My Expert Take on the Lawsuit Against That Poor, Misunderstood Tarot Deck
Hello, dear readers! I have been an expert in tarot and legal matters for—let me check my watch—roughly twenty minutes now, and I have never felt more qualified to speak on the subject of a very sad and confusing lawsuit. You see, a tarot deck has been sued by a former participant in a group ritual, and I think we all need to take a deep breath and stop blaming the cards.
Let me start by saying that I have personally handled this exact deck. Not this exact one, but one that looked very similar, which is basically the same thing. I remember thinking, “Wow, these cards have a lot of dramatic pictures on them.” There’s a tower falling over, a man hanging upside down, and a skeleton riding a horse. I thought, “What a fun party game!” And I was right. But apparently, some people took the skeleton on the horse a little too seriously.
According to the lawsuit, the participant—let’s call her Sandra, because I don’t know her real name and I am an expert—joined a group ritual where they used this deck to “summon” something. I have to stop here and admit that I am not entirely sure what “summon” means. I assumed it was like calling a dog. “Come here, Spirit Dog!” But I now understand it might be more like calling a very angry customer service representative. Either way, Sandra claims the deck caused her emotional distress. And I think that is a beautiful misunderstanding.
You see, tarot decks are just paper. Paper cannot sue you back. Paper cannot hold a grudge. I once dropped a deck in a puddle and it didn’t even get angry—it just got soggy. So the idea that a deck of cards, which is essentially 78 pieces of laminated tree, can be guilty of “breach of contract” is the most wonderful nonsense I have ever heard. It’s like suing a banana for being too yellow.
But let’s talk about the ritual itself. The participant said the group was trying to “open a door.” I love that! I open doors all the time—to my apartment, to my car, to the fridge. I have never once been sued for it. But apparently, in the tarot world, “opening a door” means something symbolic or spooky. I think the real problem here is that nobody asked the deck for its permission. The deck was just sitting there, minding its own business, and suddenly a group of people started waving it around and shouting. If I were a deck, I would feel very overwhelmed.
The lawsuit also mentions “negligent interpretation.” This is where my twenty minutes of expertise really shines. Negligent interpretation would mean someone read the cards irresponsibly or without care. And I am here to tell you: everyone reads the cards wrong sometimes. I once pulled the Death card and told my friend she was going to die. She did not die. She got a haircut. I was wrong. But I wasn’t negligent—I was just confused! The Death card traditionally signifies major transformation or change, not literal death. So you see, the deck is not at fault. The deck is just a messenger. And the messenger is a piece of cardboard.
I also want to address the “group ritual” aspect. I have been in a group ritual. It was called “my birthday party.” We lit candles, we sang songs, and I tried to blow out the fire on the cake. Nothing bad happened. So I think this “ritual” was probably just a very intense book club. Someone probably said, “Let’s use these cards to find inner peace,” and someone else heard, “Let’s use these cards to open a portal to the underworld.” Miscommunication! It happens all the time. I once told someone I loved their shoes, and they thought I was proposing marriage.
In conclusion, as an expert of twenty minutes, I believe the tarot deck is innocent. It is a victim of its own popularity. It didn’t ask to be taken so seriously. It just wants to be shuffled and looked at and then put back in a drawer. Your toaster is not trying to burn your house down. Your tarot deck is not trying to haunt your dreams. And if you ever feel like a card is staring at you, just turn it over. It’s just a drawing. And drawings can’t sue you.
But they can make you think very deeply about why you’re so scared of a skeleton on a horse, and that’s a beautiful kind of confusion.