When Tarot Helped Me Survive Spiritual Warfare — As a Follower of Jesus

A reflection on discernment, divine guidance, and navigating spiritual warfare beyond traditional boundaries.

There is a narrative within traditional Christian culture that tarot readers are portals for demonic interference. That to consult them is to open a door. That guidance accessed through cards is spiritually dangerous or automatically misaligned with God.

I understand that framework.

And yet — during one of the most intense seasons of spiritual warfare in my life — tarot readers were part of what helped me come through it intact.

Let me explain.

I have followed Jesus for most of my life. I am also a student of A Course in Miracles. I have loved and felt connected to God since childhood. My faith has never been casual. It has been lived, tested, and refined.

But I did not enter spiritual warfare as a traditional Christian.

I never read the Bible cover to cover.

I did not grow up fearing demons or hellfire.

I did not obsess over spiritual enemies.

My beliefs were simple:

Love.

Forgiveness.

Direct relationship with God.

I followed Jesus as teacher, not institution. As living consciousness, not culture.

So when the warfare began, I was not primed to see demons everywhere. I was not conditioned to interpret every disturbance as evil. In many ways, I entered it unbiased.

What I encountered was not theatrical.

It was psychological and physiological.

Intrusive thoughts, emotions that didn’t match what was occurring, odd bodily and energetic sensations.

Manipulative narratives.

Identity destabilisation.

Fear language that did not feel like my own.

I knew God.

But I did not yet understand the tactics of influence.

Tarot readers gave me language.

They articulated patterns I was experiencing but had no vocabulary for. Some pointed toward practices that may have been used against me — energetic manipulation, psychic interference, intimidation dynamics.

Whether someone interprets those literally or psychologically is secondary.

The point is this:

Once I had language, I had authority.

Once I had authority, I could rebuke clearly.

I could pray specifically.

I could include those identified practices in my renunciations.

I could stand in my faith with precision instead of confusion.

I do not believe the cards themselves saved me.

I believe God met me through whatever channels I was willing to listen through.

Just as sometimes a TikTok video would surface at the precise moment I needed clarity.

If God can speak through a burning bush, He can speak through cardboard.

What mattered was not the tool.

What mattered was discernment.

Not every tarot message is for you.

Not every reader is aligned.

Not every spiritual channel is clean.

But not every church is clean either.

Not every ideology is safe.

Anything — Christianity, witchcraft, New Age spirituality, even anti-spiritual materialism — becomes limited and ineffective when it insists:

“This is the only way.”

“This is the only channel.”

“This is the only legitimate access point to God.”

The Divine is not fragile.

Truth is not threatened by exploration.

And rigidity — in any system — eventually cracks under pressure.

A brunette tarot reader holds three mythic-style tarot cards titled The Lovers, Strength, and Temperance. Behind her stands a luminous, semi-transparent figure of Jesus surrounded by a glowing shield of golden light, with two small shadowy figures outside the barrier.

Integration Instead of Allegiance

Another thing surprised me during that season:

I did not survive it by narrowing my spiritual language.

I survived it by integrating it.

I used Scripture when it strengthened me.

I used principles from A Course in Miracles when they restored my perception to love.

I listened to tarot when it offered clarity.

I engaged in intentional spiritual practices some would label “energetic” or even “magical” — not as superstition, but as conscious acts of reclaiming authority.

Not because one system was supreme.

But because truth can echo through many dialects.

When a Bible verse restored my peace, I used it.

When ACIM corrected my fear, I leaned into it.

When a tarot reading exposed manipulation I could not yet name, I listened.

When a symbolic act in meditation or an energetic one in the 5d helped me psychologically reclaim ground, I did it prayerfully and consciously.

The common denominator was not ritual.

It was alignment.

Tarot-style Strength card featuring a golden lion lying peacefully in a meadow with a white lamb resting against him, surrounded by warm golden light and an ornate border.

Another humbling truth was this: no single framework worked consistently on its own.

Sometimes Scripture would anchor me instantly.

Sometimes it felt distant and I needed the perceptual correction of ACIM.

Sometimes a tarot reading exposed a pattern I could not yet see.

Sometimes energy work restored psychological steadiness.

There was no formula.

There was responsiveness.

And that taught me something vital: God is not mechanical. Guidance is relational. Discernment is dynamic.

What remained constant was not the tool — it was my willingness to stay aligned with love.

Spiritual warfare, at its core, is not about proving one ideology superior.

It is about whether fear or love governs your choices.

It’s not what you think —

it’s what you do

that defines you.

A wooden toolbox filled with spiritual items including a Bible, a copy of A Course in Miracles, three tarot cards, a glowing sword, and a shield of golden energy surrounding the box.

The Anchor Beneath It All

Through all of it, I ran everything past Jesus.

Not performatively.

Not theatrically.

Quietly.

“What would You have me do?”

“What would You have me see?”

“What would You have me know?”

“Who would You have me be?”

Sometimes the answer felt immediate and clear.

Sometimes it didn’t.

Sometimes I had to act on what I believed was right — with incomplete clarity — and trust that I would be course corrected if necessary.

Because my daily prayer from A Course In Miracles has long been this:

I am here only to be truly helpful.

I do not have to worry about what to say or what to do,

because He who sent me directs me.

I am content to go where He wishes,

knowing He goes there with me.

That prayer anchored me.

It reminded me that intention matters.

That humility matters.

That God is not waiting to punish missteps — but to guide alignment.

So even when I drew from multiple spiritual languages, I never felt untethered.

Because I was not seeking power.

I was seeking alignment.

And alignment invites correction.

If I was leaning toward fear, I felt it.

If I was slipping into ego, I felt it.

If something was not for me, I sensed it.

Not because I am spiritually superior.

But because relationship sharpens discernment.

The Battle We Are Actually In

Whether we call it spiritual warfare, psychological warfare, cultural manipulation, or ideological capture — something is happening at scale.

We are living in an age of influence.

Algorithms influence.

Media influences.

Religious institutions influence.

Occult aesthetics influence.

Political narratives influence.

And most of it works not because it is all-powerful —

but because we are often unconscious.

Recent public revelations about corruption in powerful circles have frightened many people. Scandals shake trust. Exposure destabilises confidence in systems.

Corruption should be exposed.

But fear should not be enthroned.

The danger is not that corrupt systems exist.

The danger is believing they are sovereign.

No government.

No network.

No institution.

No hidden circle of influence

outranks God.

When people begin to feel that “everything is controlled,” they slip into paralysis. Into fatalism. Into reactionary fear.

That is where manipulation gains traction.

Fear exaggerates darkness into omnipotence.

But only God is omnipotent.

And discernment is how you stay connected to that truth.

Discernment says:

Yes, corruption can exist.

No, it does not control my soul.

Yes, systems can fail.

No, fear does not govern me.

Love is not naivety.

Love is clarity.

Love refuses to give evil more authority than it has.

And awakening does not mean panic.

It means courage.

The kind of curiosity that says:

I will look at what is happening.

I will not be afraid of truth.

And I will not surrender my sovereignty to fear.

Faith does not close your eyes.

It steadies your vision.

Spiritual maturity is not allegiance to a camp.

It is cultivated discernment.

You may not choose what wounded you.

You may not choose what voices were planted in you as a child or may be influencing you currently.

But you choose what governs you now.

That choice — made repeatedly, consciously, anchored in love — is what ends warfare.

What I lived through eventually became the backbone of my novel — a story exploring manipulation, sovereignty, and the reclaiming of identity. Fiction allowed me to explore symbolically what I experienced spiritually.

But the principle remains the same:

Discernment is stronger than fear.

Love is stronger than manipulation.

And God is not threatened by the tools we use to find Him.

I remain deeply grateful to the readers who held a mirror steady when my footing felt uncertain.

Not because they replaced my faith.

But because they helped me stand firmer in it.