Dusty Childers is “good vibes” personified. The moment he opened the door to his Brooklyn apartment, I was dwarfed by his height and his presence. But Dusty could make friends with a lamp if you give him enough time. I’d gone to visit Dusty, an amateur tarot card reader known for his positive interpretations of cards that don’t always signify rainbows and flowers, because I thought it would be fun. I’ve been increasingly interested in tarot since visiting a Muslim medium, who helped me understand that cards were just a conduit and not the gateway to Satan’s layer like I had been told as a child. The question that I brought to Dusty’s card reading table had to do with a mysterious long-lost sister a medium had suggested I look for. The cards did confirm that there was a family member out there, should I be inclined to find them (I’m not), but mostly, they pointed to my own spiritual life. While the reading was largely positive, thanks to Dusty sprinkling his optimism on me like Tinkerbell’s fairy dust, there were some subtle jabs reminding me to get my shit together. Unbeknownst to Dusty until after our reading, I have my own deck at home, and the blocked Hanging Man has shown up in my self readings twice. I know my fellow mystics are giving me a serious side-eye right now. Meeting with Dusty and talking about my thoughts and my spirituality highlighted that my curiosity over a secret sister was rooted in something entirely different. Talk about a fuckin’ read.
