Good Help is Hard to Find II

I went to my psychiatrist for a regular checkup a few days ago. I brought a book on Tarot, and a Marseille pack, because the waits at his office are usually quite long. This time they weren’t, but as usual he was fascinated by my reading material. So of course we ended up in a conversation about Tarot.

“How does it work?” he asked me. I had to admit that I had no real theory on  that, but that I felt they operated a lot like Rorscharch inkblot tests. He seemed amused by that.

Then he asked “have you ever thought about reading professionally?” It wasn’t a question I was expecting to hear from him. I don’t read professionally, and won’t for a while, because I have no idea how to begin. I live in a small, conservative town, with no place for me to set out a shingle.

Maybe later. 😉

Good Help is Hard to Find

I’ve been seeing a psychiatrist for most of my life, for various reasons. I’m autistic, with the common comorbid conditions of anxiety, OCD, and ADHD. I saw a number of psychologists and social workers before being referred at the tender age of about 8, to the doctor I still see now. His office is over an hour and a half away from where I live. Good help is hard to find.

When my head cracked open, I asked him about it. He looked over his glasses (as he is wont to do) and asked me a couple of vague questions, before simply shrugging at me and telling me that what I was experiencing was “within the range of normal.” You see, he told me, “mystical experiences are part of the human condition.” He told me that he’d had such experiences himself.

Of course, this was the same doctor who would excitedly ask for a reading when he saw my Tarot cards. Good help is hard to find, but it’s worth searching for.

Morning Love Note

My Lady knows that I fall asleep most easily in the early morning, beneath the grey glow cast by a cloudy sky. I rest my head upon the pillow, beneath my bedroom window, and my mind soon wanders away.

Not long after, my heart takes flight through the glassy panes, without leaving so much as a trace of the silver wings that were granted by Her grace. It joins the dawn choir to sing with the birds She taught so well.