By Lavinia Plonka
One of my oddest, odd jobs was a mini-career in reading Tarot cards at parties as Madame Lavinia. It had begun by accident: a theatrical agent who knew that I dabbled, called me in hysterics: their psychic was sick (couldn’t she have predicted that?). Could I, would I throw together a gypsy costume and read cards? “I can’t do that! I’m not psychic!” But no excuse would deter her from her conviction that a phony seeress was better than none. I sat at this party feeling like a cross between a con artist and a blithering idiot.
“You’re going through some big changes at the moment,”
“Things have been tough, but it’s all going to change,”
“You need a change.”
Whenever I was at a loss as to how to interpret the cards, I just had to couch my oracular pronouncements from the perspective of change and I was on a par with the Delphic Pythoness. Somehow, word got around and next thing I knew, (although I should have seen it in the cards), Madame Lavinia was booked for events ranging from corporate picnics to graduation parties.
In the past, during particularly dreary days, I’d pull out the cards and say to myself, “Yes, things are pretty bleak right now, but they are about to change.” Then I’d lay out the cards. When the spread dared to intimate more of the same misery, I would quickly gather them up, saying, “Clearly I haven’t shuffled enough. Give me something better than that . . . now!”
I’ve been told more than once that “all is good.” That it’s all about attitude. Looked at from another perspective, we could reframe things: bad is the new good! For example, there’s a Tarot card called the Tower. It shows screaming people leaping out of a burning castle or skyscraper. Instead of saying, “Uh oh, there’s a catastrophic change ahead,” look at the good: “You are about to experience a magnificent opportunity to liberate yourself from old attachments.” One of my favorite doom and gloom cards is the Ten of Swords. A person lies face down, stabbed in the back by ten swords. The Tarot historically defines this as ruin, betrayal, utter despair. What a wonderful time to treat yourself to a massage! Better yet, let’s look at the therapeutic quality of being punctured. Maybe a few sessions of acupuncture are in your future.
All the great philosophies tell us that change is inevitable. The I Ching is actually called The Book of Changes. Just when you think things couldn’t get worse, they do. When you’ve been knocked up side the head by the Ten of Swords, be comforted that even this can be interpreted positively: there’s no place to go but up!
If I don’t drink my opened bottle of wine, it will turn into vinegar. On the other hand, if I forget about the apple cider in the fridge, it becomes hard cider. See? Change is good. When do you let change happen and when do you initiate change? Is my decision – whether it’s a fashion fit before a party or quitting my job – really mine?
Everything is always changing, even when we don’t notice it. I imagine a conversation between two rocks sitting on the bank of a river.
“Hey.” “Hey what.”
“I’m eroding.”
“I’ve noticed you’re looking thinner. You look great!”
“I dunno. I could probably still lose a bit on the bottom.”
“Well, you better be careful. Try to change too much and you’ll do something radical. Did you see
what Al did?
“How could you miss it? He went right over the edge of the bank.”
“Well, he’s been on the edge for a long time. I warned him.”
“Yeah, but to just go like that.”
“Crazy, huh.”
“Hey, he’ll survive, he likes to take chances. Anyways, let’s face it, you never know when change is going to hit you. Look at Ilsa, man.”
“I know, she totally cracked!”
“Who would have expected Ilsa to fall apart like that. She was such a rock!”
“It’s always the quiet ones.”
“And now she’s in pieces. I don’t think she’s going to be able to get herself back together.”
“Well, she was no spring chicken.”
“Yeah. We got time.”
When we decided to leave NJ for Asheville, I felt reborn. I ran up and down stairs, packing boxes, organizing yard sales, giving things away. I couldn’t wait to start over. No one in Asheville would know I’d ever been a fortune teller. I would have no past, except what I was willing to divulge.
While I packed, my husband Ron would slip out of the house in the morning and return in the evening without so much as touching a box. I assumed he was busy packing up his studio. But he wasn’t. He was sitting there, paralyzed. A week before the move, I asked him how it was going and Ron assured me he was almost done. When the movers arrived at his studio, they not only had to finish packing his stuff, but they had to order another truck because Ron’s “few boxes” amounted to another whole move.
After everything was gone; the house was empty, the studio was empty, the new family was waiting outside, Ron stood rooted in the house. I asked him if he was scared.
“No, why?”
“Because you’re standing stock still in the middle of our former house.”
“Huh?”
“It’s time to go now. We’re moving to Asheville.”
“Right, right.”
To this day we, or rather I, joke that Ron’s heels left skid marks on the floor in our old home as I dragged him to his new life. He doesn’t think it’s funny
Life is good. I decide, why not read my Tarot cards? They come up – two of disks: change, five of cups: disappointment, The Moon: fear of the unknown. I quickly gather them up and say, “Clearly I haven’t shuffled enough!”
Body language expert, Lavinia Plonka has taught The Feldekrais Method for over 25 years.
For more information, visit her at laviniaplonka.com