Psychic Change

Being weird is the only way I know.

A portal has been opened and it feels like I can’t go back. My friend and I read cards last night. We do this often. It’s unique and magical, but not out of the norm. We often tap into energies, egged on by each other, that feel so psychic and witchy and powerful that we are left shook. But this doesn't always happen. Last night it did.

We are also both writers, so we naturally feel compelled to channel our innate abilities into words on the page. Last night, for both of us, felt like a breakthrough. We’ve both been having huge psychic, transformational experiences recently, but we independently kept coming back to the same message while reading each other’s cards: it all comes back to the writing.

Our job, our bigger purpose in this world is to follow our call to say what needs to be said. We both have unique gifts when it comes to the way we articulate our visions, but together, when we come back to each other, usually through tarot, it really takes shape.

Writing has always felt like the only thing I was meant to do in this world. I don’t say that in a morbid way as if I have no other purpose, but that’s the point- writing is the portal to the highest version of myself. It’s the tool, the channel, the only method I’ve ever known and continuously come back to as my way of being my truest, most authentic self.

My hands on the keys, or grasping the pen feels like an extension of myself. And it’s always felt that way. From the time I was a little kid, I was a storyteller. At first it came out as striking up conversations with strangers- yes as a kid; or reading the newspaper to expand my world view; or watching others tell their stories on the big screen as I envisioned doing the same; or getting lost in a book that transported me into another world I knew I would one day see; or singing my heart out- in the car, on the ski hill, or on a stage. I knew I needed to be heard, even if it was just me hearing myself.

Then it turned into physically writing the words down. Most people buy pretty notebooks and never fill them. My notebook pages couldn’t keep up with me fast enough. I’ve filled more notebooks than I could count. It started when I was young, probably in elementary school. It started as a way to check in with myself. I would recap my day and explore answers to all the questions constantly plaguing my brain. Then it evolved into intuitive writing. I think I’ve always been a spiritual seeker, but when I would put pen to paper, it always came out in a different way than I had originally intended. It felt divinely inspired. I may have had an agenda when I started, but it took on a voice of its own that has never wavered and never led me astray. It felt like an obligation to my highest self to let the pen guide the way. But not an obligation in a way that was binding, but rather a subconscious contract I’d made with the Universe to always trust that I would be taken care of and hear what message needed to be delivered.

Maybe it's mania, maybe it's creative genius, maybe it's both or neither, but if I want to write about something, by the very opening of the notebook or computer screen, I instantly lose all sense of reality and agenda and I'm overcome with great surrender. 15 minutes could turn into hours, and I won’t realize what I've written until I'm done and return to the beginning to review.

I also experienced this sensation in college while doing my homework. My unchecked ADHD led to debilitating procrastination and anxiety, but deadlines are great motivators. I would sit down at my computer with no idea what I was going to say, and somehow produce some brilliant essay or research paper, in a matter of hours, that required very little editing. This process never failed me. When it came to my writing, no matter how technical or mundane the assignment was, I received high remarks, always. The instances were few and far between when I would receive serious criticism. Those times were usually a result of days of grinding and struggling through something that had no voice. So I learned to fly off the cuff, no preparation necessary. Even if I needed facts and research to support my claims, the information magically appeared, and the paper would write itself.

I used to go back and reread papers I wrote in college and wonder how the hell those words came from me. It would be nearly impossible to recreate it, even if the conditions were perfect.

I think that’s why I was also drawn to tarot. I’d explored other rituals and methods of tapping into my psyche, but when I found tarot, it felt like the missing link. Whether it’s reading cards for someone else, or reading my own, it requires a deep surrender from what outcome could be to what is. This is probably why I immediately felt connected to it. It was a direct extension of my Higher Power that felt as if it had always been there. Despite being fairly new in my regular practice, compared to so many other professionals, my ability to surpass expectations from others, get into the nitty gritty, and strike a cord has been remarkable and transformative for both me and my clients.

Sometimes I have no idea where the cards are going, but I go with it anyway and trust my gift. I interpret them as I see them and the results are profound. The results are always the same for my clients. I read what I see and, sometimes go out on a whim, maybe overstepping, but I trust myself enough to do it, and then I get quiet and let the clients speak. It never fails, every single time I wait, with a hint of doubt, but then it dissipates because they say I’m spot on. I say this not to brag, but more as a way to tell you I’m sure of my path and trust that what I have to say is what needs to be said.

This has backfired on me occasionally, but it’s just confirmation that I'm speaking to the wrong audience. Whether it’s a dismissal, a look, an ignore, a disagreement, or a disappointed comment- if it’s in response to me speaking clearly and authentically, I know I’m not talking to my people.

Do you ever read, watch, or hear something that, at the moment feels insignificant, but to this day you can recall it with precise detail? I have one of those, and I think it sums up this idea.

When I was younger, I watched a lot of Law & Order on TV. My favorite was SVU, but the newly created Criminal Intent captured my attention more because of one particular character. Vincent D’Onofrio played one of the main detectives, and similarly to his portrayal of an alien masking as a farmer in Men in Black, had these weird ticks. He, for the most part, carried himself in a way that was traditional for all humans. However, occasionally he would tilt his head, or make a comment, or pause, or make a strange facial expression that, to some, may have been off-putting. I found it alluring, charming, mesmerizing. I loved watching the gears in his brain work as he put together the clues to solve the case. His partner knew this about him, she trusted him, and let him do his thing. Though unconventional, his process never failed him. He always found the bad guy with precision and certainty. Sometimes through questionable methods or ways that couldn’t be explained- there’s a similar example of this if you watch Dale Cooper solve the murder or Laura Palmer, almost exclusively through visions, in Twin Peaks. But the detective’s quirks aren't the point I’m making. The specific memory from one of the episodes, seared in my brain, is when he was on the stand testifying about some case. The details are irrelevant. What he said isn’t. He said, utilizing his tilted head and mumbling speech pattern to articulate to the courtroom that he was an “acquired taste”. I remember watching and hearing him say that and not only agreeing but feeling seen myself.

Because, similarly to the detective, I’m odd, unconventional, and defy reason sometimes in my actions and words, but I don’t waver from who I am and I never have. Just like the little girl who would start off her entries with “Dear Diary”, I’m still that same person. The bones are there, but the process of how my brain operates has slowly evolved. I always knew who I was, and I never lost sight of it, even if it felt like a distant thought, galaxies away. I always returned to my center, myself, the part of me that may in fact also be an “acquired taste”. But that’s okay because I’m still here writing what needs to be said.

*Just to prove my point, when I sat down to write this, my intention was to write about the insights I had last night and throughout the day today. Instead, you get this.

*The photo above is of my friend and me in our early tarot days together. You should see us now.