Cow Poo Filled Teaching Hat of Doom

So recently, I was wandering aimlessly through a Borders the other day, thinking about the shiny new paycheck that I had just gotten and wondering if there were any new books that I wanted to read. When all of the sudden I had the irresistible urge to go and look in the pagan/spirituality section to see if there was anything there that might be of some use. Now if anyone has been into the Pagan/Spirituality section of a Borders or Barnes and Noble, and they aren't interested in "Learning to unlock your ESP" or looking at another Silver Raven Wolf book about how to teach your teen to do bad meditation, then you will know why this should have been immediately suspect. But on I went.

When I got to the aforementioned section, I came upon a group of 30-something women, shuffling down the isle like a group of middle school girls in their first porn shop. One of them pointed to a book on Tarot and said that she had tried calling a telephone Psychic and that the experience had been “Deeply Meaningful” to her.

Now as someone who does Rune readings badly myself, and knows a fair number of people who I would say are excellent readers of both Tarot, Runes, and many other forms of divination, I can say that when I hear the word “Telephone Psychic” something in me just cringes and starts to froth at the mouth a little bit. I was all set to ignore them and laugh on the inside at the newbies, when all of the sudden, splat down comes the wet cow pie of a Teacher Hat. Sigh, no really you do have to tell them otherwise, no you don’t just get to be self satisfied snarky sprirt-worker girl over in the corner. Grr.

But what to say? I don’t really divine enough to tell these women anything else with any kind of genuine authority, nor do they have any reason to listen to me. But the Teaching Hat will not be denied, so in I go.

Let me just say that I hate it when something else’s words start coming out of my mouth. It creeps me out soooooo much more than full possession. With a full horsing I am aware of what I am doing, I am generally consenting or at least I have some warning. But I Hate it (and yes I meant to capitalize that) when the cosmic whatever sticks its slimy little tentacle up my butt and turns me into a glorified sock puppet.

So I say “Um excuse me I couldn’t help over hearing your conversation, but” as if I would ever say that if I had a choice “as someone who does Tarot readings, I think that it is much better to do them in person. A reading is like a conversation, one that you are having between your reader, you, and a third invisible party that is putting in its two cents every now and then in a foreign language that you and your reader need to translate together to understand.”

So there is the jewel of wisdom that the slimy cow poo filled Teaching Hat has to offer about doing divinatory readings. Are they going to remember that conversation in a week? Do I care? Was it more important to say it, or was it just an exercise in futility? Who knows, but then isn’t that the motto of spirit-workers?