The nuns kept a respectful distance. As I staggered up — always trying to be cool, be cool, be cool — they approached and nonchalantly said hello. Gotta love nuns. They have perfected the art of detached concern. I tried my best to be courteous and prove that I was fine but they knew better. The gruffer one held out a palm-sized box.
“I thought you might like these,” she said.
Circular playing cards? From nuns? If I was lost before, this merely added to the puzzle. It must have shown on my face.
“The Motherpeace Tarot. See what you think.” She gently placed the deck in my hands. Old Christian ghosts instantly materialized — but emotional devastation tends to blow open new doors. What did I have to lose?
The cards held the strangest images — women flying, dancing, swords on fire. I didn’t have a clue what anything meant; didn’t know the order, the story or how they worked. Plus, the fear of demonic influences quickly put a damper on my little party.
You can take the girl outta the church but try taking the church outta the girl.