From our brief Profiles you'll have noted we come from many different backgrounds, but each of us having worked our individual journeys through many different challenges. Some of which may well resonate with the words of a Poet, John Berryman:
"The Artist, when presented with the worst possible ordeal, which will not actually kill him, at that point, he's in business."
Which I've often quoted to someone who's feeling they're at the end of their tether, because that's when another line is opening, and leading to the discovery of who we, truly, are. So, I'm passing on just a few of the episodes that led me to reading the Tarot Cards, from my own spiritual apprenticeship.
Nowadays, and for the past 25 years, I've lived in a small seaside on the east coast of Scotland, having left another (when I was seventeen) in the southeast of England; and, all the while, heading North, where I have felt most 'at home,' in my present Life. And that took quite a while, given that I have vivid memories of 4 other ones, lived in Ancient Greece; and where I'd left some 'unfinished business.' Things I've done my best to address, in this one.
I'd taught myself to read, at the precociously early age of 3, because I needed to get as much information about the World I'd been born into, this time around; and thus beginning the collection of my personal Libra, numbering thousands and, when I sought out old encyclopaedias was when I saw the illustrations of ancient places that made me feel homesick. When I was 4 years old, I began to experience the 4 very different kinds of Dreams that were to haunt my childhood, hinting at what that 'unfinished' business had been about; but there were, also, to be occasional 'flashes' (when I was older) of Lives as a Medium working in a group.
When I first read a mention of an esoteric group called 'The Golden Dawn,' I had a brief 'Ha! Ha!' moment; but that is another story. It would be wrong to say that I recall Pamela Colman-Smith (once a member) and the designer of what is, probably, the most popular Tarot Deck, but the names of William Butler Yeats, Isadora Duncan, Sir Henry Irving and Dame Elleen terry, as well as the infamous Alistair Crowley 'rang bells;' and I found myself being drawn to just about every book that had been written about them.
All of this came together, in one big cluster when (in the middle of a night in 2003, I was awakened by a Voice saying: "Time to go to Cornwall." And, when I responded by saying: "I haven't got the money," was when it said: "When did that ever stop you?"
It's a strange feeling when it seems as though you're having a conversation with your Self, but this is what I've been doing, since I was very young."
And, by taking that 14-hour long journey was to weave me into a web of information about pamela, seeking her unmarked grave (by dowing with rods made from a metal clothes hanger in the grounds of St. Michael's Church, in Bude; and to lead me to meeting Stuart Kaplan, the Chairman and founder of US Games (and the author of many books on Tarot) in Stamford Connecticut. USA. where I was to hold in my hand the Visitor's Book she'd discarded after so many so-called 'friends' had let her down: and to see the actual signatures of so many celebrities who had joined The Hermetic Society of the Golden Dawn.
And, from following her trail to the strangely named Lizard Point, where she had lived, after creating a Retreat for exhausted Roman Catholic Priests, after she had converted to their faith; and having received a bequest from a distant relative, to fund it. The small Chapel that she had built was not for the taste of her neighbours; but we can't please all of the people all the time, can we?
Lizard Point was where the Spanish Armada was first sighted, with yet another naval confrontation in October, 1707, remembered as The Battle at Lizard.' And from where Guglielmo Marconi was to make the experiments transmitting transatlantic radio signals that were to revolutionise international communication. And where, at nearby Poldhu Cove, is a Monument dedicated to his endeavours.
That part of her life is, largely, a mystery but I have no doubts that she would have become associated with its growing artistically inclined population, and have joined in. At the beginning of the 2nd World War she moved, along with an elderly companion, to Bude after one-too-many bombing raids by the Luftwaffe, intent on destroying any form of communication. And it was here, in September 1951, that she had died, aged 73, forgotten; and to be buried in a Pauper's grave.
Until, from over in Stamford, Connecticut, Stuart Kaplan was to remedy the omissions, and to revive those illustrious connections. Pamela Colman-Smith (often referred to as 'Pixie' by her friends) had been born in Middlesex to American parents, with a keen interest in the Theatre; and her mother (Corinne) a one-time Parlour Actress. Most certainly she had inherited artisic genes, one relation having authored 'Brer Rabbit.'
and Samuel Colman, a well-respected artist. At the age of 15, Pamela had enrolled in Brooklyn's Pratt Institute, studying under Arthur Wesley Low but her efforts were to be undermined by her mother's ill-health and subsequent premature, leading her to return to England. And it was her she'd been taken under the wing of Sir Henry and Dame Ellen, to work as a Stage Designer at their Lyceum Theatre.
But it had been, while she was studying in Brooklyn she had become aware of her tendencies towards Synaesthesia. an entanglement of sensory signals, for some 'hearing' colours, ' seeing' sounds; and 'smelling' words. For her, many of her (unfortunately now lost) paintings had been inspired by listening to music, particularly that of Delius and Ravel (with whom she would sit, as they composed) and recreating what 'came through it. on another level.
Weirder and weirder, as I made my way. It was five weeks later that I headed to Bude (funding my way by hastily booking spaces where I could read the Tarot Cards)in Barnstaple and Bodmin (by train), before reaching Bude On a bus) where its perfectly formed railway had been dismembered by Mr Beaching, with his Axe: and where it ws raining heavily as it approached the town. I hadn't been expecting a call on my mobile, from Linda, the owner of the Guest House, where I was staying but here she was, suggesting I should ask the Driver if he would drop me off closes to the Bencoolin Inn. he'd been listening and had stopped, telling me to head up the road, with the Inn on my right hand side. And was at the point of suddenly feeling I was being observed from one of its top windows. So very weird, when I could have booked in, elsewhere; and was where Pamela had lived (when it was apartments) until she had died.
Later, when the rain had eased, I'd made my way into the town, passing a poster advertising a Talk, that very evening, in the Community Hall. And, thinking I might find someone who could tell me something about her, decided to go. And that was when the lady who took my money (also called Audrey) had expostulated (I love that word!) when I mentioned Pamela's name. "Oh No! Not that woman's name again! We had a guy, come over from America who drove me, and Ray, quite potty with all of his questions. And look who's coming through the door, right now. It's Ray, himself. Better have a word with him."
Which I did: "He had me checking every headstone and unmarked grave," Ray said, giving me a hard look. "And I'm not doing that again." And then, softening, had said "Meet me at The Triangle, tomorrow, at Ten, and I'll take you up to the local newspaper office to get a copy of what he sent to us, when he got back."
Which I did and then, when I got back home, had sent an e-mail to Stuart Kaplan, recounting what had happened and what the dowsing rods had picked up. On the very next day I'd got a reply, inviting me to travel to Stamford; and, this time, there was no quibbling. I couldn't afford it, but nothing was going to stop me, now from splashing out on my credit card for the air fare. and a 4-night stay at a nearby Super 8 Motel.
And when I'd found myself in the legendary New York's Grand Central Station was when the awesomeness of how I'd got there was pretty much overwhelming! And all done by Intuition!
Audrey X