I like the Ace of Pentacles. I don’t love it. I don’t keep my fingers crossed and hope it turns up in a reading, or put it on my tarot altar for contemplation. Last Saturday I co-facilitated a Writing with the Tarot workshop. When a participant pulled this Ace to kick off the day, my first thought was, Oh, well.
Each participant hunted down the Ace of Pentacles in her deck. We were to write our impressions, examining the imagery, the story there, our personal associations—kind of a warm up for the deeper personal and creative work we would do.
I closed my eyes, trying to clear my mind. I didn’t want the Ace of Pentacles to be about planting seeds and new business opportunites—my ususal interpretations. When I looked into the card, my eye was drawn to the hand that seemed to hold the sun. I imagined it floating above me, following me around, bobbing like a balloon. Having my own private sun felt kind of nice. Then I started to look around, and I could envision a little cottage outside the frame at the bottom of the card. All the windows were open to let in the fresh ocean air—yes there was an ocean, somewhere past the arched gate of the garden—maybe on the other side of the mountain. The cottage was inviting, but not as inviting as the garden. I didn’t feel the need to venture out towards the mountains, but I liked knowing that I could. I wrote all this down and then some. Satisfied, I recapped my pen, closed my journal and waited for the others who were still scribbling away.
I took in the space we rented from Presence of Heart in San Francisco. It was as pleasant as could be—beautiful wheat walls with white molding at the ceiling, natural light, a plush white carpet over hardwood floors, white couches, plants and candles and tarot decks spread out over a forest green blanket in the center of it all. I picked up the card again, and it struck me: Find a penny, pick it up, and all day long you’ll have good luck.
The Ace did feel like a lucky penny that day. We pulled poetry out of the cards, spun stories, and had the space and courage to get in touch with what matters to us.
Exercise for reflection:
Find a card that you feel neutral about—one that seems less interesting than the rest, and write about it. What is the first detail you notice? Describe the card. Imagine you are in it. What’s happening, or what can be seen just beyond its borders? Are there any personal associations that come up? Is there a story there?
I invite you to post your writing, or share your thoughts on the process. One of the best parts of the workshop was getting to hear what others wrote. It deepened my imagination and understanding of the cards.
