After nine plus hours of Tarot workshops, was I tuckered out? Why yes, very tuckered out. But some of us went out for snazzy Italian and then I came back to the room to crash (read: crochet) and now I can perhaps write a little more about it.

You might be wondering about the picture. I can’t explain it — even I wouldn’t have expected, from Wald and Ruth Ann, a goofy rubber goodie at every break. Earlier in the day I was talking to Johanna about Green-Wood, and we’d meandered back over to her seat, where I was writing my email down in her notebook. “Nice duck,” I said. “You have one just like it,” she answered. “I do?” Sure enough, it was waiting for me when I got back to my chair. Next break, it was the alien. No reason, just, hey, free alien.

One of the best parts of these conferences are the unexpected surprises in the form of kindred spirits. Shawn Nacol is a witty, brilliant madman who not only writes plays for an honest-to-gosh living (come on, how many people can say that), but also teaches the history of Western magic to high school students at St. Ann’s (back in my old neighborhood). If that wasn’t enough, they actually paid for his ticket. He told us that, and my jaw just dropped, in high “get! out!” fashion. After assuring me that it was true, he promptly dazzled me with his Qabalah-fueled-yet-down-to-earth reading. The guy must have a photographic memory, he’s so well-read. I’m hella jealous. Ah, but he’s also a charmer, so I can’t stay wound up for long. I hope to see him from time to time, here in the ‘hood.

Come to think of it, all of the readings I’ve recieved this weekend have been knock-me-down good. There’s a small gaggle of ladies from across the pond here (London and Kent, specifically), and all of them have that stereotypically spooky sixth sense — you know the one. Didn’t take long for them to get my number, I assure you, and the accuracy would be uncanny were I not so well-acquainted with the possibilities and the realities. What can I say? There’s no hiding in a room full of professional Tarot readers.

The second best thing about the conference, after the amazing people, are the new techniques presented by our guests of honor. Rachel, convinced that we need to “rescue Tarot from psychology”, presented us with a slew of spreads that were neither fortune-telling, nor occultist-concocted, nor therapy-based, with much success. She’s right, of course — the trend in our studies to pass everything through the Jungian strainer (deck’s full of archtypes, it comes with the territory) is not so much misguided as it is overdone. Readings need not be therapy sessions — it’s time for the balance to swing back the other way. She also made the point that reading for a living necessitates a certain amount of prognosticating. If you’re not familiar with the Tarot crowd, you may not believe this, but, that kind of thing really makes us writhe. We’re counsellors, you see (or some variant thereof); our work is about getting down in there and rooting around. We don’t like to sully ourselves with that predictive stuff, that’s for Miss Cleo. The thing is, there’s still a fine place for good old fashioned telling the future, and for brand new perspectives, too.

Also had the good pleasure of meeting my Llewellyn editor, Kate Brielmaier, for the first time. Woo!

There’s more, but it’s 1 in the morning. Needless to say, I’ll be sorry to see it end tomorrow…