About Intuitive Muse

Intueri involves the act of turning one’s gaze inward or outward.

The Beginning I Didn’t Choose

Intuitive Muse is the tarot and spirituality practice I created as Andrada, a tarot reader, spiritual guide and teacher, after a lifelong relationship with intuition eventually became impossible for me to keep private.

This path chose me. I want to say that plainly, because it’s the truest thing I can tell you about how any of this started, and it wasn’t a hobby I picked up or a curiosity I followed on a slow afternoon. It started when I was seven years old, in a house that had no language for what I was going through, and no framework I could borrow to make sense of it either. I was already living through things most children don’t, and most adults never admit to. Supernatural things. Paranormal things. A pull toward the moon that I couldn’t have explained to anyone, not because I didn’t have the words, but because there weren’t words for it in the world I was growing up in. Underneath all of it sat this quiet, immovable certainty that there was more to existence than what could be touched, measured, or proven, and the strange part is that the universe never let that certainty rest. It kept confirming it for me, again and again, in ways too specific and too repeated to write off as a child’s imagination.

I could know things about people without being told. I felt them before they said a word, sometimes felt things about them that wouldn’t surface in their own lives for years. I had flashes that turned out to be prophetic. Dreams so vivid they left a residue over the rest of my day, dreams about people who had already died, insights about houses and rooms that had nothing to do with anything I could have logically known. I could walk into a space and feel its entire history settle into me at once, like the walls were speaking and I happened to be the one listening. None of this was something I performed or announced to anyone. It lived inside me privately, because the environment I grew up in was built entirely around logic, fact, and what could be seen and proven, and there was nowhere for what I was carrying to land. So I carried it alone, and I stayed quiet about it, for a very long time.

The Roots I Had to Go Looking For

It took reconnecting much more deeply with my mother’s side of the family, much later in life, for me to understand where any of this might have actually come from. And what I found there wasn’t just comforting, it was clarifying in a way that changed how I understood my entire life up to that point. There is a lineage behind me. A lineage of women and men who lived with different versions of the same gift long before I was born, without ever taking it seriously in a public way, without ever calling it a calling.

My great-grandmother on my grandmother’s side read coffee grounds and did spreads with ordinary playing cards, never tarot, just something she did among the women in the family purely for closeness and entertainment. They would gather, laugh, take turns, and never once treat it as something sacred or worth developing further. It was simply a way of being together. My great-grandmother on my grandfather’s side carried something different entirely. She was known throughout her village for a capacity to heal through spoken word and prayer. People called on her when animals were suffering, and sometimes when people were too. She never framed it as a gift to be studied or protected. It was simply folded into the ordinary fabric of who she was, the way some people are naturally good with their hands or naturally patient with children.

I only learned all of this after tarot had already found me, and discovering it answered a question I hadn’t known I was carrying. Underneath my pull toward the cards was a hunger to understand my own roots, to know whether there was a real thread running through what I felt drawn to, or whether I was simply inventing meaning where none existed. Practicing publicly was never part of any plan I had for my life. When the pull toward it became strong enough that ignoring it stopped being an option, it shocked me every bit as much as it shocked the people closest to me, including my own family, who had spent generations treating all of this as nothing more than something fun to do around a kitchen table.

The Years I Pushed It Down

Long before I owned a deck, tarot kept appearing around me in small, persistent ways I didn’t understand at the time. It was around that same period that I learned about the coffee readings and the card spreads on my grandmother’s side, and something in me recognized it instantly, even though I had no memory of ever witnessing it myself.

The years that followed were some of the hardest of my life, on every level a person can be tested. And strangely, through all of that difficulty, the spiritual experiences never stopped coming. I kept pushing them back down rather than letting them surface, because my relationship with spirituality was never linear, and I never had one clean belief system to hold onto. What I had instead was a persistent, quiet knowing that something more existed, even in the periods when I wasn’t ready to face it directly, even when facing it felt like one more thing I didn’t have the strength for.

The List That Changed My Life

At some point I reached a decision that would reroute the entire direction of my life, which was to leave my home country and leave nearly everything I knew behind. It wasn’t a decision I made lightly, and it wasn’t one that anyone around me fully understood at the time. Before I left, I sat down and wrote a list of everything I wanted to try, to do, to become, the kind of list you write when you finally admit to yourself what you’ve been too afraid to want out loud. On that list, among other practices I now teach or weave into what I do, I wrote that I wanted to buy a tarot deck.

I bought my first one not long after, and for the first two years I read only for myself, in private, with no audience and no plan. The strangest part of that entire period is that I never studied the cards the way people are taught to. I never memorized a book of meanings or worked through a structured course. I simply knew them. That is how I trained my intuition, not through memorization, but through use, through trusting what was already inside me and letting it grow stronger every time I leaned on it instead of doubting it.

When It Stopped Being Just For Me

After those two years, something in me wanted to try reading for other people, so I joined a spiritual community, and in a single sitting I read for nearly two hundred people. Long readings and short ones, all written, all online, all strangers. So many of them told me that what I had seen for them landed exactly right, in ways that surprised even me. Going into it, my only intention was to test whether I could actually do this. I had no plans to build anything from it. But life had other plans. Afterward, people began reaching out, asking about private readings, asking what services I offered. And I had nothing prepared for them. Just a deck, and a growing number of strangers who believed in what they’d experienced and kept pushing me to take it seriously, kept telling me that what I had wasn’t ordinary and that I owed it to myself, and maybe to them too, to build something out of it.

I was moving through a genuinely difficult period in my life at the time, uncertain about my career, unsure where any of it was heading. And somewhere inside that uncertainty, the vision became clear to me. This was larger than my own life. I was the one meant to carry forward what the women and men before me in my family never had the chance, the platform, or perhaps even the safety, to bring into the open. My role was to do this differently, to show people a side of tarot they hadn’t encountered before, and to find the courage to hold that role publicly, even when it was far from easy, even when it meant being questioned by people I loved. What tarot gave me personally is difficult to summarize without flattening it into something smaller than it was. It gave me back my power. My confidence. My history. My roots. My identity. A sense of belonging to a lineage of people I hadn’t known existed until I went looking. A kind of recognition I didn’t realize I was missing until I finally held it in my hands.

What Intuitive Muse Actually Means

When I chose the name Intuitive Muse, I wanted enough distance from my own name to keep this work from becoming about my ego, while still being fully present inside it, still fully accountable to it. Andrada Tarot never felt right to me. It was too self centered, too small for what this actually was becoming. I wanted the word intuitive present because intuition is the quality that has guided me through everything in my life, and especially through this work. When I think about intuition, I think about something close to God, that larger intelligence that moves through us and lives quietly inside all of us, not reserved for a chosen few, but available to anyone willing to slow down enough to listen for it.

Muse carries a similar weight for me. It is our higher self, the part of us that inspires and knows more than we consciously do, the part we follow and admire even when we can’t fully explain why we trust it. It represents the ongoing, unfinished process of becoming that every one of us is living through, whether we notice it or not, because every person carries a muse inside them already, whether they’ve ever been given permission to hear it or not. So this name was never just a name to me. It became a whole philosophy, one I return to every time I sit down to read for someone, because what I try to embody in this work is a guide back toward the intuition a person already carries, not a replacement for it, and never a substitute for their own knowing.

Why I’m Still Here, Beside You