Working with Face-Down Tarot Cards

Sometimes a spread has already said everything that matters, and yet it leaves you with a quiet “yes, but…”. Something is clear, and still a detail slips away. Or the direction is outlined, but you want to see what exactly needs to shift—and how that shift could become real. In moments like these, working with face-down tarot cards can be a natural continuation of the reading you’ve already done: a second layer that doesn’t replace the first, but brings it into sharper focus.

The technique is surprisingly simple, and that’s exactly why it can be so accurate—it doesn’t add extra noise. You’re not starting a new spread from scratch. You’re building on the meaning that’s already there. On the cards that feel “unclear” or especially important, you place new clarification cards, but you set them face down, with the backs facing up. This small gesture carries its own symbolism: it’s like acknowledging that there is knowledge that hasn’t surfaced yet, and giving it a moment to settle into place before you look at it.

Clairvoyance as a Practice

When someone is just beginning to explore clairvoyance or divination, the experience rarely arrives as a fully formed, cinematic scene that simply “reveals everything.” More often it shows up as a sensation, a sudden association, a brief inner impulse. At first, it almost always surfaces in the unconscious—where the mind processes impressions in its own way, without asking permission. Then the real work begins: bringing that information up into awareness and translating it into a language that can be used meaningfully, without self-deception.

That’s exactly where divination systems come in. They are not substitutes for the clairvoyant, doing the work on their own; they are tools—ways of directing and shaping something that would otherwise remain scattered and inaccessible in the unconscious. When used properly, the results can be surprisingly good.

The Rider–Waite Tarot and the Art of Inner Reading

When someone first picks up the Rider–Waite Tarot, a feeling arrives almost instantly: as if they’re not holding just a deck, but a small gallery of parables. It’s no accident that this version has become the most recognizable image of “classic tarot” in modern culture. The deck appeared in 1910, in an era when Europe dreamed of rational progress while quietly falling in love with mystical systems, symbols, and old schools of thought. Arthur Edward Waite, a British occultist and esoteric scholar, stepped into the role of the idea’s architect—arranging, refining, and “translating” tradition into a clearer visual language. The first publisher was William Rider, and that is where the familiar name comes from, remaining like a signature on the deck’s history.

The most important point, often missed in dry descriptions, is that this deck wouldn’t “speak” the way it does without the hand of Pamela Colman Smith. She wasn’t merely an illustrator—she was a storyteller. Her images contain scenes, atmosphere, and motion, as if the cards were frames from a stage play or a dream where every detail has been placed on purpose. Smith drew with one foot in the tradition of the Marseille Tarot, yet she didn’t limit herself to it. She turned symbols into living characters and gestures that can be “read” intuitively, even before a person has learned the official meanings.

Pitua’s Egyptian Tarot

There are decks that simply sit beautifully in a collection. And then there are others… that are special. They carry that distinct scent of time—dusty libraries, antique engravings, and ideas that were so bold they changed the course of entire traditions.

Among my tarot decks, one deserves exactly that kind of special attention: Pitua’s Egyptian Tarot.

My copy is a Lo Scarabeo edition—full-color, richly saturated, genuinely captivating to the eye. But the original—the one everything comes from—is black and white. And that isn’t just a technical detail. Black and white has a different kind of power: it supports concentration. It draws attention to the symbol, the gesture, the line.

Pitua’s Egyptian Tarot isn’t just “another deck.” It is the inspiration and prototype of what may be the most famous tarot deck in the world today—the Rider–Waite. And there’s something especially pleasant here for anyone who has already worked with Rider–Waite: if you know that system, you’ll have no trouble at all working with Pitua’s Egyptian Tarot.

And then, naturally, the question arises:

But what—or more precisely, who—is Pitua?

Why Rituals Are Only Theater, Not Magic

Over my more than thirty-year journey in magic, there’s one question that returns with almost comical persistence. Sometimes it comes from someone new—someone who has only just opened the door to the subject. Other times it comes from a person who has “been through a lot,” someone who has watched videos until three in the morning, lit candles, whispered words, drawn symbols, and yet there’s a quiet tension in their eyes: “Okay… but then why doesn’t anything truly change?”

And right there, in that pause between hope and doubt, my most frequently asked question appears: “Why do you claim rituals are only theater and not magic? And if they’re only theater—why do so many people use them?”

I love these questions. Not because they give me a reason to argue, but because I can feel that behind them there’s something more valuable than curiosity. There’s a hunger for reality. There’s a desire not to be deceived—neither by others nor by your own eyes. And if those questions aren’t met honestly, a person can spend years “doing magic” and still never truly step onto the Path of working with the magic of the mind. They’ll be busy, they’ll be excited, they’ll have experiences… but they won’t have truth they can stand on.

So I’ll begin with the first question. But I won’t begin with theory. Because theory is often like a beautifully drawn map of a place you’ve never actually been. It can impress you, it can sound convincing, but it isn’t lived ground. And in this subject, nothing is stronger than practice.

Clairvoyance: First Steps

To be successful in using tarot—or working with any other system meant to look into the future—you need to understand clairvoyance. These things are connected. If clairvoyance isn’t developed, that usually means you won’t get results at all, or you’ll only get weak results. Many people underestimate this and assume “the cards speak for themselves,” but the truth is that the tool is only a tool. If there isn’t a real connection to the information you’re seeking, tarot turns into pretty pictures—and nothing more.

The internet is full of techniques that claim you can become a “top clairvoyant.” Anyone who has tried them already knows the truth: many people want this gift and are even willing to lie that they have it, but very few actually do. There are countless “easy methods” promising results in three days, a week, or a month—and they almost always feed the same thing: the desire to skip the effort. But on this path, there’s no skipping. There is practice, self-observation, patience, and above all, honesty with yourself. Here I’m going to share something that those who truly have the gift usually don’t like to share—not because it’s a “secret,” but because they don’t feel like explaining it to people who want miracles without work, or to people who chase sensation instead of growth.

A reasonable question connected to clairvoyance is: how do you receive information about another person or about events, whether in the past or in the future? In other words—what is clairvoyance, really?

Lenormand Cards — the Language of Symbols That Reveal Big Truths

Imagine Paris at the end of the eighteenth century: narrow streets, the clatter of carriages, the scent of perfume mixed with candle smoke—and behind the heavy curtains of a salon, questions are whispered that people don’t dare to say out loud. Someone wants to know whether their love is sincere. Someone else wonders if tomorrow’s deal will save them or ruin them. A third person fears betrayal, yet hopes they’re wrong. And when these people go looking for answers, they aren’t searching for a philosophical treatise—they’re looking for a clear direction. In an atmosphere like that, the legend of Marie Lenormand begins.

Marie Anne Lenormand was born in 1772 in Alençon, France. She is often described as having physical difficulties from early childhood—a detail that biographical accounts sometimes exaggerate, but almost always use symbolically: her life didn’t start easily, and that is precisely what made her even more determined. In some stories, she is sent to live in an environment close to a convent, where there is a library—one of those rare places where curiosity can turn into destiny. There, they say, she comes across books on symbols, omens, and different ways of “reading” the world. Whether it happened exactly like that, no one can prove with certainty, but the story feels like a key to her character: a girl who doesn’t fit in easily finds her language among the pages—and begins turning it into practice.

Mind Magic: When Magic Begins and Ends in Thought

A quick note for readers: In this blog, I use the term Mental Magic / Mind Magic in a European sense (since I’m based in a European country)—as magic of the mind and energy, not as stage “mentalism” or performance tricks presented as mind-reading.

To me, mind magic is a discipline of inner command. It isn’t theater, and it isn’t a plea to the Universe. It isn’t the kind of thinking where we believe that if we say the right words with the right intensity, reality will be “moved” and will grant our wishes. Mind magic is the direction of energy through thought—and it can only work through one logic: thought → energy → cause → effect. The reason is simple: the Universe is not impressionable. It is lawful.

Choosing a Significator in Tarot

One of tarot’s core ideas is that a person (or a situation) stands at the center of their own microcosm. Every spread is like a small map of that microcosm: relationships, motivations, influences, directions, and likely outcomes.

That’s where the significator comes in—a card that identifies the querent (the person asking the question / the person the reading is about) or the “core” of the topic (the situation itself). A significator is sometimes also called a blank—a “marker” card that helps establish focus.

 

Why use a significator at all?

A significator is not required. It’s a structural tool. Some readers use one every time; others only in certain situations.

It’s helpful when:

• there are many people/factors and you want it to be clear who is who;
• you’re doing relationship readings (two blanks—one for each person);
• the situation is complex and the focus can easily become blurred;
• you want to track how a person “moves” through the spread (for example, proximity between cards, the direction of development, repeating themes).

You can skip it when:

• the spread is short and straightforward (1–3 cards);
• you’re working within a specific system that doesn’t require it;
• your practice is to let the deck define what matters most through the positions.

 

How to choose a significator: main approaches

Constructing a Lucid Dream: Time, Scene, and Direction

One of the most interesting things about lucid dreaming is that once you realize, “This is a dream,” you start noticing how the dream is built—as time, as space, as a storyline, and as sensations. Sometimes this happens automatically, and sometimes you can consciously guide the process.

In this post, we’ll look at two key parts of “building” a lucid dream:

1. how time works, and

2. how the scene is constructed (the image, the action, the experience).

1) Time in a Dream: Why It Sometimes Feels “Like Years”

The first thing that almost always gets “constructed” in a dream is time—not as a clock, but as a sense of duration.

Sometimes the dreamer has the impression that the dream covered a huge span: months, years, even an entire lifetime. Other times, the dream feels like a brief moment. That feeling can be very strong—which is exactly why it’s important to understand it clearly and realistically.

What lab observations suggest