What Tarot Really Is: A Conversation With Your Own Intuition
c. Edenglow Publishing, LLC ~ September 19, 2026
What Tarot Really Is: A Conversation With Your Own Intuition
c. Edenglow Publishing, LLC ~ September 19, 2026
Tarot has spent centuries collecting a lot of baggage—fortune-telling, superstition, scary movies, and more than a little dramatic candlelight. But beneath all of that is something surprisingly ordinary: an image, a question, and the very human instinct to find meaning in what we see.
There is something about a deck of tarot cards that makes people nervous.
Perhaps it is the Death card. Perhaps it is all those moons, towers, swords, hooded figures, and mysterious-looking symbols. Perhaps it is a lifetime of movies in which somebody turns over a card, gasps dramatically, and ominous music immediately begins playing.
Tarot has acquired quite a reputation.
But strip away several centuries of folklore, fortune-telling, occult associations, horror movies, and theatrical candlelight, and something much simpler remains:
A picture. A question. And your own mind responding to it.
Tarot does not have to be supernatural.
It can simply be a way of listening to yourself.
This may be the most surprising fact about tarot: it did not begin as a mystical practice at all.
The earliest tarot decks appeared in Renaissance Italy in the 15th century and were used for card games. The elaborate illustrated cards we now call the Major Arcana were essentially trump cards. Historical collections held by institutions such as London's Victoria and Albert Museum include surviving hand-painted Italian cards from around 1490.
The association between tarot and fortune-telling developed much later.
It was not until the late 18th century—roughly three centuries after tarot appeared—that writers and card readers began attaching elaborate mystical interpretations to it. Claims that tarot originated in ancient Egypt or preserved some secret body of ancient wisdom appeared during this period, but historians have found no evidence supporting those origin stories.
In other words, tarot cards were just cards before they became "mystical."
Their supernatural reputation is part of their later cultural history, not a requirement for using them.
Imagine that you are worried about making a change in your life.
You draw a card showing a person standing at the edge of a road with a small bundle over one shoulder.
Forget what a tarot guidebook says the card means.
What do you notice?
Maybe your first thought is:
She looks free.
Someone else might think:
She has no idea where she's going.
Another person might notice that she is leaving something behind.
Another might wonder why she is traveling alone.
The picture hasn't changed.
The person looking at it has.
And that is where tarot becomes interesting.
A richly symbolic image gives us something ambiguous to interpret. We naturally begin making associations—connecting what we see with memories, fears, hopes, experiences, expectations, and whatever happens to be occupying our minds at that moment.  Faced with that ambiguity, we begin making associations. We connect the image with memories, fears, hopes, experiences, expectations, and whatever happens to be occupying our minds at that particular moment.
The card doesn't necessarily provide the information.
You do.
Intuition sometimes gets treated as though it must be something mystical.
Psychologists don't need a supernatural explanation for it.
Research on human cognition generally describes intuition as rapid judgment that occurs without conscious, step-by-step reasoning. Our brains continually absorb information, recognize patterns, form associations, and generate impressions before we can necessarily explain exactly how we arrived at them.
That doesn't make intuition infallible.
Far from it.
Intuitive thinking can recognize meaningful patterns, particularly when it is grounded in relevant experience. It can also be influenced by assumptions, emotion, expectations, and cognitive biases. Psychologist Jonathan Evans, writing about dual-process theories of cognition, notes both sides: intuitive processing can incorporate considerable information very quickly, while deliberate reasoning is sometimes necessary to correct the mistakes intuition makes.
So "trust your intuition" shouldn't mean:
Whatever pops into my head must be true.
A better interpretation might be:
Pay attention to what popped into your head and ask yourself why.
That distinction matters enormously.
And it is precisely where tarot can become useful.
Suppose you draw the Tower.
In traditional tarot imagery, it can look alarming: a tower struck by lightning, people falling, everything apparently going spectacularly wrong.
If we treat tarot as supernatural fortune-telling, we might ask:
What terrible thing is going to happen to me?
But if we treat the card as a reflective prompt, the questions become very different:
What feels unstable in my life right now?
Is there something I'm afraid of losing?
Am I maintaining something that isn't working simply because changing it frightens me?
What would I rebuild differently if I had the chance?
Now the card isn't predicting disaster.
It's starting a conversation.
And sometimes a question we didn't deliberately choose can take us somewhere that a question we wrote ourselves would not.
There is another important ingredient in tarot: you don't know which card you're going to get.
That randomness can be useful precisely because you aren't choosing the subject.
If you sit down to journal and ask yourself, "What should I write about today?" you may circle around the same familiar subjects.
A randomly selected image interrupts that pattern.
Perhaps you draw a card associated with rest when you've been thinking about productivity.
Perhaps an image of conflict appears when you've been insisting that something doesn't bother you.
Perhaps you see a figure celebrating and realize how rarely you've allowed yourself to acknowledge something that went well.
None of this requires the universe to have selected the card.
The usefulness comes from what happens after you see it.
There is a good reason not to turn tarot into an unquestionable authority.
Human beings are exceptionally talented at finding personal meaning.
Psychologists have studied something called the Barnum effect: our tendency to regard vague or broadly applicable personality descriptions as though they were uniquely accurate descriptions of ourselves. Research has repeatedly demonstrated this phenomenon.
That helps explain why horoscopes, personality readings, fortune-telling, and similar systems can sometimes feel uncannily accurate.
And rather than ruining tarot, I think knowing this makes tarot more useful.
It reminds us to remain curious instead of credulous.
If a card interpretation feels astonishingly accurate, we can ask:
Why does this resonate with me?
That question is much more interesting than assuming an invisible force sent us a message.
At least one published academic paper has explored tarot through the lens of projective psychology—the idea that ambiguous images can encourage people to express their own associations, thoughts, and experiences. That is an intriguing way to think about tarot, but it should not be mistaken for evidence that tarot is a scientifically validated psychological assessment tool. Projective techniques themselves have a complicated and contested research history.
That should not be overstated. Research specifically demonstrating psychological benefits from tarot is sparse, and tarot is not an established psychological assessment tool or evidence-based therapy.
But the underlying idea is easy to understand.
Show ten people the same mysterious picture and ask them to tell you what's happening.
You probably won't get ten identical stories.
Those stories tell you something about the storytellers.
Tarot can work in much the same way.
This is the part that interests me most.
Draw a card.
Notice your first reaction.
Ask yourself a question.
Then write.
Unlike tarot itself, expressive writing and journaling have been studied fairly extensively.
A 2023 meta-analysis examined 31 experimental studies involving 4,012 participants and found a small but statistically significant overall effect of expressive writing on symptoms of depression, anxiety, and stress. Interestingly, the benefits were more apparent at later follow-ups rather than immediately after writing.
Other reviews have reached more cautious or mixed conclusions, which is worth saying plainly. An earlier meta-analysis of randomized trials found little or no overall health effect, and a systematic review of journaling interventions found substantial differences among studies.
More recent research on positive expressive writing has found the most consistent benefits in areas such as subjective well-being and positive affect, while effects on stress, anxiety, physical health, and other outcomes remain less consistent.
So journaling isn't magic either.
Good.
It doesn't need to be.
It is simply a tool that can help some people put thoughts into words, examine experiences, recognize patterns, and make meaning from what is happening in their lives.
Tarot can provide the question that gets the pen moving.
A tarot card cannot establish that your partner is cheating.
It cannot diagnose an illness.
It cannot tell you whether you should stop taking medication.
It cannot guarantee that money is coming.
It cannot determine whether someone secretly loves you.
And there is no good scientific evidence that drawing tarot cards allows us to predict future events.
Those are important boundaries.
A reflective tool becomes much less useful when we surrender our judgment to it.
Instead of asking:
What is going to happen?
try:
How do I feel about what might happen?
Instead of:
Should I leave my job?
try:
What about my current situation needs to change?
Instead of:
Does this person love me?
try:
What do I need from this relationship, and am I receiving it?
Those questions return the authority to the person who actually possesses it.
You.
This may be my favorite thing about it.
You don't have to believe anything.
You don't have to believe the cards contain energy.
You don't have to believe a spirit chooses them.
You don't have to believe they predict the future.
You don't need crystals, candles, rituals, astrology, spells, or a mysterious woman in a velvet shawl informing you that a tall dark stranger is approaching.
You are also perfectly welcome to enjoy all the candles you want. Candles are lovely.
But they aren't required.
A tarot deck can simply be 78 illustrated prompts for thinking about being human.
Love.
Loss.
Change.
Fear.
Ambition.
Conflict.
Beginnings.
Endings.
Relationships.
Loneliness.
Courage.
Uncertainty.
Hope.
Those subjects feel profound because human lives are profound—not because pieces of printed cardstock possess supernatural powers.
We spend enormous amounts of time looking outward for answers.
Sometimes it is useful to turn the question around.
A tarot card won't tell you what tomorrow holds.
But it might show you an image that makes you stop.
And notice.
And associate.
And remember.
And question something.
And finally write down the thought that has been sitting quietly underneath all the other thoughts.
The card didn't know it was there.
You did.
Perhaps you just needed something unusual enough to ask.