* Disclaimer: Loads of profane language in this post.
Part 1 — Digging in the Dirt
Once in a while I feel really, really, REALLY down. My whole being drops into some sticky darkness that can get quite suffocating. There I dwell on my own nature, my mistakes, and everything else that seems imperfect in my life. My shadow-self progressively grows until it seems much larger than me. After a while volcanos of anger begin to erupt from within this darkness. The tension rises quickly, and the bubbles in my steaming brain begin pleading: “I’m a fire cracker, baby — You better fuck off while you can!”
Times like this scare my therapist, who right away goes into a spiel about the newest designer anti-depresants on the market. I value pharmaceuticals quite a bit; nonetheless, I spend half an hour reassuring her that though right now everything totally feels jacked up from the inside out, it’s actually a good kind of jacked up. Looks like she ain’t buying it, so I continue:
“In order to be fertile,” I go on to tell her, “earth must be moist and dark.” Among the ashes of self-loathing, layers of muscle and bone, and pools of hot blood is fermenting a tiny seed of self-descovery and reinvention. To find it we must dig in the dirt of our past until we’re blue in the face and thoroughly finished attempting to clean the proverbial dirt from underneath our fingernails. “Can the spiritual ever be manicured?” I ask rethorically. I think clean spirituality is a trendy capitalist fabrication designed to upsale the blissed-out, and lululemon-clad Yuppies, making the “guru” market a fabulous milking cow.
When it’s time to get down and dirty I prefer a coffin on a yoga mat… fuck you very much!
So I accept the glove. As I descend into the darkness of my internal morgue, I turn up the volume on my demon radio. A Persephone of sorts, I slip into an elegant pair of chewed up combat boots — and dual myself — Fight Club style. And I take my fucking sweet time with it too. And then it’s quiet.
Eventually I leave the underworld anticlimactically. No Boddhisatvas, no unicorns, and no models with secrets inside their designer bosoms raise me into sainthood with an ease of profound mythical advice. I just feel done, and ready, and able to kick self-pity in the gut and move on. It usually happens when I finally feel absolutely and utterly sick of myself!
And then I make a cup of instant coffee, and lay down the cards.
Part 2 — Dirty Tarot
The Dirty Tarot isn’t really a tarot deck, though it is sort-of dirty in a deliciously entertaining kinda way. If asked for my opinion, I’d rather call it an oracle — but, Dori Midnight, the creator of this pack, refers to it as a deck of divination.
While crisscrossing NOLA’s French Quarter past June in search of unique spiritual supplies and vintage glamour fashion , I stumbled upon this gem at Voodoo Authentica. In a little decorative glass case, on a pink wall across from the register, I spotted the Heart and the Tattoo cards, shining in their rockability amongst more traditional decks on display.
The long-haired and expressionless register girl shared that the cards are made by a local reader who is originally from San Francisco, Bay Area. Being firstly a card collector (fiend), and secondly a Bay Area dweller with an 11-year-long tenor prior to moving to cornfield kingdom along the CST zone — I quickly parted with $35 + taxes, picking up the last copy they had in stock.
The deck comes in a satin black bag with an instructional booklet. I find the card stock to be of perfect stiffness, which is admirable compared to the usual flimsiness of self-published decks. The 40 cards constituting the Dirty Tarot are printed on double-sided glossy paper, and measure 5’4″ by 3’4″. The colors are vibrant, and the art style is childish and quite amusing; especially when adorable images like Pretty Pony, Roller Skates, and Cheese Puffs are juxtaposed with cards like Whiskey, Pussy, and Cheap Fuck. Miss Midnight is clearly keepin’ it real!
Although I bought this pack as a souvenir to remind me of a true U.S. Sin City, the readings I’ve got so far with this deck were right on. I ended up reaching for the Dirty Tarot very recently, while emerging from underneath many layers of emotional funk. I feel the cards not only cheered me up, but also gave me a profound reading.
Past — Boat: Navigating an emotional journey. Charting a course. Working with the elements, surrendering to the winds. Seeking. Emotional Passage.
Present / Conscious — Cock: Manifestation. External. Fathering. Producing seeds. Firm muscular impulse. External reactive energy.
Present / Unconscious — Horn: Clear golden blast. Illumination. Enlightenment. Wake up and listen closely. Resonance.
Future — Road Trip: Get perspective. Spaciousness. Liberation. Wilderness of life. Distance. Moving forward for the sake of seeing the landscape change.
Finally, I leave you with this powerful song by Peter Gabriel, which tends to come to mind when major emotional shit hits the fan of my life.
And on this gentle note, dearies, I’ll take a bow and go bye bye.