“Please stop using those. … They’ll send you to hell,” my best friend told me after I consulted my tarot cards. I looked at him, confused and hurt. I was only 14 and I didn’t understand how someone could think my beloved cards could ever condemn me to hell.
Four years later, I understand how a person may believe that. They simply don’t understand what they are used for. Tarot cards have a stigma of being evil. For some people, they are associated with the devil. While I’m sure some devil worshippers do use tarot cards, most tarot card users do not worship Lucifer.
Tarot cards and witchcraft have surrounded me since I was born. My Catholic family strongly believes there are spiritual forces. Candles were always lit, green often for St. Jude or La Virgen. Sage was burned every other month. Crystals were given for protection.
I was around 10 or 11 when I was given my first tarot cards. They came with a book, and I devoured it in a single sitting before opening the pack. Anyone who reads tarot cards will tell you the exact same thing: Each card does symbolize specific meanings, but it is up to the reader what that meaning is. There is not one way to read cards, nor does each card have only one meaning. That was the most important lesson I learned from the book.
After understanding that and learning common meanings, it was time to actually open the pack. I remember forcing myself to open it slowly, even though the cards were yelling my name. Out they came. Gently, I spread them onto my bed.
A fish. A road. A house. A scythe. Illustrations of ordinary items, each with their own special message. They were perfect for me.
At first, I was shy, and I only used them for my own personal questions. “Will I get to top 10 this year?” “Will I finally decide on a career?” Eventually, I admitted to my friends that I had begun reading tarot. Before I knew it, I was laying spreads down for many of them. All of them seemed to have the same question. “When will I find love?” (We were in middle school.)
Of course, some of my friends did not approve. My own best friend was saying I was going to hell because of them. Initially, this stung. Deeply. It took some time, but I learned to shrug these opinions off because I, like my family, incorporated our religion into our practices.
La Virgen guided the readings. She understood there were times we needed a new spark of hope. She gave us—the asker and I– answers. With her love, how could the cards ever be evil?
In my later high school years, I began practicing beyond tarot cards. I adopted Wicca as a second religion after learning so much about it. The elements became incorporated into my daily life, and I started practicing spells. The Goddess came to me, and now I practice with Her and my Catholic saints.
Knowing I only have good intentions doesn’t satisfy my inner conflict though. When I go to church, am I an impostor for my special practices? If he knew, would the priest kick me out for asking the angels to bless my spells? When people ask what religion I am, how do I properly explain both?
Although that little voice daunts me, at the end of the day, I am not fazed enough to stop practicing both religions. Every day, I carry my tarot cards with me. In times of need, reassurance, or even boredom, I shuffle and ask my questions. A tiny Wiccan altar with the Catholic archangels stays in my backpack permanently to give me faith. Every night, I sleep with a rosary under the pillow. I am a believer of both La Virgen and the Goddess.
