A dude read Tarot for me the other day. He only reads from a positive perspective, he says. I pick my 10 cards, trying to feel which cards to choose. As if some mystical energy is guiding my choices. I wonder if other people think that way. Did my friend who was read before me think that, as she chose her cards, seemingly less deliberately? Did the older woman after me think about this imaginary force as her fingers kissed the flourish of cards, choosing her destiny? My cards, as carefully chosen as they were, seemed to convey the same story I’ve heard before. The same parable of the resilient survivor, always charging forth, despite the kick in the head, despite the blood. In the end, that could be anyone that isn’t dead. Yet, the energy, it remains – a tingle, a vibration, a dulcet melody in my flesh. Like a single drop of rain sliding slowly down my neck, then the middle of my back, to fade away, somehow into me, my skin.