Cabin time.
I sit with coffee, under the watchful gaze of my she-dog goddess Frigg and the rays of a benevolent October sun.
I sit with my rare 1930 Marseille Tarot by Grimaud. There’s nothing like shuffling these decks, as the cardstock sounds like temple block percussion, ringing the bells of the forest.

I think of myths. The myth that says the French diviners using the Marseille type decks only divine with the major arcana. While this is true to some extent, it’s also nonsense when it’s taken to be THE norm. It’s not.
Obviously not. I look at my old deck and marvel at the evenly aged patina. Whoever owned these cards before me, has never only used the trumps in their divination.
Every single card carries the silent signature of the diviner. All 78 have been used.
So there you have it. If you want proof for some theories, all you need to do is look closely at the decks in your collection. They can bust many myths.

I keep these cards in a black wooden box where I also preserve an old single card I know nothing about. It features 28 clubs on it. What is the purpose of it?
For the French the clubs signify great fortune. In the system I use, drawing heavily on keeping close to nature, clubs signify a whole lot of work. Which tradition do I go with today?
I divine:
The pain of losing it all, only to be rewarded with a unique gift sounds like a good deal to me.

I divine some more:

The gift of coins. Sometimes the voice of wheels sounds like money. A different percussive game, coming and going, and nothing like the strength of water.
But it shines.
♠
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