The word tarot rhymes with pharaoh.

Tarot Is the storm shudder of intuition, the brilliant illuminating brief bolt of lightning.

It’s an assemblage of static pictures or archetypes, that might reveal sudden hidden insights. Each pictorial image reveals what we are doing between making love or expecting rain. The cards are as good or bad as the practitioner. If someone plays Chopin on piano badly, do you blame Chopin or the piano? The player is at fault.
One peculiarity in my own idiosyncratic use of these tools is that when I give a tarot session, often the client has a dissatisfied demeanour after an hour or so, of my busting my ass for revelation. Yes but what about my doctor’s dog and why the HELL don’t you know its a female Border Collie born in Andorra? WELL? Tarot can open up an endless hunger and encourage neediness, without joy.
Let me state this as clearly as I can – the tarot cards play games. You might pose three sincere questions to be answered by tarot and pull out of the deck nothing but court cards, Kings, Queens, Knights and Pages. If you are sincere astrology doesn’t work that way. If you ask why I think that part of our living universe is playful rather than dead.
I can only see what is given to me to see.