Divination
Insight, Understanding, and Truth
Divination
I begin here, in the early morning. The grass is still damp and I can smell the mint near the porch when I brush it with my skirt; the chickens are muttering about breakfast but not yet insisting on it. There’s a stillness to this hour. A sense that something unseen is leaning close. That is the feeling many of us chase in divination: the quiet soft space where answers make themselves known.
Divination isn’t fortune-telling. It’s listening differently. Like noticing the wind by how the leaves move. We use divination before spells to understand the currents we’re stepping into, for guidance when choices are unclear, for shadow work when truth hides under fear, and sometimes to speak with ancestors or deities. It helps us see what’s already unfolding so we can act with clarity, rather than guessing in the dark.
When Divination Goes Wrong
Why were you pulling cards when you were already upset? I say this with love and also as someone who absolutely did that last Tuesday while the coffee was burning and the kids were arguing over whose turn it was with the tablet. I laid those cards down wanting comfort, not clarity, and of course the reading came out muddled. Then I pulled again. And again. And by the fifth spread I realized I wasn’t reading, I was begging.
When you’re reactive, your energy’s all jangly. It’s like trying to taste soup while it’s still boiling over. Step back. Drink water. Touch your rosemary plant, really breathe it in. Let your pulse settle.
If you’re asking the same question ten times, you already know the answer. You’re just not ready to hear it yet. And that’s okay. Keep trying.
The Tools:
Cartomancy and Runes
These are the old storytellers and symbol-keepers. They speak in images and patterns rather than plain words.
Cartomancy
Cartomancy uses a deck of cards - often tarot, sometimes symbolic - to explore situations, emotions, and possibilities. It doesn’t predict fate, it shows the currents you're already in.
Runes
Whether the Norse Futhark, Celtic Ogham, or Witch's Runes, these carved symbols speak in short, direct truths. They often show the underlying structure of a situation, the bones beneath the flesh.
Pendulum
A pendulum reveals yes/no or directional answers by responding to tiny muscular micro-movements you’re not consciously aware of, tapping intuition beneath the surface.
Scrying
Scrying is the art of gazing into water, mirrors, smoke, or flame to let symbols rise. It's less about seeing images and more about letting the mind soften into insight.
The Tools:
Pendulums and Scrying
These methods teach stillness and subtle listening; like hearing a whisper over the wind.
The Tools:
Other Methods
These are the quiet doorways. Simple, everyday acts that open the intuitive ear.
Tea Leaves
Patterns left in the cup whisper stories of emotion and direction.
Bibliomancy
A book opened at random can show you the thought you needed to face.
Cloud Watching
The sky speaks in movement and metaphor, shifting shapes that reveal the state of the inner weather.
Reading Bones: A Different Kind of Divination
I’ve noticed that when people first hear about bone reading, there’s a kind of hush that falls over the room. It’s not just curiosity—it’s recognition that we’re talking about something with depth, history, and spirit behind it. Many African diaspora traditions use bones, shells, keys, and found objects for divination, but not in a casual or interchangeable way. These systems are tied to ancestors, to initiation, to elders who teach in person, through story and presence. Bone reading isn’t just about the objects—it’s about the relationships that make those objects speak.
In my grandmother’s house, the bones on the altar weren’t for show. They were wrapped in linen and only brought out when someone truly needed guidance. She never rushed someone into learning. She’d ask, “Who are you learning from? Who’s claiming responsibility for your hands?” That was her way of saying lineage matters. Some bone-reading traditions are closed, meaning they belong to specific families or initiated communities. Approaching them without permission isn’t just disrespectful—it breaks the spiritual container that gives the practice power.
If you feel called to divination, there are open places to begin. Shells you’ve gathered yourself. A bowl of water where you watch how light moves. A deck of playing cards—not tarot, just the cards your uncle used at the kitchen table. These forms teach listening, patience, symbolism.
And if your heart keeps leaning toward bones, pause and ask: Is this open to me? If not, admiration without taking is also a kind of respect.
My First Tarot Deck
I want to talk about my first tarot deck, because it was… not great 😭 I bought it when I was just starting out and I picked it purely because the art looked cute on the product page. When it arrived, the card stock was slippery, the imagery felt super generic, and I couldn’t connect to it at all. I kept thinking something was wrong with me because everyone online was like “just trust your intuition,” and my intuition was basically radio static.
What helped was realizing that connection matters more than aesthetics or price. When I finally got a deck that felt like me (anime-inspired!), the readings flowed so much more naturally.
If your first deck doesn’t click, that’s okay. It just means there’s another one waiting.
Stay witchy 🌙🪄
Choosing Your Method
Every witch listens differently. Some of us think in pictures; others in sensation, words, or movement. Your divination method should fit the way your mind naturally works. If tarot feels overwhelming, try a pendulum. If you dream vividly, scrying may come easier. There is no “best” tool. There is only the one that lets you hear yourself clearly. Try things slowly. Notice what feels like coming home.
Learning to Read
When I first learned tarot, I tried to memorize every card like a school lesson. I had flashcards, charts, the whole lot. And yes, study helps – but intuition is the breath that animates the symbols. Learn the basic structures, but don’t cling to them so tightly that you can’t hear what the card is actually saying in the moment. The same is true for runes, scrying, any of it. Reading is a conversation, not an exam. With practice, the meanings will start to rise on their own, like scent from crushed mint. Trust that process.
Trust Your Gut Over the Book
I was in the shop yesterday and my youngest asks, “How do you know what the cards mean?” Good question. Here’s the thing: the book gives you the map. Your gut tells you where you actually are.
I’ve pulled cards where the guide said “celebration!” but the air felt tight, heavy, like standing too close to the forge when the heat’s wrong. That’s not celebration. That’s a warning. Trust that.
Books are written for average situations. You’re dealing with your life. Your relationships. Your gut is the part of you that’s been watching quietly this whole damn time.
If the meaning and the feeling don’t match? Go with the feeling.
Ethics of Divination
The hens are fussing out by the coop again; they always seem to sense when the air shifts. Divination has a similar tension to it, something moving beneath the surface. Before you read for anyone else, remember this: consent matters. Never pry. Never dig where you are not invited. And when you do share what you see, speak with care. You are not delivering verdicts; you are offering perspective. Be gentle, but be honest. And if someone asks a question you are not comfortable answering, you are allowed to say no.
Reading for Others
Last week, I read cards for a friend at a picnic table near the river, late light catching on the water. I’d washed my hands in the cold current first, grounding, because reading for someone else always feels like stepping into tender territory. You’re not just pulling symbols—you’re holding their hopes, their fears, their private questions they might not even say out loud.
So I try to ask first: What drew you to this reading today? Not to pry, but to understand the shape of what I’m being invited into. And if they don’t want to share, that’s fine too—we go slow, we check in, we leave room.
Reading for others isn’t about performing insight or being the one who “knows.” It’s about translating gently, offering possibilities, not verdicts.
And if I feel tired, scattered, or uneasy? I don’t read. Boundaries are part of the magic.
Choose one method to begin with. Just one. I know the temptation to gather every deck, every pendulum, every shiny tool. But learning comes from relationship, not collection. Start with small, daily questions: What energy should I carry today, or What am I not seeing. Pull a single card. Cast one rune. Let the answer sit with you while you make tea or tend your herbs. Over time, you will begin to recognize how your intuition speaks. This is slow work, rhythmic like breath. Bide your time. You are building skill, not chasing certainty.
Divination will not hand you a map with tidy arrows and labeled roads. Life has never worked that way. Instead, it offers perspective, a lantern held just bright enough to see the next few steps. As you read, you will learn not only the language of cards and runes, but your own inner voice. Some days the messages will be clear as sunlight on dew; others will be muddled as murky water. That is alright. This is a practice, not a performance. Keep listening. Keep returning. You are not alone.