Building a Tarot library: Nine essential books to collect and study

Eliphas Levi once claimed that the archetypal power of the Tarot was so great that a person in prison alone with only a tarot deck could eventually reconstruct all of human knowledge and wisdom and attain adepthood. That may be true, but if I were the one locked in that room, these are the nine books I would want to have by my side.

The little white book.  Affectionately known to collectors as the LWB, this is the stapled booklet that comes nestled in the box with the tarot deck itself.  Some tarotists will sneer at the brief and sometimes trite meanings given in the LWB. But I will stand up for the poor derided booklet because, let's face it, everyone has to start somewhere.  And even learning basic, one-phrase meanings for all 78 cards can seem daunting when you're just getting started with the Tarot.  (Not only that, the LWB usually contains helpful notes from the artist and/or deck creator, allowing the reader to unlock the symbolism encoded in that particular deck.) If I were to get amnesia and forget everything I've ever learned about the Tarot, I would be most grateful for the LWB, condensing all that wisdom handily into one ounce of paper.

Rachel Pollack, Seventy-Eight Degrees of Wisdom.  Considered instant classics when they were published around thirty years ago, Pollack's treatises on the Major and Minor Arcana (now combined in a single volume) have held up remarkably well.  I might not agree with all her opinions on the cards, but her imagination and insight are unparalleled.  There's not much I can say about this book that hasn't already been said.  Everyone who's even casually interested in Tarot should read it.  If you want to understand more about the Hebrew mysticism that permeates the Tarot, then add her excellent Kabalah Tree as a companion volume.

Paul Foster Case, The Tarot.  Another foundational text.  Case, who knew more about the Tarot than possibly anyone else ever, was a pivotal figure in the revival of Hermeticism.  He founded the Builders of the Adytum, the oldest and largest organization dedicated to tarot education.  So much wisdom.  So much scholarship.  It's a shame this book isn't better known.

Mary K. Greer, 21 Ways to Read a Tarot Card. After you learn the basics of the cards, Greer's expansive view will open you up to their possibilities. Her blog is also how I keep up with publications, conferences, and other happenings in the world of Tarot.

Mary K. Greer, Tarot Reversals.  Mary Greer gets another mention. Ostensibly a niche title about reading reversals, this book is actually a comprehensive dictionary of all the card meanings, reversed and upright. Learning to interpret reversed cards can bring a new level of accuracy and nuance to your readings, and this book will show you that it's not as difficult as it seems.  Even if you're not into reversals, this belongs on your bookshelf.  Her interpretations of the cards are the most astute and accurate ones that I've found. 

Alan Moore, et al. Promethea.  Available in a series of five trade paperbacks, or a three-volume deluxe edition.  This is artist/mage/megagenius Alan Moore's superhero comic cum occult manifesto, lavishly illustrated by the great J. H. Williams III.  The title character's winding trek through the Tree of Life and the Tarot, which left some comics fans squirming, is just pure ambrosia for tarot nerds.  I can't wait for the movie. (Ha ha.  Like that will happen.)

Janina Renee, Tarot: Your Everyday Guide.  Ever stared down a tarot card and thought, "Yes, but what does that mean for me?" This unique book focuses on learning to read each tarot card for practical guidance. It's fun and fluffy, but with more substance than your average book of pep talks.  I use it help interpreting cards in the "advice" position of any spread.  Also great for the practice of a daily one-card draw for inspiration and affirmation. One gripe: I wish I could tear out the card illustrations, which seem ill-chosen and don't really add anything to the text.

Aleister Crowley, The Book of Thoth: A Short Essay on the Tarot of the Egyptians.  Certainly not for beginners, but essential for the serious student.  The Book of Thoth (and the accompanying vast and visionary deck) came about in Crowley's old age, the distillation of a lifetime of Tarot study.  Crowley's density can be frustrating, his pomposity infuriating.  But there's no denying the immensity of the man's intellect, and the beauty of those strange, seductive cards.

Lon Milo Duquette, Understanding Aleister Crowley's Thoth Tarot.  Conceived as a companion volume to The Book of Thoth, Duquette's explication of Crowley is a towering work in its own right.  Each card gets its own illuminating discussion, alongside a handy list of its attributions and correspondences. The book breaks down the Qabalistic and astrological foundations for the deck's structure, which might be beyond my grasp if not for Duquette's patient tutelage.  I also love Duquette's, Book of Ordinary Oracles, which weds hard-hitting divination theory with whimsy and a sense of fun.

Honorable mentions: If you still have money and space on your bookshelf, here's a few more titles to round out your collection.

Robert Place, Tarot: History, Symbolism, and Divination.  This book narrowly missed making the first tier, due to a somewhat stern tone, and a final section of card meanings that feels a bit padded.  Place engages in some grade-A myth-busting, taking a hard look at the Tarot's true historical origins and all the misinformation that has circulated over the years.  As a bonus, it's peppered with his distinctive woodcut-style illustrations, as seen in the Alchemical Tarot and the new Tarot of the Sevenfold Mystery.

Paul Foster Case, The Book of Tokens.  A strange little volume, out of print but worth seeking out.  Akin to a prayer book, Book of Tokens presents the BOTA versions of the Major Arcana (which differ slightly from the Rider-Waite) alongside devotional poems informed by Case's knowledge of Hebrew esotericism.  Even if you're (like me) slightly allergic to gematria, it's hard not to be impressed with the insight and intensity contained in this slim book.

Chic and Tabitha Cicero, Skrying on the Tree of Life.  For the confirmed Qabalah-head.  These guided visualizations, based on the Golden Dawn material, will introduce you to all of the Tarot archetypes in their own natural habitats.

Gareth Knight, The Magical World of the Tarot: Fourfold Mirror of the Universe. An intriguing collage.  There's some art history, some meditation and pathworking, some divination. There's a sprinkling of question-and-answer exchanges with students, which are sometimes helpful, sometimes amusingly random.  But for me, Knight's best contribution is a schematic of the Major Arcana that I've not seen anywhere else, which divides the cards into four "halls" governed by four elemental rulers, which correspond to the four classical Virtues.  An obscure book worth getting for this diagram alone.

Trish Macgregor and Phyllis Vega, Power Tarot.  In the introduction, these two ladies recall honing their tarot skills in the trenches--psychic phone lines, where you have less than a minute to hit on something good before the caller hangs up.  The fruit of their experience is this book of creative and down-to-earth divinatory meanings for all the cards.  Power Tarot is a great resource for divination, especially if you read over the phone, at parties, or other venues where you need to get specific information fast, for querents who could care less about the esoteric side of the Tarot.  The first part of the book provides card meanings for questions related to love, money, health, etc.  The second part contains fun and original spreads to help pull you out of the Celtic Cross rut.

The "intuitive" cop-out: Thoughts from a recent Tarot class

So, I've been attending a Tarot meetup for a more than a year, and I love it--but I want to talk about something that's been bugging me from the beginning.  Now, the format of this get-together is kind of loose, and activities vary from week to week.  We pass around different books and decks, exchange readings, and share our experiences and methods.  Usually there's a fairly in-depth discussion segment, where we will consider traditional and alternative meanings for the cards, talk about their elemental and astrological correspondences, and decode some of the mythology and symbolism embedded in the images.

But almost every time, there's someone who becomes very resistant.  It's not the same person, but a succession of them. This visitor sits through the discussion, not contributing, then raises his or her hand and says,"All this information is well and good for you people, but I'm a natural intuitive and the cards speak to me despite the fact that I know nothing about them.  (And don't want to.)  In fact, I don't need any tools at all.  I read a person's vibes like a teleprompter, and I have a personal chat with Mother Universe every Saturday. If I were going to condescend to do a reading here--which I'm not--I promise you'd all be blown away."

Now, the rules of etiquette prohibit me from laying into these folks on the spot, so I'm going to do it here. Leaving aside the obvious insecurity bubbling up from this statement (and the obvious question, what are you doing in a Tarot study group?) it's time to call bullshit on self-styled intuitives who resist study, practice, and discipline.  One foundational occult maxim is "Know Thyself"--and Tarot is "yourself, turned inside out" (Trish Macgregor and Phyllis Vega, Power Tarot).  Deep study of the Tarot, or any organizing system of wisdom, can only make you bring you closer to self-knowledge and enhance your intuitive work.
 
Now, I'm not quibbling with those folks who use personal meanings for the cards that differ from the traditional ones, or those who take intuitive cues from visual elements in the cards.  Most, if not all, good readers do this.  And it is just as common to be too rigid when interpreting the Tarot as it is to be too loose.  What I'm reacting to is the implication that some students are less wise, less intuitive, because they have the commitment to take notes, read books, exchange ideas and debate with others.  As if careful, persistent examination of one's spiritual path could diminish its beauty and mystery.  As if it were even possible to diminish something so beautiful and mysterious as the Tarot.  The anti-intellectualism that pervades the pagan/New Age arena is a pernicious, eroding influence.  Intuitive and intellectual faculties are not mutually exclusive.  The best diviners--the best practitioners of any magical art--are the ones who can synthesize all the parts: knowledge gained from study, wisdom gained from living in the world, and intuition gained in the moment.

Scones alone: A Samhain story about feeding the dead

Well, it's that time of year again--October, when the air gets crisper and the veil between the world gets thinner.  It's the pefect time to dust off our best tales of ghosties and spooks, and also to celebrate the return of the beloved dead, our ancestors and departed friends.  One way to honor the dead is with offerings of food and drink, a practice that that exists throughout history and around the world.  In keeping with the season, I thought I'd share a little personal story about trying to serve tea to a spirit last All Souls' Eve.

I guess I should include some background.  I don't regularly work with the dead, and I don't have any great talent for mediumship.  But I have had some isolated experiences with spirit contact in my life--just enough to know firsthand that there's some validity to it.  When I moved into my current home three years ago, I gradually became aware of one particular spirit.  I now think of him as one of my ancestors, though he's not a blood relative.  He identifies himself as one of the settlers of the area, someone who loved this land before I did (and still does).  My house is just past the northeast edge of the land that was once his family farm.  He's not much like a ghost--more of a guardian spirit, one of the genii loci that just happens to claim a human past.  In the past couple of years, I've been able to find out more about him, through a mix of psychic means and regular ole mundane research.  Through various experiences, my doubts have been quelled, and I've developed a sort of granddaughterly affection for him.  He's also been an important teacher for me in the last couple of years.

As All Soul's Eve approached last year, I began to think about what might make a suitable offering to show my gratitude.  Food seemed appropriate--a lot of the memories he'd shared with me related to food.  He remembered the scarcity of wheat flour, and the trial of eating dry corn breads for a couple of years until they could get a wheat crop going and a mill established.  He told me about raising dairy cows, and that the milk and cheese produced from Texas grass never tasted as sweet as the stuff he remembered from home.  He loved the abundance of fruit here--berries and plums that could be cooked into jams that didn't even need sugar.  Since I knew that this spirit was originally from Devonshire, England, I settled on the idea of a Devon-style service of tea and scones for my seasonal offering.

However, I felt that the details had to be just right--and that wasn't going to prove easy.  If you've never had a Devon-style scone--well, its not a regular English scone, those dense and doughy triangles studded with fruit.  It's actually closer to a Southern biscuit, round, but drier and sweeter and made with cream instead of water.  I checked just about every bakery in town, but couldn't find anyone who made something resembling a Devonshire scone.  So I found a recipe online and assembled the ingredients.  Over the next few days, I tracked down the remaining essentials:  Clotted cream from Devonshire to represent the homeland.  Texas strawberry preserves for the adopted land.  Good tea (loose leaf, not bagged), china cups, saucers, spoons, and a teapot of hammered tin.

On Samhain, October 31, I took the day off from work.  I got out of bed and baked the scones.  (They came out a little dense and crumbly, but a good effort, at least.)  I put hot water in the teapot, and gathered the dishes and cream and jam.  Then I put everything in a cardboard box with a tea towel, belted it to the passenger seat of my car and drove the mile or so to where the old homestead was. 

Of course, the original buildings are long gone.  Part of the place is a lake now, part is a busy road, and part is a public park.  It's active in the evening with people strolling and exercising, but during the workday there's often no one in sight.  It was a crisp, clear late morning--a  Monday.   From the parking lot, I could look and see that there was nobody around for a quarter mile.  Perfect.

I carried my cardboard box into the park and found a bench.  I sat down on one end of it.   I set up two plates, two cups, and two saucers--one for me and one for him.  I put two scones on each plate and split them lengthwise.  I spread the cream on the scone first (Devon style--they do it backwards in Cornwall), then heaped on the preserves.  I brewed the tea and poured two cups (plenty of cream, no sugar).  Then I tried to decide what to do next.

You see, this was the first time I had made a food offering to a spirit, and I had some unanswered questions.  I had done some research beforehand and found that food offerings for the dead are common to many cultures, but I found few resources that addressed what you actually do with the food in case the hungry ghosts don't show up to eat it.  Some of the advice was even contradictory.  I read that you eat the food, and offer the spirit the experience of tasting the food, because spirits don't have mouths to eat, which makes sense.  I also read that you should under no circumstances eat the food, because it is an offering for the dead, not a snack for you, which also makes sense.  I was planning to do what I usually do in such situations, which is go with what feels correct at the moment and hope I don't screw anything up too badly.  I took the first sip of my tea, trying to stay in a magical mood but feeling just a little silly.

I don't know what I was expecting to happen. I didn't see anyone, obviously.  I didn't feel anything out of the ordinary, other than the intensity of my concentration on the ritual.  As I mentioned before, I can be a little dense.  I don't always know when spirits are present, but I am a bit more confident in my abilities as a tarot reader.  So, I pulled out my cards--the ordinary 52-card deck I use when I'm in public and want to be discreet.  I asked if my guest was present.  I shuffled the deck and drew his significator on the first try--a definitive "yes" if ever there was one.  I still didn't know what to do.  I took a few more sips of tea.  It was aromatic and perfectly warming on that cool October morning.  I began to think I could easily drink both teas, if need be.

What happened next was baffling.  I saw someone approaching from the corner of the park.  Not an apparition.  Just a nicely dressed white man, slightly past middle age, walking a border collie mix along the path behind me.  When he was about six feet away, he stepped off the sidewalk.  He greeted me heartily, like we were old friends.  Then he came and sat next to me, just inches away from the second tea setting.

I guess I should have been worried, being accosted by a strange man in the park, with no one else in sight.  I guess he should have been frightened to come sit next to a crazy lady on a bench with two cups of tea and a cardboard box full of junk.  But it felt fine--normal, somehow.  I offered him the tea.  He didn't take the scones, but said they looked delicious.  I saw the dog coveting them, so I asked the man if his dog could have one.  Then we sat for a while, savoring the tea and watching the dog lick the cream off the scone.  I poured a refill.  I don't remember what we talked about--the weather, probably, and the dog.  I'm certain he didn't ask me what I was doing there with tea for two and some playing cards--because I wouldn't have had a ready answer for him if he did.

When we were finished, he stood up.  He looked me over and said,  "Enjoy your day...and God bless you."  And he continued on down the path.  And I did--I felt as blessed as could be.  When he had gone out of sight, I poured the remaining tea on the ground, and left the last of the four scones there in the grass.

I don't really have anything to add to this story, except to say that it comes close to typifying how magic, real magic, usually works--in unexpected and quietly stunning ways.  It's not always fireworks, but it's sometimes, just...wow.

Have a happy Halloween, y'all!

The five "clairs": Identifying and developing psychic senses

Remember learning about the five senses as a schoolkid?  Psychic ability is often considered to be a sixth sense, and that's one way to think of it.  But there is a more precise construction, which posits five psychic senses that correspond to the five physical senses.  These are sometimes called "the five 'clairs,'" after the French word stem that they all share.  Today, we're going to define all five, and discuss how they're used and different ways to develop them.

Clairvoyance ("clear sight").  Clairvoyance is the ability to see objects remotely, or to receive other true visual impressions through visions or dreams. Clairvoyance is probably what comes to mind first when people think of psychic abilities.  This makes sense, because for most of us, sight is the sense we rely on the most to navigate the world.  There are many sub-categories of clairvoyance.  Clairvoyant information most often comes spontaneously, through brief flashes of mental pictures.  The skill of a trained remote viewer is a very focused kind of clairvoyance.  Clairvoyant ability is what allows certain people to see auras and subtle energy, spirits, elementals, and other discarnate beings.  We can even classify mystics and religious visionaries as clairvoyants, if we're willing to venture that the realms they access have some external validity.

Some clairvoyants see things with their physical eyes open.  Some see them as mental images or behind closed eyes.  Some can receive images at any time; others get visions only in a trance or dream state.  (No way is better than another.)  Visions vary in intensity, too.  They can be as crisp and colorful as a movie, or lack detail, color, definition or motion.

Clairvoyance and other psychic gifts are almost certainly inborn, to some extent--but it is also possible to strengthen and develop your abilities through practice.  Clairvoyance is traditionally linked to the third eye chakra, so try searching for practices designed to stimulate and develop it.  (Too many to cover here.) Visualization exercises are a great way to improve the clarity of your visions (and enhance dreaming and artistic ability, besides).  And of course, if you're ready for it, scrying is one of the best ways to learn to awaken and control clairvoyant functioning at will.

Clairaudience ("clear hearing").  Clairaudience, or psychic hearing, is a gift that is similar to, but distinct from clairvoyance.  Clairaudients can hear sounds playing elsewhere, or receive spoken messages from beyond the range of normal hearing.  Have you ever sat down next to a friend, and "heard" a song playing, only to find out she had that song stuck in her head?  That's one example of clairaudience.  (All five of the "clairs" can involve telepathic contact, but "hearing" the thoughts of others in proximity to oneself is one of the most common forms of telepathy.)  Some, but not all mediums have clairaudient abilities that allow them to hear spirits' voices.  (Mediums who are clairvoyant, but not clairaudient, prefer to communicate through symbols and gestures.)

Clairaudients sometimes report hearing ancillary sounds, such as ringing or buzzing, that accompany the onset of psychic hearing.  Sometimes there is speech that isn't easily discernible--a murmur just outside of the range of hearing, or several voices speaking at once.  This is said to be most common when clairaudience is undeveloped or just awakening.

Needless to say, the process of developing or discovering clairaudience can be disorienting and frightening.  I suppose this is true of all psychic perceptions, but more so with clairaudience because the experience can be so similar to symptoms of mental and physical illnesses.  Of course, diagnosis of these ailments should be left to the professionals, and you should get help if you're concerned about your health.  However, if you find that strange audio perceptions occur when you're feeling spiritually open (e.g. during meditation or when you're around new people and places) and not the rest of the time, that may help rule out the more mundane causes.

People with clairaudient gifts can focus and improve their abilities through the process of sound scrying.  Similar to visual scrying, a device--a seashell or glass held to the ear, rushing water, or a white noise generator--helps creates a blank space of sound through which clairaudient impression can manifest.  Automatic writing is another way to learn to focus the flood of words into a usable stream.  Clairaudience is linked to the throat chakra, so again, you could try searching for practices to stimulate and strengthen that psychic center.

Clairsentience ("clear feeling").  Clairsentience has got to be the most common psychic phenomenon. Who hasn't had a bad feeling about a person or place, that later turned out to be completely correct? Clairsentience covers a broad range of bodily sensations that provide with information about people, places, and decisions.  This information comes through in the form of tickling or tingling sensations, changes in temperature, and pleasant or unpleasant "gut feelings."  The ability to experience intuitive leaps without any sensory information has another name, claircognizance--but mind and body are so closely linked that this distinction is mainly theoretical.  Both clairsentient and claircognizant folks describe the phenomenon of "just knowing" things, without being able to describe where this knowing comes from.

Some clairsentient people are sensitive to the energy of places or objects--they may have trouble remaining around places that have a buildup of negative energy, without necessarily being able to say why.  Clairsentients who pick up on the emotions of people and animals are also known as empaths.  Often, the pain or emotion an empath's body picks up from others can seem so real, it's hard to separate from their own experiences.  This isn't reserved for the extraordinary few.  Anyone who's ever had a close physical relationship--as a parent, as a lover--has experienced an intermingling of energies at least bordering on clairsentience.

Clairsentience is probably the most widespread of the psychic gifts--it would seem that nature has endowed all conscious beings with the ability to "feel" danger, and also to experience connection with others.  But because it's so subjective, it can be hard to learn to trust hunches and feelings.  One really "out there" clairvoyant experience is usually enough to convince someone of the reality of psychic abilities, but clairsentient experiences tend to be less evidentiary.  Clairsentient awareness builds over time, as you learn what different feelings mean to you, and as you gather that your impressions are usually correct.

Clairsentience is associated with the heart chakra (especially in the form of empathy) and with the solar plexus chakra (the source of the proverbial "gut feeling").  Dowsing (e.g., with a pendulum) can be an ideal divination method for those who have strong clairsentient impressions, but perhaps lack the visualization

Clairalience ("clear smelling").

The last two "clairs" are the least often discussed, but they can be very useful, especially as supplementary skills.  Biology tells us that smell and taste are our oldest senses, the ones connected with our animal past.  In human beings, they're somewhat atrophied.  Most other creatures routinely gather information about their environments through smell, but for us, this ability is so rare that it seems to border on the supernatural.

In folklore, clairalience is most often associated with spirit presence.  It's very common for the dead to announce their presence with a whiff of a familiar perfume or tobacco.  In the realm of ceremonial magic, scent also plays an important role.  Many spirits, gods, and astral places have fragrances that are associated with them, and the proper incense or perfume can be used either as a tool to draw them near, or as a signal of their presence.

If you want to develop your sense of psychic smell, try meditating to get back in touch with this vestigial sense.  When you smell something, you're actually taking molecules of it into your body through the air.  How weird is that?  (And yet, its an apt description of how we move through the mundane and psychic worlds alike, never isolated, always taking in and putting out stuff.)  Close your eyes and see how many smells you can discern in the room around you. You can also practice "visualizing" (or recalling) familiar smells, trying to recreate them in your mind as vividly as possible.

Clairgustance ("clear tasting").

Clairgustance is the least-discussed of the five "clairs"--I've never met anyone who claims to be a gifted third-generation clairgustant.  I once heard a phone psychic describing the experience of tasting the peanut butter sandwich one of her clients had been eating before the call--but that's the only example I can think of.  Taste and smell are very similar, biologically speaking, so I would imagine that anything said about clairalience would also apply to clairgustance.

In conclusion, I'd like to point out that this discussion of the five "clairs" is meant to be helpful for identifying and exploring a variety of psychic gifts.  Obviously, these categories are somewhat arbitrary and the boundaries are blurry--so there's no point in getting hung up on them.  For instance, if you ask a question and hear the spoken answer "yes," is that clairaudience or clairsentience?  In a vision, you smell an orange so clearly it makes your mouth water--are you developing your clairalience or clairgustance?  And so on.  Have fun!

Scrying past lives

So, we've all heard of scrying in order to peer into the future--but what about the past?  As in, past lives?  Let's look at one of the other well-known uses of magic mirrors--catching a glimpse of who you were in previous incarnations.  This exercise hinges on the "change-your-face" method of scrying, which, in turn is a variation of the Troxler effect.  (The optical phenomenon which causes objects in your field of vision to fade or change when gazed at.)  Some people believe it can act as a catalyst to help reveal the faces of previous incarnations to the scryer.

 Personally, I remain a bit skeptical of the whole concept of past-life regression.  Mainly, I think that if reincarnation happens--and it probably does, in some form--it's got to be more complicated than the linear progression of costume changes thought up by New Age authors.  (I mean, we already know that time and space operate in totally trippy ways, so why should the progress of souls be so neat and tidy?)  Also, I'm not sure how spiritually productive regression is, even if it works.  From what I've observed, discussion of past lives is too often used as a doorway to escapist fantasy, or a convenient way to rationalize bad behavior in this life.  And arguably, there's a good reason that we don't remember (much) about past life experiences once we're born into our current body.  It's an underrated gift to get a fresh start with a new lifetime, to be able to focus on the here and now.

But I don't mean to dismiss the practice of past-life exploration.  At the very least, it's pretty harmless way to pass the time and explore parts of your self that may be hidden.  And we can't ignore the fact that some people find (re)discovering their past lives to be genuinely instructive and inspiring.  I think that if you're going to go that route, scrying is the best method.  Plumbing your own past-life memories is way more reliable than other ways you could go about it, such as getting a past-life reading from a psychic or being regressed by a hypnotist. This way, you're not allowing someone else to directly influence your perceptions or memories via suggestion.  Even if you don't have memories of past lives, or don't believe that you've lived before, this exercise can have value.  You can use this technique to explore hidden sides of your personality, or simply as a way to feel connected to people with bodies and lives different from your own.

Okay.  To scry past lives:

Use a black mirror, if you have one, or a regular mirror in a dim room, ideally at night.  If you already have a reflective medium that you prefer, such as water or crystals, then by all means use that.  The idea is to have a surface that allows you to gaze at your facial features, but not so clearly that you start counting your pores or something.  Set up a dim light source, such as a single candle placed behind you, a lamp draped with a cloth, or moonlight, if you're so lucky.  (You may have to experiment to find the right lighting.)  Seat yourself comfortably upright, with the mirror propped up at an angle or held in your hands.

Once you're all situated, the next step is relaxation.  Take some deep breaths, and clear your mind of all worries, distractions, and expectations of what you're going to see.  (You might also want to review some of my scrying basics.)  Then gaze gently at your reflection.

At first, you'll see your face.  Your face is unique in the world, and your response to your own reflection is unique to this moment.  Take a minute to note your reaction to your own image.  Does it please you, startle you, make you feel critical?  Does it look familiar or unfamiliar? What is your facial expression?  Then, once you've had these thoughts about your face, let go of them.  Continue to focus on your reflection without thinking anything, concentrating on your breath if it helps.

At some point, the image will change, fade or disappear.  This may happen right away, or it may take a rather prolonged period of gazing at your refection.  The first sign of success is often dissociation:  You see your features, but they seem arbitrary, as if you were looking at a photo of a stranger.  Sometimes the face will fog over or black out, or the features may shift, morph, or swim.  Your reflection may appear to change gender or skin color.  This sight can be jarring, but if you can hang onto your focus, then the vision has begun.

If you're having trouble detaching yourself from the reflection, try this visualization:  As you look at your reflection in the mirror, imagine yourself getting younger and younger.  Any wrinkles or other signs of aging begin to disappear, as if you were slowly rewinding a time-lapse video of your life.  With each breath you take, the curves on your face soften, and your features grow larger in proportion to your face.  See yourself as a young adult, then as a child, an infant, and finally, just a field of darkness.  Know that the darkness is teeming with life, and that your face is about to re-emerge in a different form.  Then watch the emptiness and wait for what comes next.

You may find yourself gazing at one still face, or several in quick succession.  Like strangers on the bus, some will evoke no real response, while others will give you the feeling that you know them intimately.  If you see someone with whom you feel especially connected, try to go a little deeper into the vision.  See if you can transfer your awareness to that other person.  What does it feel like to inhabit his or her specific face and body?  Do you feel strong or weak, fat or thin?  Are there any sounds, smells, or physical sensations that stand out to you? What are you wearing, and what are you doing?  If your scrying vision is sufficiently developed, you may be able to look out at your surroundings, and even explore or interact with them.  If not, even just seeing another face looking back from a mirror can be a powerful moment.

When you've seen enough, it's time to return to your own body.  Step back from the vision the same way that you entered. With your physical eyes, see the face reflected in the mirror, and remember that it is yours.  Will your eyelids to open and shut, your nose to wiggle, etc., and see the face in the mirror dutifully respond. Take a few cleansing breaths, and put the mirror away in a safe place.  The final step is to write down what you've experienced.  If you're good at drawing (or even if you're not, who cares?) you could sketch a little portrait of the folks you've seen or been.

Happy trails, y'all,

M

Consulting the magic iPhone (Some thoughts on blank screen scrying)

Did you know that you can scry with an iPhone or other electronic device?  Yep--its partially reflective surface makes a perfectly suitable dark mirror.  You already know you can use these devices to view distant places and things, get answers to almost any question, and communicate with people all over the world.  But that's kid stuff.  No, this post is about using your phone, tablet, computer or television screen with the power off.

Like any other scrying tool, the digital black mirror has its advantages and its weaknesses.  Let's start with the disadvantages.

Cons: 

Aesthetic reasons.  I think electronics--all electronics--are ugly and a magical buzzkill.  I spend enough time staring at screens that I don't want them anywhere near me when I'm trying to relax and transcend.  The beauty and mystique of good scrying tools is totally absent from personal electronics.  Also, some people think that these devices emit vibrations that can interfere with psychic work.

The potential for distraction.  A crystal ball is good for about two things that I can think of--playing catch with yourself, and scrying.  With a phone, there's always the temptation to turn it on and start watching shark videos instead.

Fragility.  Phone screens pick up dust and scratches easily, and there goes your nice blank scrying surface. Flat black surfaces can be challenging for beginners anyway.  Add some distracting surface scratches and you're totally screwed.

Pros:

Convenience.  This scrying device is handy at all times--you probably have one in your pocket or on your desk right now.  You don't have to buy or tote anything extra to get your Nostradamus on.

Rebellion.  There's something kind of fun and subversive about using a media feeding device for an unintended purpose.  Yeah, scrying's passive, too--but at least it's a personal exploration instead of a reflexive consumption of mass media.

Discretion.  There are times--on the subway, in the breakroom--when busting out your scrying tools would make you look like a weirdo.  But a phone or iPod makes an excellent stealth mirror.  It's not at all strange to see people staring raptly into their handheld screens.  Nobody has to know yours isn't on.

Learning aids.  You can download various apps (like iScry) which generate relaxing patterns of smoke, water, or flame to help get you into the right frame of mind.  Try searching your app store for "scry" "hypnosis" if a blank screen doesn't quite work for you.  (Try that with obsidian.)

Good luck!

Legendary scryers: Pan Twardowski

Today's famous scryer is perhaps a little less than famous to English-speaking readers.  I'm talking about the quasi-historical Polish sorcerer and folkloric figure Pan Twardowski.  Pan Twardowski (or Master Twardowski) is a Faustian character who sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for occult powers.  In Poland, he has been memorialized in numerous plays, ballads, legends, and folk art.

Like Faust, Twardowki managed to evade fulfilling his end of the bargain for many years.  Always a clever one, he included in his contract a clause that stipulated that the devil would collect his soul in Rome, a place that he then avoided visiting at all costs.  His magical career finally ended when Old Scratch found his own loophole, coming to collect Twardowski's soul while he dined in a tavern named Rome.  (Today, there are numerous inns in Poland that claim to be the site of this fatal meeting.)  As Twardowski was being carried off to Hell, he entreated the Virgin Mary, and she came to his aid.  The appearance of the Blessed Virgin so startled the devil that he dropped Twardowski on the Moon, where he resides in solitude to this day.  But Twardowski gets bored there without his magical books and tools.  He sometimes sends spiders down to earth on silvery threads, to act as emissaries and informers for him.

The sorcerer of Krakow may be based on a real 16th-century occultist whose true identity is unclear.  Or he might be composite character created from the activities of various seers and magicians that were swarming Poland at the time (including, perhaps, John Dee and Edward Kelley, who resided in Krakow).  It's one of those cases where historical fact and colorful fiction blend together in an inextricable mess.

The most well-known story about Twardowski involves his evocation of the ghost of a Polish queen.  It seems that Twardowski spent some time in the employ of the Polish king, Sigismund II Augustus.  The king, after the death of his first wife, had made the politically unwise choice of marrying his court mistress, a Lithuanian noblewoman.  This second queen, Barbara Radziwiłł, was reportedly beautiful, accomplished, and the object of the king's passionate devotion.  Unfortunately, her position attracted the jealous attention of many courtiers, and she died of a sudden illness just five months after her coronation.  (Poisoned by her treacherous mother-in-law Bona Sforza?  Oooh...history's mysteries!)  In any case, her untimely death devastated the king.  He draped her chamber in black and remained in mourning for the rest of his life.  (Though he did remarry, hoping vainly for an heir.)

Krakow at that time was something of a haven for occultists, and the king surrounded himself with astrologers, mediums, and necromancers to comfort him in his grief.  One of these was said to be Pan Twardowski.  One night, at the urging of the king, Twardowski brought his magic mirror to the death-chamber of Queen Barbara.  There, the master magician summoned the wronged queen to full appearance, to the great relief of  the royal widower, and secured his position at court.  (Skeptics and cynics alleged that Twardowski faked the whole thing with the help of the queen's old gowns and a look-alike chambermaid.)

An artifact associated with Twardowski has survived (mostly) intact--the so-called "Twardowski mirror."  This is a tin and silver mirror supposed used by the magician for his scrying and conjurations.  In 1711, the mirror was installed in the Basilica of the Assumption in Wegrow, Poland--where it remains to this day.  The prophetic pull of the mirror was said to be so great that anyone could gaze into it and see portents of event to come.  (That is, until 1812, when Napoleon Bonaparte beheld his coming defeat and lashed out at the mirror, cracking its surface and dispersing its magical power.) The Latin inscription on the frame translates as, "Twardowski played with this mirror, performing magical tricks; now it is destined to serve God."

Artwork, from top:

Wojciech Gerson, "The Ghost of Barbara Radziwiłł (1886).     

Józef Simmler, "The Death of Barbara Radziwiłł" (1860).

Woodcut of Twardowski mirror (1871).