Tarot Trumps -This Is Me – Or Learn The Trumps By Applying Them To Self


This is me. The me that wonders and wanders. The me that wants to learn, that makes mistakes, that fails at stuff, delights in stuff, is unsure of stuff, carrys on regardless.


This is me. This is me when I’m determined. When I’ve got my shit together. When all my thought and action is going into making it happen. It’s also me faking it until I make it – rather than a sleight of hand, it’s a plastering on of a smile when I’m winging it.


This is me. The wise me who knows that sometimes it’s best to keep schtum. Some things are best kept to myself, mulled over, processed and stored away in my heart. This is the me who self reflects. The me who ducks out of the maelstrom and hurly burly of life to rejuvenate. This is me who feels chilly and wears too many layers and thinks I can judge when people are worthy.


This is me. The badass, face forward, no nonsense organised me. The me who keeps it all together, organises and reorganises. The me who is as at home directing an army of staff as watering the garden. The me who has patience and endurance. It is also the me who can be overbearing, smothering and dictatorial at times.


This is me. This is the strategist me. The me who wants to see far, far ahead with an eye on the past, piercing, eagle like vision. This is the me who is prepared for the worst, but strives for the best. The strong me. The sturdy me. The stoic me. This is also the inflexible, rigid, sometimes concrete thinking me. The me who cannot adapt well to unexpected change.


This is me. This is the me who loves to learn. This is the me who wants to rise above the mundane. The me who wants to bless and inspire others to rise above the mundane. This is the me who loves a bit of ritual, a bit of pomp and ceremony. This is also the me who can become lost in the pomp and ceremony. The me who can sometimes scream ‘my way or the highway’ or ‘this is THE truth’.


This is me. The me who loves to love. The me who recognises that with every choice there’s a cost. To every action there’s an equal and an opposite reaction. This is the me that feels blessed in relationship, the me who doesn’t mourn what could have been. This is also the me that can be too in love with the idea of love. The fantasy of the perfection of partnership. It is the me who wants it all. Rights without responsibilities, company without compromise, late nights without tired next mornings.


This is me. This is me when I’m on a roll, when I know where I’m headed and nothing will stop me. This is the me who isn’t daunted when an adjustment of direction is necessary and when I feel the rising euphoria of success. This is also the me that just keeps on and keeps on rolling and doesn’t notice when my wheels crush, hurt or harm. The me who, with steely focus, decides that I will reach my destination at any cost, and the me who will get there at breakneck speed and then take a month to recover.



This is me. The me who has a strong sense of right and wrong. A moral compass. The me who believes in mercy and compassion over judicious pronouncement. The me who sits up straight, looks you in the eye and expects truth. This is also the me who gets so wound up in ‘fair’ that forgets sometimes life isn’t. The me who doesn’t see the shades for wanting to see absolute black hole black, or obvious pristine white.


This is me. This is the me that takes myself off for a while. The me who needs to explore the darkness inside for a while. This is the me who knows that once the darkness is illuminated it becomes a light that can light the way. This is also the me that feels too alone. The me that feels scared of the dark. The me that feels careworn and stooped and in need of support and of assistance.


This is me. This is the me of a lifetime, of a season, of a moon-cycle, of a day and a night. This is the me that sits in the hub and watches it pass, or jumps on an rides the great ferris wheel of the universe. This is also the me that longs for a reversal, the me that urges the hurrying of time, the me that rides the emotions of ecstatic up there to despairing down here without a mind to be mindful or a thought to be thoughtful. The me who feels crushed under the weight of time.


This is me. This is the me who through trial and tribulation learned that the reward from gentle words, kindness to self, the power of persistence and generosity to others is greater than the reward from toddler tantrums. This is the me that knows the good and the not so good dwell inside and that the recognition brings wisdom and steadfastness. This is also the me that pushes down the lion when it threatens to roar and swallows the lamb when it wants to gambol and play.


This is me. This is the me who stops.

This is the me who recognises that all is not motion. This is the me who seeks stillness. Mindfulness. A pregnant pause to gestate newness.

This is also the me who resents the stillness. The me who feels life is being sacrificed in motionless stagnation. Enforced immobility. Fettered. Bound.


This is me. This is the me of zen. The me of non-attachment. The me who recognises and welcomes the inconstancy that is the only constant. The me who knows the next step is a whole new life, and the one after that is a whole new life, and the one after that is a whole new life. The me who doesn’t cling to a was or a once upon a time, or to the fixed fantasy ‘happy ever after’. This is also the me that refuses to let the door shut. The me who would rather just stick with the known whatever the consequences. This is the me who doesn’t recognise that life is a stream of little deaths from conception to final breath and beyond.


This is me. This is me the alchemist, the refiner, the purifier. Me the true magician. This is the me who sees the beauty in careful balanced moderation, the impossible possibilities of measured creativity. This is also the me who cares not a hoot for the recipe, the limits nor sobriety and throws caution to the wind and spills the elixir of life with gay abandon.



This is me. This is the me that covets and lusts. The me that plays without care, devilment and merriment speaking without filter. The me who falls prey to the advertising, the substances and the schpiel. This is the me who flails helplessly and haplessly in the face of THE MAN. The me whose belly speaks louder than heart and brain. This is also the me who says FUCK THIS SHIT, YOU HAVE NO POWER OVER ME.



This is me. This is the me who, like Godzilla takes a giant fist and smashes carefully curated civilisation as I know it to the ground. This is the me that destroys and rages and kicks and screams and spins and sends the blocks tumbling to the ground. This is the me that hurts and cries, and sobs and keens. This is also the me that stands up in the gentle fronds of bitter smoke drifting upwards from the rubble, in the dark when all is quiet. The me who looks around and feels the empty stillness and recognises…… freedom…. space…..


This is me. This is the me who looks at the reflection of the stars that my ancestors looked at. The me who is vulnerable, washing away cinders and dust, slaking my thirst, pouring out my heart and soul to the elements, being the natural me in natural nature. This is the rejuvination. This is also the me that hopes where there is none, sees signs where there are none or waits for the omen, too afraid to leave the valley of the shadow of death.


This is me. This is the me that recognises possibilities may be illusions. The me that fears what lurks beneath the black watery depths, what is too wild and also fears what is too passive, too docile. This is the me who takes one step at a time not knowing the destination – the one who steps out without being able to see where, or upon what, my foot will tread. This is also the me lost in nightmare and glamour, unable to step through the assylum gates past fearsome, light eating guardians.


This is me. This is me in my joy and my fresh, sparky eyed wonder. This is me at silly, willy nilly play. Me in the eternal summer of childhood. Mediterranean mid-morning light, low humidity. This is me at my most exuberant. This is also me sunburned, fingers burned, too hot to handle, sunstroke, heatstroke, burned out, blackened and blistered.


This is me. This is me responding to the pied piper’s call. Me rising like a rattlesnake to the haunting fluting of the snake charmer. This is also me bouncing out of bed bright-eyed, bushy-tailed at the first strike of the alarm, with purpose and vocation. This is me recognising that there is something greater than myself to reach for. This is me insecure, not good enough, not clever enough, bad, bad, bad and ugly of heart and soul. The me with the dark, slithering, creeping enemies of self that are doubt, fear and self-flagellation.


This is me. This is me stepping through the portal. Skipping through hoops, dancing over the finish line. This is me adventuring. This is me levelling up, doing it anyway. This is also me, big fish in little pond becoming little fish in big pond……….



Hello, little fish.






In a reading, particlarly with Tarot de Marseille type decks, you will probably find that the Trumps aren’t always you. They may be a person talking to you, ignoring you, have nothing to do with you and be doing something quite random of note, or indeed of little consequence.

The reason I’ve put this article together, is to demonstrate building a relationship with the figure on the cards. This will be moulded by what you have already learned, how you view the world and the people, personalities and archetypes that act upon its stage. Most importantly, when reading with cards visually, the image itself can hold the key.


The cards used throughout this piece are the Conver Ben Dov Marseille Tarot published by US Games.

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