Deck Review: The Sinagtala Tarot

Ah, the Sinagtala Tarot.

First things first: this is a great little deck. It’s beautiful, rich with symbolism, and it opens the door to a whole world of folklore and Tarot-adjacent myth that many people outside the Philippines may never have encountered. It also showcases the work of the immensely talented Augusto Ayo, whose art alone makes the deck worth owning.

The word Sinagtala is a Filipino term that means “the ray of light from a star” or simply “starlight.” It can be interpreted as “shining star” or “celestial light,” symbolising hope, guidance, and the eternal spirit. This ethos runs throughout the deck. As the creators, Fictionminds, put it: “The name also reflects our desire to shine a light on the beauty of Filipino culture and art.” YES!

Secondly, the deck doesn’t come with a guidebook as standard, and there’s no online PDF version either. Now, to be fair, I think I knew this when I backed the Kickstarter (hard to say for sure, the mists of time and all that), and I could have paid extra for the version with the book. But still.

I have no objection to charging extra for a fancy physical guidebook, especially if it’s beautifully produced. What does annoy me is when the only two options are: a) shell out for an expensive coffee-table tome, or b) “just vibe it, I guess?”

Why there isn’t a simple PDF guide included for all buyers is beyond me. It feels a bit like ordering a meal at a restaurant and being charged extra for cutlery. So, as lush as this deck is, I wouldn’t recommend buying it without the guidebook unless you already have a good working knowledge of Filipino folklore. The stories and legends depicted are so culturally specific that, without context, it’s easy to be left scratching your head about how they connect to the Tarot. I’d be tempted to buy the guidebook now, but I honestly CBA waiting another millennium for Fictionminds to ship it to me. 😂😂😂

My favourite cards, then, are the ones I chose purely on visuals – the Tarot equivalent of the people I fancied the most when I first entered the bar 😂. From there, I did a bit of old-fashioned desk research sleuthing to figure out which myths they might be referencing and why. Apologies in advance for any missteps, I’m working in the dark here, folks! And if any of you have the book (and/or great knowledge of Filipino folklore) please feel free to pop any corrections into the comments, and I will amend accordingly!

The Deck: Look, Feel, and Finish

The deck’s artist, and Fictionminds co-creator, Augusto Ayo, began his artistic journey designing skateboard and snowboard graphics, and you can still feel that energy in his work. There’s a lived-in, of-the-people-for-the-people vibe that carries through, even as his style has evolved into something more intricate and layered. Ayo’s signature aesthetic – edgy, gothic, and rich in symbolic detail – is a perfect fit for a deck rooted in myth and folklore.

The Sinagtala Tarot is a full 78-card deck, with a handful of alternative cards for some of the Majors. Who got which alternatives seems to have been a bit of a lucky dip based on the Kickstarter comments, so if you’re a completist, prepare to do some trading or grumbling. The cardstock is sound: black core paper with a linen texture and rose gold gilding. They’re a little on the thin side, and just starting to pull up a little at the very edges, but I don’t think they’ll go Terminal Warp. They’re also kinda long and thin compared to standard Tarot cards, so bear that in mind for shuffling. There’s a foil finish on both front and back as well, which is very reminiscent of the Literary Tarot – it has that same combo of gold detailing on a black background that makes everything shimmer and pop. Visually, it’s a stunner.

It also came with a lot of paraphernalia. Gorgeous packaging case, extra cards in protective sleeves, the works. Sadly, I’ll be chucking the outer packaging; I’ve already got enough decks stuffed into my office threatening to turn me into a weird old hoardy bag lady without also storing all the postal boxes they arrived in 😂.

The actual Tarot box is made of wood (fancy!), and it is genuinely beautiful… though quite a few backers reported theirs falling apart in transit, with the wood glue giving up the ghost somewhere over the Pacific. I appreciate the luxe vibe the creators were going for, but personally? I’d have preferred fewer bells and whistles, and a much faster production and delivery timeline. That said, I’m an all-about-the-cards kind of girl, and I know plenty of other folks will appreciate the full collector’s experience more than I do.

Greatest Hits: My Favourite Cards from the Sinagtala Tarot

Now this Fool is no carefree wanderer with a bindle and a flower. Instead, we’re greeted (unsettled?) by a newborn baby with pointy pixie ears, blood-red eyes, and a forked demon tongue, curled up on a bed of straw like a creature that’s just slipped into the world… or maybe replaced something that was already here. OK, so, I know I whinged about the lack of guidebook, but I’m actually really enjoying seeing the ways that folklore has such persistent themes around the world (ARCHETYPAL MAGIC PEOPLE! Cheers Jung). Because I don’t need to know Filipino mythology to know that this baby is giving big changeling energy. Cuckoo in the nest. Something ancient pretending to be innocent.

That hits differently when you place it in the Fool’s position: the beginning of a journey, yes, but also a warning about innocence as illusion, or the dangers of being unprepared. You could read this card as an invitation to trust your instincts even when something looks harmless. Or possibly as a reminder that the path ahead may be more enchanted and entangled than expected.

I’m guessing the Magician here is a babaylan, a traditional Filipino shaman, spiritual leader, and healer. Again, I love that I can see links to Western folklore, particularly the Crone archetype. Babaylan were (and in some communities still are) respected mystics, often women (or bayok, men who eschew traditionally ‘masculine’ manners of presentation), who served as mediums between the human and spirit worlds (represented here by the skulls in the background). This card reorients the usual Magician archetype, from a figure of outward showmanship (and occasionally slightly used car salesman energy 😂) to one of deep inner knowing, inherited power, and sacred responsibility. It’s not about performing magic. It’s about being it.

The Hierophant is just a really cool image, odd and a bit haunting. I’m guessing (and I do mean guessing here!) that the figure depicted is some kind of elder or spiritual guide, channelling ancestral or divine knowledge. The fangy black greyhound reminds me a bit of Anubis, and dogs in Filipino folklore often have similar liminal or protective roles. They’re said to bark at spirits or sense the presence of aswang, and black dogs in particular are sometimes believed to see the unseen. Much like Anubis, they can also act as psychopomps, creatures that guide souls between worlds. This makes the Hierophant in the card seem less like a figure of religious authority and more like a guardian of thresholds – someone who walks between realms, and initiates others into that deeper knowledge. Less “submit to the church” than the good old RWS Pope, and more “respect the old ways and the spirits who walk with you.”

The Empress card in the Sinagtala Tarot is just absolutely gorgeous, wrapped in nothing but her own flowing, flame-like hair. She gives me big Botticelli’s Venus vibes, not just the pose she’s in, but the sense of emergence. She’s not placed on a throne, instead she rises, elemental and unapologetic, from the world itself. Filipino folklore is full of powerful feminine figures tied to nature, fertility, and creativity. While it’s not clear which specific figure (if any) she’s meant to represent, her energy could easily echo goddesses like Maria Makiling, the diwata or mountain spirit associated with abundance, protection, and the natural world. Maria is often glimpsed in stories as a figure half-seen through fog and trees, her radiant clothing mistaken for mist or cloud. A force of nature, just like the Empress.

The Lovers card is really striking – it’s the only monochrome card in the deck (I think), which makes it seem eerie and slightly dreamlike. The two figures seem to be almost blindly reaching for each other, not seeing, not quite touching. It immediately gave me Orpheus and Eurydice vibes: the ache of love entangled with loss, of something just out of reach. Are they Ilang and Edo, maybe? Another two mythical lovers separated by death, but still devoted.

Then there’s the bee, and anyone who reads this blog will know that I bloody love bees! In both Filipino and global folklore, bees often symbolise the soul, fertility, and the bridge between worlds. Some stories even hold that bees carry messages to the ancestors, as they know the path between the living and the dead. That plus the wheat stalks in the bottom of the frame gives the whole card a strong sense of harvest, sacrifice, and cyclical love – again very Hades-coded with its allegorical links to Persephone in the Underworld. This is the kind of love that costs something. That isn’t easy or guaranteed, but that requires you to make the sometimes hard choice required by the Lovers card. It’s something you reach for with both hands, knowing it might slip away, or even sting. But you reach anyway.

I love this stressed looking Hermit, who appears to be almost emerging from the mountain itself, part of the volcanic smoke and ash. In Filipino mythology, volcanoes are sacred sites, often associated with powerful diwata (nature spirits) or ancient gods. Here the Hermit can be seen perhaps as the spirit of the volcano, a sage who has become one with the land. He doesn’t light your way with a lantern of gentle wisdom; instead he erupts truth from within. He reminds you that isolation isn’t always peaceful: sometimes it’s where you face your most explosive truths.

There’s a lot going on with this Hanged Man. He’s some kind of chimera, a man with taloned feet and golden light around his head, forming either a halo or a burst of sound. He’s a bit harpy-coded, though it’s hard to tell if he’s radiating enlightenment or singing into the void. He reminds me of the Japanese Tengu – supernatural beings with bird-like features who dwell in forests and mountains. Tengu are known for testing travellers, dropping down unexpectedly from trees, or abducting monks to challenge their ego and force transformation. Think koala drop-bear vibes, but make it esoteric. 😂

There’s also a strong parallel with the Tikbalang of Filipino myth: a creature that leads travellers astray, looping their paths endlessly unless they wear their shirt inside out or ask the spirits for safe passage. As a Hanged Man, the Tikbalang doesn’t offer peace; it forces a shift in perspective whether you like it or not. You don’t ease into wisdom here, you get plucked straight out of your old self.

BUT Tikbalang are usually depicted with horse heads, which this figure lacks. It could instead be an Alan, part human, part avian, uncanny but not malevolent. In some stories, Alans care for human children or souls left behind, holding space for what needs protection. Either way, the Sinagtala Tarot’s Hanged Man reframes surrender and suspension not as passive states, but as profound thresholds: places of unravelling, challenge, and ultimately, transformation.

The Devil here, with his horns made of shadow, leans hard into the card’s traditional themes of illusion and trickery. Some kind of magic dust falls from his hands, dissolving into the very swirls and shimmers of reality itself. It’s as if he’s not just casting a spell, but rewriting what’s real. The whole vibe of the card is more trickster-mage than cosmic evil. This Devil doesn’t punish with fire and brimstone – instead, he enchants, distracts, manipulates. He’s closer to a mangkukulam, a folk sorcerer who wields influence subtly: through temptation, glamour, and sleight of hand. You won’t see your chains until you’re already wearing them.

So, I reckon for the Moon we’re looking at an aswang – an umbrella term in Philippine folklore for various shape-shifting, flesh-eating creatures. The most unsettling thing about an aswang is that it often disguises itself as an attractive woman during the day, moving unnoticed among humans while quietly hunting for its next victim. Part vampire, part witch, part “werebeast,” the terror lies in the fact that they live among us, undetected.

In this reading, the night becomes the transformation trigger: the moonlight bringing the vampires within out to play! It also brings to mind the old French saying l’heure entre chien et loup – “the hour between dog and wolf” – which is what inspired the dog and the wolf on the RWS rendition of the card. The saying refers to that twilight moment when it’s impossible to tell the tame from the wild, the safe from the dangerous – the wolf at the edge of the forest from your pet dog out for an evening run. It’s a threshold space, when the familiar blurs into the unknown, and instinct starts whispering louder than reason. The aswang is a great choice for The Moon, a card that’s all about the hidden, the liminal, and the parts of ourselves we keep in the shadows. In the Sinagtala’s hands, it’s not just about facing your subconscious – it’s about asking: what’s hunting in the dark… and is it you?

The Sun card in the Sinagtala Tarot radiates warmth and guardianship. A vast, wise face emerges from swirling golden rays, unmistakably reminiscent of the Green Man of European folklore. In Celtic mythology¹, the Green Man is a life-giver and seasonal renewer: a face emerging from leaves, vines, or branches, to watch over the turning of the year. In the Sinagtala Tarot the greenery is transmuted into burning gold, and the life force becomes the sun’s light.

If we read the Sun card’s face as an echo the original Filipino flag, it becomes a kind of ‘restoration’. Much like the sun nourishes us and restores us to health and happiness. It’s a life-affirming vision: a sun that’s not abstract but personal, present, and watching over its people.

The World card in the Sinagtala Tarot gives big ouroboros energy, with its two-headed serpent coiled around the Earth, its body looping in an unbroken cycle. In Tarot tradition, the ouroboros (a snake eating its own tail) stands for completion, integration, and the eternal return: endings feeding into beginnings, the whole becoming greater than the sum of its parts.

In terms of Filipino folklore, my best guess is this serpent is either Bakunawa, the great sea dragon of Visayan myth who rises from the ocean to coil around the world and swallow the moon or sun during an eclipse, or Intumbangel from Bukidnon lore: two colossal intertwined snakes, male and female, whose movements shake the earth, whose breath stirs the winds, and whose panting brings violent storms. A parallel tale from the Manobo people speaks of a great serpent beneath the earth, guarding the pillar that holds the world aloft.

That blend of symbols – the ouroboros as eternal cycle, Bakunawa as cosmic disruptor, Intumbangel as world-shaker and guardian – makes this World card feel bigger than a simple “journey’s end.” Completion here isn’t stillness. It’s the knowledge that the same forces that hold the world together can just as easily shake it apart. The serpent’s embrace is both a closing circle and an open invitation: you’ve come full circle… now what will you do with it?

An Ace of Wands that doesn’t pull any punches! It’s less “hey, let’s start a new project” energy and more initiation via ordeal! In Filipino shamanic traditions, especially among babaylan and other ritual leaders, physical wounding or altered states were sometimes seen as a path to deeper spiritual insight – the wound as gateway, the vision as a gift with a cost. The red (bloody?) mist feels almost like the spirit world pouring in through the seer’s eyes, and the chest wound could symbolise the opening of the self to receive that Wandsy fire. Here, the “wand” isn’t an object at all. It’s the fire in your blood, the vision that shakes you, the force that changes you whether you’re ready or not.

And the Three of Wands as a kind of voodoo doll is pretty creepy! In a Filipino context, this could link to barang, a form of sorcery in Visayan tradition often involving dolls or effigies to curse an enemy. Barang is considered one of the most feared types of witchcraft, because it can bring illness or misfortune from a distance, without direct contact. Recasting the Three of Wands this way reframes the card from “waiting for results” to actively shaping the outcome. Not just hoping your ships come in, but sending out invisible threads to tug them toward you. In the Sinagtala Tarot, then, the card becomes a reminder: intention is powerful, but it’s also binding. Be mindful of what (and who) you tie yourself to.

A Knight of Wands that I feel leans quite heavily into the card’s shadow side: impulsivity, recklessness, fire that rages out of control. The demons could symbolise the two sides of the Knight’s nature, boldness and recklessness, constantly wrestling for control. That fire can be a weapon or a liability, depending on who’s steering it. The challenge with this card isn’t to extinguish it, but to learn how to wield it without letting it burn you.

The Queen of Wands as a mermaid threw me a bit at first, as it seems a very watery choice for the Queen of Fire! I’m guessing she’s a sirena, the Filpina counterpart to the siren, who lures fishermen to their death with her beauty and song, drowning them as sacrifices to the ocean god. Some folk stories give the sirena a dual nature: benevolent to those who treat the sea well, vengeful to those who harm it. And while sirenas are certainly watery beings, they do carry Queen of Wandsy energy in their charisma and commanding presence – and in the danger of underestimating them! Fire in water form.

Then a beautiful Ace of Cups – I’m not sure there’s much folklore per se associated with this, but I did discover that in Tagalog superstition a maya (a sparrow-type bird, like we see here) entering your home can be a sign of an important visitor or a change of fortune. The universe giving you the gift of emotional connection!

And an equally lovely Two of Cups, possibly showing two anitos (ancestral spirits), who were believed to be protectors of the unborn, dancing or circling to ward off harm until the baby is ready to enter the world. I love this take on the card, because it reminds us that partnership and connection aren’t confined to romance. They also live in the deep, unseen bonds that sustain and protect us long before we take our first breath.

The Ten of Cups here comes in the form of a duwende, a small, bearded earth spirit of Filipino lore. Benevolent if treated well (and a nightmare if not), the duwende reminds us that true emotional fulfilment isn’t just about human bonds, it’s also about living in harmony with the land and the unseen threads that hold our world together. Happiness, in other words, is a communal effort between all realms.

I don’t really know what’s going on with this many-headed Knight of Cups, but I like it. All those pissed-off looking faces give a sense of conflicting emotions and motives jostling for dominance. For a card often tied to romance, charm, and heartfelt quests, this version hints at the complications beneath the surface: the suitor whose intentions aren’t entirely aligned (ah look, my fuckboy Knight of Cups fixation strikes again!), or the dreamer whose visions pull them in too many directions at once.

I thinnnkkkk the Two of Swords is likely a wakwak, bat-, bird- or lizard-like creatures who attack under the cover of night. The humanoid feet in Ayo’s illustration give it an uncanny, liminal feel, straddling the line between beast and person. In the Two of Swords, that fits perfectly: this is a crossroads moment where the threat isn’t always what it first appears, and you can’t rely on appearances alone. The challenge is to decide with clarity while shadowy forces (real or imagined) circle overhead.

And I reckon the Ten of Swords shows a batibat. In Ilocano lore, the batibat is a vengeful spirit that suffocates sleepers, often as punishment for disturbing its home (i.e. cutting down a tree). In this card, that oppressive presence hangs heavy over the figure, mirroring the Ten of Swords’ themes of inevitable endings, betrayal, and crushing defeat. The batibat attacks when you are most vulnerable – in rest, in trust – reminding us that some endings come not from the battles we purposefully fight, but from the ones we never see coming. The only way forward is to survive the night and wake into a new dawn.

Initially I was like: wtf is the Ace of Pentacles – a “good” card by anyone’s estimation – doing as this creepy, blind deer? After a bit of digging, I think it’s a Lampong: a dwarfish shepherd of wild animals from Ilongot lore in Northeast Luzon. The Lampong is a shapeshifter and trickster, sometimes appearing as a white deer (with a single, bright eye) to lure hunters off course. In some stories, it goads them into following, then shifts back to its dwarf form to startle them away. The Lampong’s role is to protect its animal charges, even getting itself “wounded” to draw a hunter’s attention away from real woodland creatures. In Ace of Pentacles terms, that’s an intriguing twist: opportunity may come in strange guises, and sometimes the treasure at the end of the path isn’t what you think you’re chasing.

By zooming in one the one page of the guidebook you can see on Kickstarter (😂), I actually know that the Three of Pents shows a Sibol (which is good because I literally cannot find any mention of Sibols on t’internet, beyond the Philipines national esports team!). A striking figure in Filipino folklore, the Sibol embodies cooperation, artistry, and the strength of community. Often described as a brilliantly feathered creature with the head of a rooster and the tail of a fish, it is said to appear when people work together in harmony. The Sibol brings good fortune and protects artisans, farmers, and builders – those whose craft and labour are not only for survival, but in service of one another. In the Three of Pentacles, its presence is a reminder that our best work is rarely done alone, and that shared skill and purpose can create something far greater than the sum of its parts.

A beautiful Nine of Pentacles that retains much of the traditional RWS imagery – the established garden/tree and the bird. It also calls to mind the old adage, “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”: celebrate what you have now, rather than longing for what might one day come. It’s a perfect fit for the earthy, grounded, life-is-for-living vibes of the Pents.

This Ten of Pentacles swaps the usual cosy family tableau for something more menacing – a man standing in the reflection of a dragon’s eye. It’s a reminder that legacy isn’t always about comfort; sometimes it’s about facing the guardians of the treasure you’ve built. The dragon here could be seen as the ultimate keeper of wealth, wisdom, and tradition, testing whether you’re ready to inherit what’s been hard-won over generations. It’s the long view of the Pentacles suit: what will endure after you, and what you’re willing to protect to ensure it survives.

Overall, the Sinagtala Tarot is a stunning deck. The art is rich, the production is gorgeous, and diving into folklore I’d never encountered before has been genuinely fascinating. But the lack of an integrated guidebook is a real drawback. I don’t like defaulting to rote-recalling RWS meanings when a deck’s own symbolism is begging to be explored, but I also don’t love having to stop mid-reading to go down a Google rabbit hole! Add in my lingering side-eye at Fictionminds after the delivery delays, and I’m on the fence about recommending it wholeheartedly. Still… it is beautiful. If you’re a collector or a folklore enthusiast, it’s a treasure. If you’re looking for an everyday reading deck, it might frustrate you as much as it delights you.

You can currently pre-order it from the creators here, for a fairly hefty £69 (this version does come with the guidebook though from what I can tell).

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1. Though possibly only very recent mythology – I went to a talk from Professor Ronald Hutton just the other week, and he spoke about how the linking of the strange gothic carvings found in European churches with the concept of the ‘Green Man’ as a Pagan fertility god is a very recent development, not an ancient one, and has no credible evidence to back it up ↩︎