Play
One of the most important things to remember as you reconnect with your creativity is this: it’s supposed to be fun.
You’re not going to get a work evaluation. You’re not going to be graded. There’s no report card, no gold star, and no panel of judges waiting to declare whether what you made is “good enough.” There’s no wrong way to write a poem or paint a picture or design your garden. If it feels good to your spirit, you’re doing it right.
If you catch yourself getting tense, self-critical, or frozen with perfectionism, think back to finger painting as a kid. You weren’t trying to master composition or worry about the light source. You were just joyfully smearing color across a page—ooey, gooey, and gloriously free. You didn’t second-guess whether it was “real art.” You just made it.
That’s the energy you want to invite back. Not pressure. Not performance. Just play.
Get rid of the critics in your head.
Those voices telling you you’re not good enough? They’re not the voice of truth. They’re the echo of someone you met along the way—probably in childhood. Maybe it’s creepy Mrs. Finglestermer, your second-grade teacher who chewed with her mouth open and told you you weren’t “doing it right.” Or maybe it’s your perfectionist father who criticized how you made your bed—so of course now you think your sketch isn’t good enough either.
Whatever form they take, those voices don’t belong in your creative space. Tell them to sit down and shut up.
Second: protect your creativity from external critics too.
Don’t ask people what they think of your poem, or your painting, or your dream, unless they’ve earned the right to hold it gently. If someone mocks or dismisses your work, they never get to see it again. Your creativity is like a small child—it deserves to feel safe, encouraged, and loved. You wouldn’t leave your kid with someone who belittles them. Don’t do that to your art either.
Create in sacred space. Share it only with the people who nurture, not the ones who nitpick. The Empress doesn’t seek approval—she creates because it is her nature.
Return to the Garden
The Empress reminds us that creativity doesn’t thrive under pressure—it blossoms in safety, in slowness, in love. When we nurture our creativity, we’re not just making art—we’re healing the part of ourselves that was told to be quiet, to be small, to be practical. We’re reclaiming the joy of making for its own sake. So whether it’s through paint or words or music or movement, give yourself the grace to grow. You don’t need permission. You only need space. And a little bit of faith.
You are already creative. You always have been. All that’s left is to remember.
This post explores the deeper meaning of The Star card in the Tarot and reflects on why so many of us struggle to shine our light in the world. Drawing on the work of Brené Brown, Tibetan Buddhism, and real-life dynamics like shame and codependency, I look at the messages—both cultural and personal—that lead us to dim our brilliance. The Star invites us to pour our gifts into the world, not for recognition, but because it’s who we truly are. This is a reflection on healing, self-worth, and the sacred courage it takes to be seen.• shine your light
This image is from one of my new Tarot Affirmation posters, now available on my Etsy art site. I really love how it turned out—but even more than that, I love the message it carries: Shine Your Light.
And yet, for so many of us, that’s easier said than done.
Instead of shining, we hide. Instead of pouring ourselves out like starlight, we dim, shrink, withdraw. Why is it so hard to be radiant in a world that so desperately needs our brilliance?
The Culture of Shame and the Fear of Being Seen
In one of her powerful TED Talks, Brené Brown speaks about the culture of shame we all live in. Even if you didn’t grow up in a dysfunctional family (and statistically, about 60% of us did), we’re still marinated in a society that constantly criticizes, compares, and belittles.
Maybe you brought home a report card with a B, and your parent asked, “Why didn’t you get an A?”
Maybe you’re in a job where meeting your performance goals doesn’t bring a sense of completion—it just earns you a fresh, even more demanding set.
Maybe you’ve internalized the billions of dollars spent by the beauty industry telling you that your face, your body, your age, or your hair simply aren’t good enough.
On social media, the message is constant: unless you’re being validated with likes and followers, you’re invisible.
Advertising tells you your house isn’t elegant enough, your car’s too old, your wardrobe outdated.
Even spirituality isn’t immune. We whisper to ourselves: I should be better. I should care more. I should meditate more. Pray more. Try harder.
Let’s face it: in this world, it’s all too easy to believe that we should be ashamed of simply being ourselves.
As Brown puts it, shame drives two powerful tapes in our heads:
1. You’re never good enough, and
2. Who do you think you are?
And because those tapes run deep, we begin to engineer our own smallness. We shrink ourselves to stay invisible—because visibility feels like a threat. We dim our light so no one will see just how “inadequate” we believe we are. And in doing so, we fail to shine.
Codependency and Dimming Our Own Lights
Sometimes, the reason we hide isn’t culture—it’s relationships.
Too many of us are caught in dynamics where one partner shines while the other fades into the background. It might be dressed up in the language of care or sacrifice, but the effect is the same: one person takes center stage, while the other erases themselves.
It could be a relationship with a narcissist, where one partner is expected to provide constant praise, attention, and emotional caretaking.
It could be a more obvious kind of abuse, where failing to meet someone else’s needs results in punishment, blame, or even violence.
It might even look noble—like staying small to “support” someone who is ill, unstable, or in need. But the underlying belief is this: there isn’t enough light to go around.
And so, we dim ourselves to make the other person shine.
We play down our accomplishments. We pretend we’re not that talented. We take the backseat in our own story. And we tell ourselves it’s virtuous.
But it’s not noble to disappear. It’s not compassionate to go dark.
We were meant to shine.
The Star Card and the Sacred Act of Sharing
The Star card in the Tarot is a card of healing—but it’s not just personal healing. It’s about reconnecting with the world by letting your own light flow into it.
In Tibetan Buddhism, there’s a teaching that each of us carries a radiant jewel inside. It may be buried under layers of dust or encased in stone, but it’s there—glimmering with our true nature. And our task in life is to uncover that jewel and offer it to the world.
That’s what the woman in The Star card is doing. She kneels beside the stream and pours out her water—not hoarding, not holding back. She gives freely to the land and to the flow of life itself.
She’s not asking for praise. She’s not trying to be impressive.
She’s just being who she is: a vessel of light.
And so are you.
You don’t shine for applause.
You don’t shine to prove anything.
You shine because it’s your nature.
And this world is thirsty for that kind of offering.
A Final Thought
You are not just a person. You are a sacred gift.
You are a hidden jewel.
You are starlight in human form.
Let yourself shine.
“Just the Tarot,” by Dan Adair – a kindle ebook available on Amazon
Today’s post offers a practical tarot reference chart for readers and practitioners, focusing on the influence of The Magician card when paired with each of the other Major Arcana cards. Whether upright or reversed, these pairings reveal powerful nuances about manifestation, power, focus, and intentional action. Ideal for deepening your tarot readings and understanding how The Magician works in tandem with archetypal energies throughout the deck.
The Magician Tarot Card – Magic and Manifestation
In the absence of a regular blog post for today, I would like to offer a chart detailing the influence of The Magician Tarot card when paired with the other cards of the Major Arcana. Please feel free to print this and use it for reference in your readings.
Or, if you’d prefer, you can download this by clicking here. Just click on the link and when it comes up go to your browser menu and click on PRINT.
The Magician + The Fool – Inspired action from spontaneous beginnings. Manifesting through instinct and openness. Reversed: Rash decisions, manipulative potential, lack of grounding.
The Magician + The High Priestess – Balanced mastery of outer action and inner knowing. Power guided by intuition. Reversed: Secrets manipulate outcomes; unclear motives under the surface.
The Magician + The Empress – Creative manifestation. Birthing beauty and abundance through conscious intent. Reversed: Over-controlling creativity, blocked expression, false appearances.
The Magician + The Emperor – Strategic manifestation with solid foundations. Power used with authority. Reversed: Control issues, misuse of power, over-managing outcomes.
The Magician + The Hierophant – Mastery aligned with tradition or spiritual systems. Teacher or ritual magician energy. Reversed: Manipulation under the guise of doctrine; rigidity or rebellion.
The Magician + The Lovers – Manifesting partnership or choice through alignment of will and desire. Reversed: Manipulative dynamics in relationships; choices clouded by illusion.
The Magician + The Chariot – Focused willpower brings success. Victory through deliberate action. Reversed: Scattered energy, ego-driven direction, force without alignment.
The Magician + Strength – Harnessing inner strength to empower manifestation. Quiet mastery. Reversed: Power games, coercion, or internal sabotage.
The Magician + The Hermit – Manifesting through inner wisdom and spiritual insight. Solitary mastery. Reversed: Isolation misused for manipulation; false guru energy.
The Magician + Wheel of Fortune – Intentional action within cycles of change. Turning fate through conscious will. Reversed: Manipulating chance; resistance to natural cycles.
The Magician + Justice – Creating balance through skillful choices. Ethical manifestation. Reversed: Twisting truth, unfair dealings, imbalance created through intent.
The Magician + The Hanged Man – Power in surrender. Shifting perspectives leads to deeper manifestation. Reversed: Stagnation disguised as action; martyrdom as manipulation.
The Magician + Death – Transformation through focused intent. Shedding the old to create anew. Reversed: Resisting transformation; clinging to control in times of change.
The Magician + Temperance – Alchemical mastery. Harmonizing elements to create lasting magic. Reversed: Imbalance, forced outcomes, or spiritual bypassing.
The Magician + The Devil – Mastery misused; power becomes entrapment. Illusion of control. Reversed: Breaking free of manipulation or unhealthy control dynamics.
The Magician + The Tower – Radical awakening through dismantled illusions. Creation from chaos. Reversed: Trying to control a collapse; resisting necessary upheaval.
The Magician + The Star – Inspired manifestation aligned with hope and higher vision. Reversed: False promises, disillusioned effort, manipulation of ideals.
The Magician + The Moon – Magical work through dreams, symbols, and hidden realms. Reversed: Deceptive illusions, manipulation through fear or confusion.
The Magician + The Sun – Empowered creation, joyful manifestation, clarity in action. Reversed: Ego-driven displays, illusion of success, superficial charm.
The Magician + Judgement – Conscious rebirth, purpose-driven action, manifesting a new self. Reversed: Manipulating redemption; resisting accountability.
The Magician + The World – Complete mastery and fulfillment. Manifesting global or life-level success. Reversed: Incomplete projects, scattered focus, illusion of wholeness.
“Just the Tarot,” by Dan Adair – A kindle ebook available on Amazon
I’ve just released a revised edition of my book, “Just the Tarot” — newly formatted for Kindle, with added quick-reference charts and a fresh cover. In the process of revisiting the material, I found myself reflecting on Tarot as a powerful “synchronicity machine” — a simple but profound way to communicate with the Universe. This post is part update, part spiritual meditation, and part love letter to what Tarot can really do.
I just finished revising and publishing the new edition of my e-book, Just the Tarot, and, boy, THAT was a bitch. After weeks and weeks of writing and formatting, my immediate reaction is, “I’m so happy with how this turned out,” and also, “I’d rather chew on a cactus than do that again.”
There was also a little ambiguity about the content itself. I wrote the original edition during one of the most intense periods of my life. My life partner had just died, I was about an inch away from bankruptcy, and my entire world was crumbling around me.
In Tarot parlance: The Tower and Death.
During periods like that, we’re pulling in a LOT of spiritual assistance and living in heavy archetypes, so I was very pleased with the actual content. As I re-read it, I realized that I’d been channeling some pretty potent insights on the card definitions and really didn’t want to change much at all.
In addition to the longer, more expansive interpretations, I’ve added some quick reference charts for all 78 cards with one- or two-sentence definitions for upright and reversed meanings. I also threw in a couple more layouts, tweaked the writing here and there, and painted a spiffy new cover for the book.
So it remains pretty much what I set out to do when I wrote it eight years ago. It’s a basic, totally dependable, sturdy little book that continues to be a great reference for both new and more experienced readers. No metaphysics. No wild theories about what the Tarot really means. No decoding secret methods or unlocking hidden mystical maps.
Just a book that says:
“If you want to read Tarot cards, this is how you do it, and this is what the cards mean.”
You know… Just the Tarot.
Reflections on the Tarot
As I did the re-write, I inevitably pondered a bit on WHY we read Tarot cards. When we sit down and lay out a reading, what is it that we’re actually looking for?
When we’re young, of course, the two main topics are love and money.
Well… love, money, and sex.
When you’re reading the cards for anyone under 40, the questions usually sound something like:
• Does he/she find me attractive?
• Should we go out on another date?
• Should I go to bed with him/her?
• Should we move in together?
• Is he/she cheating on me?
And in the second category:
• I really hate my job. Should I look for another one?
• Am I going to get promoted?
• How can I make more money?
• Can I afford that new car?
• Should I go back to school?
In other words, the questions are mainly predictive. As in: What’s going to happen? Am I going to like it? And, by the way, am I going to get laid?
That’s where most of us start out in our Tarot adventure.
Synchronicity and Tarot
As the many years of reading Tarot have passed, though, I’ve come to realize that the most important part of a Tarot reading is synchronicity.
I once read a brilliant line in a Tarot forum that stuck with me:
“The Tarot is a synchronicity machine.”
Every time we sit down to do a reading, we engage the field of synchronicity.
I’m not going to get into a long rap here about synchronicity (though if you’re curious, check out my earlier post, Finding Meaning with Synchronicity). The main point I want to make is this:
WHEN WE TALK TO THE UNIVERSE, THE UNIVERSE TALKS BACK.
And that’s actually a big, fat deal.
We’re in a sort of post-religion, post-scientific-revolution phase of humanity. A lot of us have rejected the old, superstitious, patriarchal, hate-based formal religions. Those beliefs have been replaced by the scientific model, which basically says, “There are no gods or goddesses, no angels, no spirit guides, and certainly no magic.”
Which has left a great big hole in our hearts.
It’s left us feeling alone and isolated in what science tells us is essentially a dead universe.
But when we engage with the synchronistic field, the Universe starts giving us answers to our questions. We might ask, “What should I do about my job?” — and suddenly we’ve got clues dropping out of nowhere.
Maybe we get a surprise promotion.
Maybe the jobs section of the newspaper blows down the street and wraps around our ankles.
Maybe a friend opens a new business and hires us on the spot.
And underneath all of that is a HUGE shift away from the old idea of being all alone in a cold, impersonal cosmos. Suddenly we realize that not only is the Universe alive — it actually cares about us and is helping us. Personally.
The whole damn Universe cares about little old you and me.
What a trip!
If you scroll through the internet for a bit, you’ll find that there’s a massive industry dedicated to helping people reach that exact point — spiritually and psychologically. Books, videos, workshops, seminars — all trying to teach people how to establish a relationship with the Universe, their spirit guides, their angels.
But really?
All we need to do is pick up a deck of Tarot cards, ask a question, and lay out a reading.
It’s that simple.
You don’t have to be a psychic.
You don’t have to meditate for years.
You don’t need to channel, astral travel, or decode ancient texts.
Just pick up the cards, ask a question — and the Universe will talk back to you.
Yes, YOU.
Just the Tarot, By Dan Adair – a kindle ebook available on Amazon.
What if the worst moments of your life are also doorways to spiritual transformation? This post explores how synchronicity often emerges during personal crisis—revealing unseen help, guidance, and even grace. Through the lens of The Tower tarot card and Jungian psychology, discover how collapse can lead to awakening.
The Lightning Struck Tower
The Bright Side of Synchronicity
New Age thought frequently recognizes synchronicity as something akin to the flow state—a kind of spiritual alignment where life feels effortless. Everything clicks. We meet the right people at the right time, stumble onto unexpected opportunities, and experience a wave of meaningful coincidences that seem to confirm we’re on the right path. It’s a feeling of being “in the zone,” as though the universe is subtly rearranging itself to support our intentions.
In these moments, synchronicity feels like a gift. A sign that we’re in harmony with some larger intelligence or natural rhythm. And it’s tempting to think that this is what synchronicity is supposed to feel like: smooth, supportive, and sweet.
But that’s only one face of it.
Synchronicity can also appear during the darkest, most desperate moments of our lives—when nothing is flowing, when everything has broken down, and when we feel completely alone.
And yet… it shows up.
Synchronicity in the Darkness
I learned that synchronicity doesn’t only come when life is smooth. In fact, it can erupt—like lightning from a clear sky—when everything is falling apart.
A few years ago, after the loss of my life partner, I found myself in deep emotional and financial trouble. Her children challenged the probate and stripped the bank accounts. I was in devastating grief, virtually penniless, and desperately needed to sell the house we had shared.
And then the pandemic hit. Real estate offices closed indefinitely, and we were all quarantined for months.
I was suicidally depressed and felt completely hopeless. But in the midst of all that destruction, small miracles kept happening. I was able to see a wonderful therapist who helped keep me alive in the darkness. When I was down to my last bag of rice and a single can of beans, an uncashed check would float up from the back of a drawer. A few pieces of my art sold. I was even able to write a book.
Every time I reached what felt like rock bottom, something—or someone—would throw me a lifeline.
It felt very much like what Sonia Choquette describes in her book, “Ask Your Guides”: a kind of a guardian angel effect. As though some invisible presence was stepping in to help. For the first time in my life, I genuinely felt I was receiving spiritual help.
The Tower: Crisis as Awakening
In the Tarot, The Tower is one of the most feared cards in the deck. It shows a tall, rigid structure being blasted by lightning, flames pouring from its windows, and people falling through the air. It’s a card of shock, collapse, and sudden upheaval—those moments when the structures we’ve built our lives around come crashing down.
But The Tower is not a punishment. It’s a wake-up call.
The old structures fall because they’re no longer sustainable. Illusions, attachments, or false beliefs are struck down by truth—sometimes painfully, sometimes without warning. It can feel like a violent loss of control. But it also clears the way for something real, something truer to emerge.
In many ways, The Tower mirrors what I lived through. My life, as I knew it, collapsed. And yet, that collapse seemed to activate something—a kind of spiritual circuit that had never been switched on before. There was no comfort, no predictability, but there was also an undeniable sense of presence, a guiding intelligence operating just beyond the chaos.
That’s the secret of The Tower: what looks like destruction is often the beginning of liberation.
Jung, Crisis, and the Language of Synchronicity
Carl Jung, who first coined the term synchronicity, believed that these meaningful coincidences were not random at all—but messages from the deeper layers of the psyche, or even the soul. He observed that synchronistic events often intensified during times of emotional upheaval or transformation. In fact, crisis seemed to invite them.
As psychologist Richard Tarnas writes:
“Jung observed that in the therapeutic process of his patients, synchronistic events repeatedly played a role, sometimes a powerful one, especially during periods of crisis and transformation.”
It’s as if the breaking open of the known world allows something greater to break in. When our ego defenses collapse—when we’re too exhausted to pretend we’re in control—an opening appears. And through that opening, insight, grace, and symbolic guidance can flow.
These aren’t just random lucky breaks. They’re messages from the unconscious. From spirit. From the soul.
And often, they arrive only after something old has been destroyed—just like the crumbling tower.
When the Tower Appears in Your Life
If you’re going through a Tower moment right now—where everything seems to be falling apart, where the future is unclear and the ground beneath you feels unstable—I want to offer this thought:
You may be closer to grace than you think.
It’s not easy to see when you’re in the middle of it, but the collapse may be clearing space for something new, something more aligned with who you really are. Synchronicity often doesn’t show up instead of hardship—it shows up through it, like gold veins running through broken stone.
So pay attention.
That unexpected phone call. A book that practically falls into your lap. A dream that won’t leave you alone. A stranger’s words that strike you like lightning. These are more than coincidences—they’re the whispers of the sacred trying to help you rebuild, not what you had before, but what you actually need.
The Tower may shake you. But it also strips away what no longer serves. And in its wake, you may discover a deeper kind of support—one that’s always been there, just waiting for the old walls to fall.
A playful, insightful exploration of the tarot’s mysterious La Papesse—the High Priestess before she got rebranded. This post looks at her hidden connection to the Divine Feminine, contrasts her with the Hierophant, and makes the cheeky case that religion is just spirituality in drag. The Goddess, it turns out, never left—she just got creative.
La Papesse – The High Priestess
The Lady Pope Who Wasn’t Supposed to Be
There she is—sitting calmly on her throne, robed like a pope, crowned like a queen, and holding an open book in her lap. Her name? La Papesse—The Popess. And she’s right there in the second card of the Tarot de Marseille, as if that’s a totally normal thing.
Spoiler: it wasn’t.
In the deeply patriarchal world of medieval Europe, the idea of a female pope was about as welcome as a lightning storm at Easter Mass. Women weren’t allowed in the priesthood, let alone the papacy. And yet, someone slipped this mysterious, serene woman into one of the most enduring tarot decks in history. Not just as a background figure, but as a Major Arcana—a gatekeeper to mysteries, positioned right after The Magician.
So how did La Papesse get past the spiritual bouncers?
Some say she’s a nod to the medieval legend of Pope Joan—the woman who supposedly disguised herself as a man, rose through the clerical ranks, and accidentally gave birth during a papal procession (oops). Historians mostly file that story under “colorful fiction,” but even fiction has staying power when it touches a nerve. Whether she was real or not, Pope Joan became a symbol of something that wouldn’t go away: the unspoken presence of feminine wisdom in a church that tried very hard to pretend it didn’t exist.
And that, dear reader, may be exactly what La Papesse is doing in the tarot. Sitting there quietly, book in hand, saying nothing—but also saying everything.
The Divine Feminine in Disguise
Let’s be honest: “Popess” is not a job title you hear every day. Even in a medieval tarot deck full of crowned figures, mythical beasts, and flying body parts, La Papesse still raises eyebrows. And that’s probably the point.
Because she’s not just a curiosity—she’s a symbolic insurgent.
In a time when religious authority was reserved strictly for men, slipping a female spiritual leader into the tarot wasn’t just bold—it was sly. If the Church said, “No women allowed,” the tarot quietly responded, “Cool story. Here’s one holding the Book of Secrets.”
Look closely and you’ll see: La Papesse isn’t just playing dress-up. She’s the real deal. She’s seated, grounded, radiating calm authority. The book in her lap? It’s open, but not for just anyone. This is hidden knowledge, sacred mystery, the kind of truth you don’t shout from a pulpit—you whisper behind a veil.
And oh yes—there’s often a veil behind her too, in later versions like the Rider-Waite-Smith deck where she evolves into The High Priestess. That veil is no accident. It’s the boundary between outer appearances and inner reality. Between dogma and direct experience. Between religion and… well, something deeper.
Maybe that’s why La Papesse feels like a divine trickster in holy robes—a way for the Goddess to sneak herself back into a story that tried to write her out. A kind of spiritual photobomb. She’s not angry. She’s not loud. She’s just there, like she’s always been, waiting patiently while the world catches up.
High Priestess vs. Hierophant: The Sacred Split
If La Papesse is the quiet keeper of spiritual truth, then The Hierophant is the guy with the microphone and the rulebook. You know the type—fancy hat, formal robes, sitting on a throne flanked by devotees. He’s not whispering behind veils. He’s declaring doctrine. Loudly.
In the tarot’s symbolic landscape, these two form a kind of spiritual odd couple.
On one side: the High Priestess (formerly La Papesse), guardian of the inner mysteries. She represents intuition, silence, dreams, the moon, and the feminine path of going within. No sermons. No commandments. Just you and your inner voice having a deep conversation.
On the other: the Hierophant (a.k.a. The Pope), representative of the outer structure of religion. He’s about tradition, hierarchy, sacred rituals, and the authority of institutions. He doesn’t just speak for God—he’s got a line of succession to prove it.
And here’s where things get fun.
If the High Priestess is the essence of spirituality—private, personal, often mysterious—then the Hierophant is what happens when that spirituality gets dressed up in official garb and turned into an organization.
You could say he’s spirituality in drag.
(And yes, the Goddess is laughing.)
It’s not a judgment—it’s an observation. Religion, at its best, is a ritualized way to connect to the sacred. But it borrows its power from something deeper, older, and quieter: that inner knowing, that wordless communion with the Mystery that no cathedral could ever fully contain.
So the next time you see these two cards in a spread, you might ask yourself: Am I being called to tune in… or to follow the program? One isn’t necessarily better than the other—but they’re very different energies. One whispers. The other chants.
And both, in their own way, are trying to bring the divine into human hands.
Drag as Divine Theater
Let’s talk about drag.
Real drag—the kind you see on stages and in parades—isn’t just about wigs and sequins. It’s ritual in heels. A transformation. A larger-than-life performance that says, “This is a costume, honey—but don’t be fooled. I’m showing you something real.”
Now think about religion.
The incense, the chanting, the golden goblets and embroidered vestments. The Latin. The choreography. The sacred props and elaborate entrances. Let’s be honest: religion is serving ceremony. And at its best, it’s doing exactly what drag does—turning up the volume on identity to invoke something beyond the everyday.
But here’s the twist: spirituality doesn’t need all that.
Spirituality can happen in silence. In nature. In dreams. In the moment you look at the stars and suddenly feel like you belong. It’s raw, receptive, feminine in essence—not because it’s about women, but because it flows instead of forcing. It listens instead of preaching. It descends like a dove, not marches like a bishop.
So when we say religion is spirituality in drag, we’re not mocking either one. We’re pointing out the costume change—and asking, Do we recognize who’s beneath the robes?
Because sometimes the High Priestess puts on a miter and becomes the Hierophant. And sometimes, behind all the stained glass and psalms, it’s still La Papesse, still holding the book, still smiling faintly as we play dress-up with the Divine.
The Goddess has always known how to play along.
A Word from the Goddess (She’s Smiling)
So here we are, circling back to La Papesse—that calm, veiled figure with the open book and the closed mouth. She never says a word, but somehow you can hear her perfectly.
She doesn’t need to raise her voice. She’s been here the whole time.
Through the centuries of bells and bulls, of councils and creeds, she sat quietly behind the veil, holding the thread of something older than any religion: the mystery at the heart of being. The part no doctrine can define, no priest can own, and no building can contain.
The Goddess never left. She just adapted.
Sometimes she put on papal robes. Sometimes she showed up as Mary, or Sophia, or Shekhinah, or Kali, or Isis, or just as a sudden knowing in your bones. And sometimes she let herself be hidden in plain sight—as a tarot card. A whisper of the sacred feminine preserved in a deck that survived inquisitions, revolutions, and centuries of shuffle.
And still, she waits—not with impatience, but with that timeless serenity of someone who knows exactly who she is.
So if you ever feel like religion has become a little too loud, too rigid, too ceremonial, too performative… just know that the real presence is still there, quietly inviting you inward. Into the mystery. Into the silence. Into the place where wisdom isn’t taught—it’s remembered.
Why respecting emotional boundaries is essential for empaths—and how not helping can sometimes be the most loving choice.
The High Priestess – Intuition
If you’re an empath, you’ve probably been in this situation: you’re having a perfectly normal conversation with someone, but your intuition is screaming that something’s wrong. You sense they’re deeply hurting. Their emotional shields are up, their energy has pulled inward — but underneath it all, you can feel the pain.
The first instinct of an empath is to say, “Hey, what’s wrong? What can I do to help?” Especially if it’s someone we love, we want to reach out and offer comfort.
But sometimes, that’s exactly the wrong thing to do.
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It’s Not Intrusive… to Us
The first thing to understand is: we’re not being deliberately intrusive. We channel other people’s emotions as naturally as breathing. When we’re in a one-on-one conversation with someone we care about, we pick up on their energetic patterns — even if they’re trying to hide them. It’s not something we try to do. We just do.
But to someone who isn’t an empath, that does feel intrusive. It can feel like we’re reading their private diary without permission.
Expecting an empath not to process someone else’s energy is like telling someone not to notice faces or colors. It’s simply how we experience the world. But we have to remember: “normal” people don’t operate this way, and many feel invaded or exposed when we reflect their hidden emotions back to them.
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Language as a Boundary
For most people, language functions as an energetic boundary. Let’s say we’re sitting with someone and sense something is wrong. The conversation might go like this:
“How are you today?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“So everything’s good with you?”
“Yes, it is.”
That’s the moment we need to stop. We’ve given them a verbal cue that we’re open to listening. They’ve responded by clearly saying they don’t want to talk about it.
That doesn’t mean our intuition is wrong. We can trust what we’re sensing. But they’ve drawn a boundary with language — and emotionally healthy people honor boundaries.
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Don’t Get Loopy
For empaths — especially intuitive types like INFJs and INFPs — this can trigger a kind of informational loop. Our intuition says something’s wrong, but the person says everything’s fine. It feels disorienting — like being told the sky is green and the grass is blue.
This can easily lead to obsessive thinking. We replay conversations, analyze patterns, try to intuit what they won’t say. When we can’t resolve it, we go over it again and again.
It becomes a loop — rearranging the same puzzle pieces, but still not seeing the picture. It’s a huge drain on time and energy.
The truth is: if they want to tell us what’s wrong, they will. If they don’t, it’s not our business.
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Give Them the Gift of Space
Sometimes, the greatest gift we can offer someone we love is space.
Yes, we may know — deeply, clearly — that they’re hurting. And we want to help. But we must also respect the context of our relationship.
If you’re a therapist and they’ve asked for support — of course, help them.
If you’re giving a Tarot or psychic reading and they’re open — of course, help.
But outside those contexts, no matter how close we feel to someone, it’s always up to them to invite us in. If they don’t, we honor that. We don’t push. We don’t intrude.
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Yes, It’s Confusing
Yes — this can feel confusing as hell to empaths.
In many ways, we’re always intimate with those we love. We feel their emotions. We know how they’re doing even when they’re not physically present. Sometimes it feels like their pain is our pain.
But we must remember: feeling something doesn’t mean we need to act on it.
If someone we care about is struggling, and they don’t ask for help, we let them be. We can still support them energetically — by holding space, sending love, offering healing from a distance.
Just the Tarot 