As a person:
If a man draws the King of Hearts, he himself is represented by this card.
If a woman draws the King of Hearts, the card can represent her inner male side or her beloved.
He is sensual
He is emotional
He nurtures and tends to
He cares for others
He is a stimulating partner in all areas
He is open for the loving touch of existence
"You are a King of the Heart. The King of Hearts. The beloved of the Queen of Hearts. Your heart is pounding in the right place. That is so. Every man is a King of Hearts! - Does this astonish you?" He looked at me with baffled eyes.
I visited the friend of a friend in prison. He sat opposite me with his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. The room was occupied by four wooden tables and four inmates in orange suits, each with one visitor. Two of them were men, then a woman, and me. There were only two long windows - high up - with no direct view into the summer. In a strange way I felt calm in this whitewashed environment. In front of me on the floor sat a forgotten blue Lego piece. The glaring ceiling lamps exposed naked, unvarnished crassness of masked feelings in the faces of those present.
For five weeks already he was doing time, the boyfriend of my girlfriend. Today was his birthday. He had requested a Tarot Reading from me for that day. Because of his good behavior it was granted to him.
So there lay the card between us on the otherwise empty wooden table, this one tarot card turned up, the card he had drawn from the fan: the King of Hearts!
"Yes, I am surprised and it is true," he replied, as if startled by a dream. Despite his distorted perspective, which was stuck between his legs like a cudgel because of his desperate lapses, he unexpectedly remembered that he is basically a King of Hearts. That inside, hidden and quivering though, his heart is pounding in the right place. That he can trust it and can grant himself a second chance.
Yep, he was shoplifting. Yep, he was mean to the cop. Yep, he got in a jam. Yep, he was bankrupt. Nope, he wasn't a monster. The other inmates liked him a great deal because among them he was a smart peace maker.
With his robust thumb he brushed a tear from his left cheek. He remembered his girlfriend who was waiting for him. Pictures of his beloved plot of land, string beans, potatoes, sunflowers, the cosy biotope, his faithful she-dog, a mixture of an Appenzeller and a St. Bernard - all these emerging inner images of his life before the mishap, washed the waxy pale poker mask off his face. His heart was stirred again.
"Yes, there is a life after lockup for me," he announced with pride and a firm voice. The whispering conversations of the others in the hall were suddenly silenced.
"Happy Birthday!", I exclaimed.
Visiting hours were over. Deeply moved, we said goodbye. I left the card with the King of Hearts on the table.