Trollies, Trains, and the Divine Journey Within
To me, religion and spirituality feel like standing in the underground heart of a sprawling transit station.
It’s noisy down there. Echoes of announcements, the hiss of bus brakes, the hum of electric rails. A hundred different vehicles wait to take you toward the same shimmering destination: Union with the Divine.
Some trains are hushed, every rider dressed the same, every motion prescribed. Some are fragrant with incense, chanting, and candle smoke. A few are gilded and guarded — boarding requires both an invitation and a fee.
Party buses weave between stations, full of glitter and distraction, often forgetting the destination entirely.
When you first arrive to the station, you don’t pore over the map — you just hop on the train that your parents hop on, trusting it will carry you home, because the people you trust most in the world chose it.
My first ride was on the Catholic Express — an ornate train with stained glass windows and a promise that we carried sacred bread straight from the Divine’s own table. But not everyone was welcome to taste it. You needed a place on the list, the right attire, the right history.
When my turn came, I expected to feel a spark, a rush of love, a holy quake. Instead, I felt… nothing. I searched the Doctrine and the Conductor’s books for another route, but the rules were tight, and the air was thin.
I was starting to feel suffocated and enslaved by the train.
So I leaped off.
I didn’t bounce between trains like many others do. I’d already studied the maps. I saw beauty in every route — the way each one carried its own rituals, flavors, and rhythms — but I knew my path would not be a straight track.
I went to the trolley station.
Trolleys aren’t the fastest or the fanciest, but they’re alive. There’s music drifting through open windows, strangers swapping stories, hands passing bread, fruit, and tea. The trolley people don’t always care when they’ll arrive. They ride for the joy of the journey, for the art and the magic that appear between stops.
The first trolley offered cacao’s heart-opening warmth. We sang in a language my tongue didn’t know but my soul understood. Another trolley carried medicine that expanded my awareness into a boundless sky.
On one trolley I danced. The Five Rhythms ride , wild, wordless, and full of sweat. It taught me that my body could pray without a single syllable. Taught me to sweat my prayers on the dance floor and feel a connection with the Divine right there and then through ecstatic movement and authentic presence.
Then I found The Tarot Line.
It wasn’t gilded. There were no conductors in pressed uniforms. Just a table by the window, a deck of painted cards spread like little art portraits on my hands.
Each card was a stop along my journey — the Star pouring hope into my cup, the Tower rattling me awake, the High Priestess reminding me to trust what I already know. The trolleys of my life had given me glimpses of the Divine, but tarot let me carry Her with me, anywhere, anytime.
This is the magic I now share.
I don’t promise the fastest route or the smoothest ride. What I offer is simpler, and perhaps more sacred: an anchor into the present moment, an open deck between us, and the chance to discover that your soul has been speaking to you all along.
Because tarot is not only about divination.
It is about a deep connection to yourself, to the present moment, to the wisdom that already lives inside you. It is the courage to pause at the station of Now, to listen with compassion, and to honor the journey.
The Tarot Trolley doesn’t take you somewhere you’ve never been.
It simply brings you home, card by card, confirmation by confirmation, to the voice of your own soul.
Next Stop: You
Book a call and let’s explore how I can support you in uncovering your passion and fulfillment. Your ticket is waiting — all you need to do is step aboard.
