The Skeptic and The Psychic
An interview about tarot that leaves more questions than answers.
A psychic sits across from me, shuffling her tarot cards like they’re her lifeline. She’s got that look — half mystic, half train wreck. A faded scarf around her neck, mismatched earrings, dressed like the kind of woman who doesn’t mind if you think she’s odd. Maybe even prefers it.
We meet in a café that’s mostly empty — just the way I like it. I asked to interview her out of curiosity. She starts talking, her voice low and slow, like she’s about to let me in on her darkest secret, while she looks off into the distance, eyes glazed over like she’s somewhere else.
“The cards, they still surprise me,” she mutters. “After all these years, I don’t know how they do it, but they tell the truth.” There’s a flicker of something in her voice — wonder, maybe, or just disbelief that she’s still doing this.
I ask how she gets ready for a reading. She leans in, her voice dropping a bit, telling me how she connects with her guides, asking for their help.
“There’s this old Native American guy and an Aboriginal woman who always show up in my meditations. When they’re there it’s like flipping a switch, and suddenly, I’m tuned into something stronger.”
