By Jeanne Fiorini
If you have ever wondered if your words made a difference to a client, this article is for you. If you ever scratched your head at the hair-brained reasoning that made you chose the Tarot as a profession, you need to hear this. If you ever doubted the impact of your work as a reader, you’ll be glad to have read this.
A few weeks ago a client sent me a note on Facebook saying that, once she had recovered from a nasty stomach flu, she’d tell me how I’d saved her life. It wasn’t until I received her account that I realized she wasn’t being metaphorically dramatic. (Such as in, “You saved my life by telling me about that sale at Macy’s” or “You saved my life by steering me away from that bad-boy Mark.”)
Before setting this down to put before you, I asked the client’s permission to tell the story. This is her reply:
I'd be honored. Because from the places that shift between magic, intuition and truth, I think it's an important affirmation of the power of the Tarot. I believe it shows the ability of a good reader, and what can happen when someone's mind is open to possibility.
So here it is, a story that I share with all readers, since you are the best to appreciate both (or all of the) aspects of this experience. I present it not as a self-serving gesture, but one of support for the work we do. This is the note I received:
As promised, this is the story of how your tarot reading saved my life. One thing you don’t know about me, is that, on occasion, I have been suicidal. I don't live my life that way, but at times, frankly, it happens. I have this month been also approaching the 5-year anniversary of John’s death. This Valentine’s Day was particularly difficult for me.
John was passing during January and February of 2007. More than anything, when John died, more than anything, I wanted to go be with him, my dear friend and the other half of my soul. I tried very hard to get sick, like him. But it wasn’t my time. And it has troubled me over the years and in bouts of loneliness, I have contemplated wrapping it all up and going to him.
Fast forward to Valentine’s Day 2012. I’d spent the first half of the day at work, crying about John (and a man I’d met after John’s death), dressed in all black with a stabby sword (which is not my usual Valentine’s getup). I was also getting a heinous stomach virus. I left work early, crying on the way home, feeling terrible and thinking that if it was going to be this way, I would just end it all near the anniversary of John’s death.
So there I am driving the toll road, tears streaming down my face, and my thoughts ran like this: “and then ... then … I won’t have to worry about this anymore because it will just be done and I’ll be with John because I don’t want to be here anymore.”
And then…another little voice in my head said, “but Jeanne Fiorini said he’s reincarnated. He’s three years old now, and he’s reincarnated.”
I stopped crying, and said out loud to no one, “Oh. OOOOHHHHH. Well, damn , there’s really no point to that, is there? Doing all that and he’s not even there? You better give that one a rest, girl.”
And then I had peace. I am missing him very much, but your reading fixed a life management problem for me with the interpretation of the question of whether he’d "met someone" since going over to the other side. I thank you, infinitely, for the spirituality and practical insight. That would have been a fatal comedy of errors. Jeanne, sincerely, thank you, bless you.
Plus -- it's kind of an amusing revelation too. :)
That’s all I’ve got on this one.