When you swirl the cup and let the leaves settle, they don’t form literal pictures. They form landscapes. A cluster might look like a bird in flight, a coiled snake, or just a shadowed valley. Jung called this “active imagination”—the mind’s way of projecting inner states onto neutral surfaces. The leaves are just mirrors. What you see is what you’re ready to confront.

I’ve started treating the cup like a tarot deck. Tarot doesn’t foretell; it reflects archetypes—The Fool, The Tower, The High Priestess—symbols that tap into the collective unconscious. Tea leaves do the same thing. A sharp angle might echo The Tower’s sudden upheaval. A soft, flowing curve could mirror The Moon’s intuitive depths. I’ve found that when I sit with the cup, I’m not reading leaves. I’m reading myself.

Living in Lisbon, I’ve come to see this practice as a form of inner alchemy. The dark dregs are the nigredo—the blackening, the messy starting point. Swirling is the albedo—washing, clarifying. And finding a shape is the rubedo—the red, the integration. It’s gentle work. No dogma, just quiet attention.

I’d love to hear how others interpret the leaves. Do you see literal signs, or do you treat them as psychological mirrors? How do the shapes speak to your current crossroads?