In the previous article, I mentioned that my recent readings had been lacking a certain lightness. Curiously enough, the Tarot seemed to take that remark personally and answered with a touch of mordant humour. In one reading made over the past few weeks, for personal matters, the first card I drew was the Five of Pentacles, one of those minor arcana that tends to alarm a fair share of people, largely because of its stark imagery in the Rider–Waite deck: two wounded figures trudging through the snow beneath a glowing window.
The card corresponds to Mercury in the second decan of Taurus (the fixed, Venusian Earth), the principle of overthinking in the realm of matter and physical presence. It is the restless mind tethered to a slow, deliberate body; the Taurian worry about what is tangible, immediate, and sensory. Alchemically, we may say is the attempt to fix Mercurial volatility within the body itself. A herculean task, indeed. The object that can be held or observed, owned or not, becomes the stage for the intellect’s anxiety.
Then came the amusing part. Right after pulling the Five of Pentacles, I had the sudden urge to count the seventy-eight cards in that particular deck. One was missing. I eventually found it tucked away in a drawer. I couldn’t help but smile. Sometimes symbolism has such elasticity that reaches an almost absurd literalness. The Tarot, which so often gestures toward the above, had descended into the purely mundane: the deck itself. It was as if it whispered, “Before you consult the invisible, may you please check the visible, the material on your table, my dear?.” Taurus, after all, is the ground beneath our feet. The verification that must be made with one’s hands before seeking meaning in the clouds. It is like making sure we have our passport ready before the flight: the simplest act of grounding that makes the journey possible.
It struck me how perfectly comic that was. The symbol had chosen to reveal itself not in some lofty revelation, but in the platitude of the everyday. The Tarot was not warning of spiritual poverty or cosmic exile; it was simply reminding me to pay attention to what is right in front of me. Like the classic moment when you are searching everywhere for your glasses, only to realise they have been on your face all along.
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