The Spirited Life
The official website of Paul Quinn: author, teacher and intuitive consultant

I recently flew to Denver for a conference. Arriving late afternoon on a gray day, I rolled my suitcase to the airport’s ground transportation area and was dismayed to learn that taxis into the city were nearly $70. Hoping to make the trip more economical, I decided to ride in a van. Considering all the passengers climbing into it, I realized the trip would involve numerous stops and quite likely add considerable time to my trip to the hotel. Still, I reasoned to myself, the van was $30 cheaper.

The driver stowed my luggage and I slid into the second row, taking a seat at the window.

Though the van was already packed with passengers, departure was delayed; it appeared the driver was hoping to recruit just one more fare. As we waited, I felt increasingly agitated. The cloudiness of the day hung heavily, and I had the sense of being trapped – not in a claustrophobic way, but that I had put myself in a situation that now seemed unnecessarily unpleasant and restrictive, just to save $30 I could well afford. If I valued my time and well-being, it occurred to me, I wouldn’t be sitting in this van.

“Excuse me,” I muttered, shimmying past several passenger knees, and hopped out the door a free man. The driver reluctantly returned my suitcase, and I headed back to the taxi stand. Despite the additional wait ahead of me, I felt great relief at having opted for more expedient transport.

I had walked only a few steps when I heard, “PAUL!”

Two friends of mine, Brian and Janice Marie, who had flown in from New York for the same conference, were waving me to join them in a cab at the front of the taxi queue. I said a silent prayer of thanks for the guidance that had propelled me from the van, and enjoyed a direct and delightful ride to the hotel.

When I saw the first proposed cover design for my forthcoming book, Tarot for Life: Reading the Cards for Everyday Guidance and Growth, I did not like what I saw. It was far too flat and conservative. A stately font and somber colors betrayed the vitality promised in the title. Even the vibrant Sun card, though it appeared prominently, couldn’t compensate for the overall blah vibe of the design.

Fortunately, the publisher agreed, and the cover designer went back to the drawing board.

For the revised cover, I provided the designer a list of some of my favorite cards as well as those I preferred not to see (The Devil and Death somehow didn’t seem inviting enough), but it was her job to decide which cards would appear where.

I instantly liked the new cover. I appreciated its inclusion of numerous cards, fun fonts, and engaging colors. Here was something people could enjoy looking at, perhaps even getting them curious enough to buy the book!

One detail on the cover, however, bothered me a little. At the bottom left, the Magician and Two of Swords appear next to my name. I had no problem with the Magician: who wouldn’t want to have one’s moniker alongside the archetype of intention, mastery, and meaningful change? But the neighboring card, one traditionally signifying indecision and inaction, seemed poised to cancel out the magic. A potential spoilsport.

For a few days I contemplated asking the designer to replace the Two of Swords with another, more empowering card. The ineffable High Priestess perhaps. Or the noble Chariot. Something that would look more majestic next to my name. Something that would make my ego hook its thumbs in its suspenders and rock proudly on its heels.

But, in the true spirit of the Tarot, I decided to “let the cards fall where they may.” And, like the Peanuts gang deciding that Charlie Brown’s tree wasn’t so bad, it occurred to me that there was something wonderfully right (for me) in the pairing of the Magician and Two of Swords. I am blessed to enjoy a Magician-like “anything is possible” strand in my DNA, which has enabled me to create many good things in my life.

But there have also been times when I have overdone the “doer” role. I now choose to see the Two of Swords not as a killjoy contradiction to the Magician, but as a symbol of the value of “just sitting with” an idea, allowing time to reflect on its character and weigh its options before applying will and skill to make it happen. The Magician and Lady of Crossed Swords, in any sequence, could make an effective team: employ single-mindedness/embrace paradox; weigh the consequences/take action.

I also like the color balance of the two cards, which was all the designer had in mind when she placed them there, never imagining the author would attempt to read so much into it!