What synthesis is and what it isn't

By the end of a practice session with metaphoric cards, it’s natural to expect some kind of result. Several steps have been taken, attention moved somewhere, something got clarified, and at some point the question almost automatically surfaces: “So what’s the takeaway? What should I understand?”

The question is normal. The problem is elsewhere: this is exactly the moment when attention easily shifts. Instead of noting what already became more noticeable during the practice, a person starts looking for an answer, clear, complete, ready to apply. If no such answer appears, it feels like nothing happened.

This is where the confusion arises. Because synthesis is not the final answer many people expect.

Three common substitutions

Usually what people expect as “the result” is not synthesis but something else.

A conclusion. A logical inference from what was gathered. For example: “I realized I’m afraid of change because I moved a lot as a kid.” This might be an accurate thought. But synthesis is not about building a cause-and-effect scheme. Practice with metaphoric cards is not structured as an analytical breakdown, and the attempt to necessarily arrive at a conclusion often pushes a person to construct something they don’t actually discern yet.

A decision. “Now it’s clear I need to quit” or “I should finally talk to my mom.” Synthesis is not an action plan. Sometimes by the end of the practice it does become clearer what step suggests itself. But this is not a required result. If you’re waiting specifically for a decision, the practice starts being perceived as a way to quickly determine what to do next. That’s a different request. The image doesn’t provide a ready-made instruction.

An insight flash. A vivid sudden realization after which everything immediately falls into place. This does happen. But synthesis doesn’t have to be loud. In fact, it’s often quite quiet. And if a person is waiting for a strong inner upheaval, they may simply not notice an accurate observation, simply because it doesn’t produce much of an effect.

In all three cases, synthesis gets assigned someone else’s function. It’s supposed to either explain everything, or solve everything, or impress. Against that backdrop, the actual result of the practice seems too modest, even though it’s perfectly fine as it is.

What synthesis actually is

Synthesis is the recording of what became noticeable by the end of the practice.

Not a definitive outcome. Not proof that the practice “worked.” And not a beautiful phrase you need to come up with. More like a short form for holding onto what stopped being background.

During the practice, attention gradually shifts. First, a person simply looks at the image. Then notices a felt response. Something connects to their own life, something gets clarified in the question, somewhere a recurring motif comes up. By the end, an answer doesn’t necessarily appear. But it often becomes clearer what exactly is happening here.

Synthesis appears at this point, as a brief recording of what one managed to discern.

It doesn’t close the thought once and for all. It captures current discernibility. Sometimes it’s a more precise articulation of a state. Sometimes it’s a living question that turned out to be nothing like what it seemed at first. Sometimes it’s a shift in perception: “I thought it was about one thing, but what became noticeable was something else.” That’s enough.

Synthesis doesn’t create a result. It marks one.

What synthesis sounds like

The easiest way to understand this is through the formulations. Not so you can copy them later, but so you can see what shape to expect here at all.

• “I noticed that I keep going around this topic every time”
• “The question turned out to be not about the choice but about exhaustion”
• “I thought I was angry, but it’s more like detachment”
• “I didn’t figure out what to do, but it got clearer what exactly catches me”
• “I noticed that every time I get to this point, I want to look away”

These phrases have something in common. They don’t sum things up definitively. They don’t produce a decision. They don’t try to sound deep. They simply record what became discernible.

And that’s enough, even if the formulation looks very simple.

Example: what this looks like in reality

Lena started her practice with a fairly clear expectation: by the end, it would be clear whether to stay on her current project or leave. That was exactly the result she was waiting for.

But during the practice, something else started showing up. Her felt response to the image was not anxious, as she’d assumed, but more muffled, cottony. The association led not to the project itself but to a feeling that for the past few months everything had been going as if through a layer of sluggishness. Then the question also shifted. It no longer sounded like “stay or leave” but more like “why don’t I care.”

Then one more thing became visible: this state didn’t only arise around the project. It appeared every time Lena had been avoiding a conversation she didn’t want to start.

At the end, the practice didn’t give her a decision. She didn’t figure out whether to quit or not. But she noticed something more precise: her main question was not about the project. It was more about avoidance that had been coloring everything else for a long time already.

Her synthesis could sound like this: “It’s not about the project. I’m stuck not where I thought.”

This is not a conclusion - she didn’t build an explanation. Not a decision - she still doesn’t know what to do next. And not a flash - nothing dramatic happened. But this is synthesis: a brief recording of what became clearer.

Why recording matters

You could ask it differently: if something already became noticeable, why formulate it separately?

Because without recording, the noticeable quickly fades back into background. During the practice, a thought feels clear, almost obvious. Then attention moves elsewhere: tea, a message, the next conversation. After a while all that’s left is a vague sense that “there was something there.”

Synthesis is not needed to make the practice successful. And not to demonstrate a good result. It simply helps not lose the actual outcome of the practice, the specific observation that appeared by the end.

Sometimes it’s a very small phrase. But it’s precisely what holds onto what would otherwise quickly dissolve.

Synthesis is a way to record what was already noticed. Nothing more. And that is its meaning.