Tiny Tarot Story
Read a short story inspired by the High Priestess.
She’s worked at the bed and breakfast for 12 years, ever since she felt the call to do something, and that something was nothing. Everyone gave her a hard time about breaking her lease moving to the countryside. They said she’d get sick of the view. They were wrong: The view changes every day, but they aren’t around to see it.
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Now visitors come to the front desk supplicant, as if she holds the answer to a good vacation. The first thing she says is to give up the idea that they can see everything. They haven’t uncovered all the mysteries of their hometown—why should they expect to do that when visiting a whole country? Tourists aren’t paid detectives. They’re explorers. So do that. Wander around. See where intuition takes them. When you don’t know where you’ll end up, but trust yourself to get there, the middle part is much more fun. Most of life is the middle part.
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Sometimes visitors fight her guidance. “So you’re telling us to do nothing?” they ask. She nods behind the desk. No, no. They can’t abide that. “I didn’t come all this way to sit around,” they say. “That’s too bad,” she replies, pointing to the rocking chairs overlooking the lake. “That’s what those are for.”
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“Fine. But what is the best thing to do, aside from sit around?” The angry ones ask, impatient to arrive. One answer is particularly irritating to them, so she says it. “I don’t know.”
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For how wonderful that is. How liberating. How awful it must be to know everything there is to know, to have seen all there is to see. To know you’d reached the end. To believe there was one.
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In the end she slides them a sheet of attractions and wishes them luck of their journey. She has advice about the area. It just takes the right approach, the right questions, to hear what she had to say.
The High Priestess Musings
When looking at the High Priestess card in any tarot deck, I always wish I could zoom out and see the rest of the room she’s in. I imagine she has chimes, so she can hear the outside world as it pierces her inner sanctum. I bet there are rugs hanging on hanging on the walls, and on the floor—she’s that type. A skylight, but so she can see the stars. The room has a distinct smell, of coziness and solitude and amber.
The reason I associate the High Priestess and a distinct style, I think, is because she’s utterly herself. She might not know why she chose certain things—they just felt right, and now she’s sitting in a room that sits right with her. Being able to choose your own space, your own style: There is a power in that. This is the room of someone who is whole, and rests easy within herself. She is composed and harmonious. If you’re talking about her, she doesn’t deign to turn her head.
All of this is to say: We have this room within us. We have the ability to sit calmly, observant but not affected. The question is: How do we access that serenity? How do we hear ourselves above the din of life?
Recently, I completed a powerful guided meditation that directed listeners to imagine a room; the room was their soul. The High Priestess, to me, sits in that soul room. The wisdom she has is from the same source as our souls.
The word “mysterious” is often associated with the High Priestess. That sounds intimidating, like we shouldn’t try to get to know her. The hesitation makes sense. Often, people who style themselves as “mysterious” really just use that aura as a cloak to hide their claws (for example, don’t try developing an intimate relationship with James Bond).
Not so with Ms. High Priestess. She wants you to sit with her, and hear what she has to say. Getting to know her will be a challenge, and will take time, as many worthy tasks are. The High Priestess is a mystery in the same way we all, at our core, are and will remain mysteries to other people. But there is still value in trying to get to know ourselves, and others. We don’t need to “unravel” the mystery of other people. We can respect it, leave it intact, and be grateful we get to be near it.
The High Priestess, more than any other card for me, is like a passenger on my journey, sitting beside me. Maybe she’s in me; maybe she is me; I don’t know if I’ll ever know the difference and I don’t think I care. What’s important is that I can hear her. That I can tap into her.
What I want to tell you is this: Find your way back to that room where the High Priestess sits. There’s a chair for you, too. You may not recognize her voice when you first hear it. But listen long enough, and you will.
Reflections
Journaling Prompts
What does your intuition feel like? Sound like? How often do you listen to your intuition when making decisions and why?
Remember a time your intuition was right. What did making that decision feel like?
How do you define wisdom? How has that answer changed over the years?
What is your relationship to spiritual development?
How do you attain serenity or a state of calmness?
Start a Story of Your Own
Write a story of your own inspired by the dynamics present in the High Priestess, starting with this sentence. If you email me your story, I’ll share it in the next newsletter.
The woman gives you a metal box and says wisdom is found in the center. The only issue: It’s locked.