Searching for the Wisdom of the Dark

Swords, cups, wands and pentacles

I was fifteen when I bought my first tarot deck, purchased via mail order from a classified ad in the back of Kindred Spirit magazine. It was distinctly prosaic: asking mum to send a cheque on my behalf and then waiting six weeks for it to arrive. 

A Rider Waite deck finally arrived with its shiny primary colours and images that thrilled and scared me. It came with an instructional booklet containing a single spread: the Celtic Cross. It was like nothing I’d seen before in the small, provincial town I grew up in. 

Religion was absent from our household growing up, so my urge to explore different ideas and belief systems wasn’t interesting to anyone at home except me. A curiosity about tarot and the occult arrived when I was a goth. It was all dismissed as a phase, very much thought of as something that I would grow out of within months. But I’m forty seven now and tarot has most definitely not been a phase. 

Since then, tarot has changed. Or perhaps more accurately, the perception around tarot has changed and so have my own feelings and expectations around it. My mid-90s teenage experience of tarot was rooted in fantasy, with a craving for the type of magic that would hopefully make doorways to other worlds appear. There were many of these crushing disappointments. 

Now I use tarot for different reasons, which are a little more practical. I mostly use it for inward reflection. Often, when I feel that I can’t see the woods for the trees, I bring out my cards in order to see a different perspective of a situation. The images and rich symbolism somehow connect with the part of my mind that’s in the background, whilst my conscious mind is busy mulling over a problem. 

Everyone has different reasons for using tarot and there are many ways of interpreting the cards. I see it as a journey—not the ‘hero’s journey’ because that feels too linear, too neat and too bullshit—but instead a journey of tangents, exploring innumerable possibilities and outcomes. 

Tarot is a tool in my box, more therapy rather than fortune-telling. It’s another way of being able to help myself manage change and uncertainty, as well as helping me see different options when I feel stuck. It guides me to gently look at what’s bubbling away beneath the surface and within—what needs to see the light of day. It helps me articulate and understand my own feelings in imagery when I can’t express it in words.

I often look back at my teenage self and cringe feel a lot of empathy for her, how she was desperately hoping to see her future in the cards and literally trying to create an otherworldly realm to escape to. 

As we approach the darkest park of the year, I find myself turning to tarot even more. Being indoors when the winter closes in lends itself to candlelight and introspection—at least it does for me. I don’t need much of an excuse to embrace my natural hermit tendencies. As nature turns inwards and animals hibernate, I feel myself wanting to do exactly the same. But as reality is rather different, instead I try and find a peaceful pocket of time to search for whatever wisdom these dark months can impart. 

The Four of Swords 

When this card comes up it can point to a sense of overwhelm, worry, anxiety, and mental exhaustion. In more traditional guidebooks it represents strategic retreat from conflict and confrontation—a time to think things through and step back. But I feel there’s a lot more depth to it than that. 

This is a card about recuperation, rest, processing, stillness and quieting a busy mind. It’s a reminder to find some time away from all the bustle and stresses of life and carve out even a sliver of time to sleep and rest. This often feels close to impossible, who doesn’t have multiple demands most days? Yet it calls nonetheless. I associate the four of swords with this time of year, because in the lead up to winter festivities, there’s a tendency to burn out even before the main events begin. I love this card because it feels like a physical permission slip to close the door and switch off. It brings with it deep rest, repose, healing, and order. A gentle urge towards quiet regeneration of your body and mind and an invitation to gather strength.

In this period of darkness where daylight hours are sparse and brief, I look to nature for reassurance. The trees and plants are bare, colours are muted and it appears as if life has withdrawn forever. But soon enough the light will return again. In the meantime, I try to remember that not everything can grow all year round. Winter stasis is normal. Lull and lethargy are parts of a cycle, not fixed states of being. 

Winter feels like a time when tarot, nature and our own stories entwine, creating a thread of self-discovery that we can hold onto like rope in a mine, guiding us out to the light. 

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What gets you through these darker, colder months?

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For more tarot…

Claire Amritavani Brown

at The Moon shed writes a wonderful Substack all about tarot, with deep dives and readings. 

The Little Red Tarot is an online tarot shop which “celebrates and promotes LGBTQ+ and BIPOC creators and their self-published decks, books and other tools”. Traditional tarot imagery is very white and cis-het orientated. Little Red Tarot sells tarot decks which are more diverse and inclusive, with language and visuals depicting different body types, abilities, races, gender identities and expressions. I’m not affiliated with them in any way, I just love what they do. 

Although I no longer dye my hair black, the urge to wander round in a tattered Victorian mourning cape has not diminished. You can take the girl out of the goth, but you can’t take the goth out of the girl...

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Until next time,

Jo.