About a year before I encountered the word “experiencer,” I was subconsciously getting ready. Life may not be that logical, but in retrospect, it feels as though hints of the future were whispering to me, preparing me.
It was quarantine. I spent countless hours in my backyard with my cats, books, and my beloved tree, whom I lovingly call Lucille. I built a teepee in my little jungle out of found bamboo and assorted tapestries, retreating into my own hermitage surrounded by journals, books, and feline companions. Though I am a skilled extrovert, my monastic side delights in solitude. Of course, with my daughter, tree and cats, I was never truly alone.
I decided to dive deeply into the tarot, with the time, space, and an incredible teacher I deeply respected.
My mother had taught me tarot as a child, reading the cards at bedtime, one at a time, exploring the pictures and making stories and meanings. I treasure those memories. I had been reading cards my whole life, yet always felt I was just dipping a foot in the pool, never diving deep.
As I plunged headfirst into tarot studies, my teacher, Lindsay Mack, asked us a provocative question that literally changed my life:
“What is your intuition story?” she asked.
What do you remember about your childhood intuition? Did anything you saw or heard scare you, causing you to turn it off? I was gobsmacked. I had never considered this question.
She went on to explain that it is natural for children to become frightened by what they can perceive, so we turn down the volume on our receptors and close off information that could feel overwhelming or scary.
Memories began streaming into my consciousness. The house on Oak Drive where we lived with my grandmother, the house my mom had been raised in, became prominent in my mind. I recalled all the terrifying things I had felt and seen there, now long buried. I flashed on the time in 1995 when I spoke aloud to the ghost of my maternal grandmother, telling her emphatically that I did not want to see her, letting her know that I knew she was there and did not need visual proof.
Interestingly, at the same time, I made the same deal with “aliens,” putting them in the same category, I would not see them. I will not ever see you. I believe in you but I do not need or want to ever see you in my life. Deal?
The truth was, I could see things. My experiences on Oak Drive had already proven that, but I was afraid of my own ability.
My tarot teacher asked us to excavate these memories and reminded us that as adults we have sovereignty over what we experience, we can turn the volume up or down on our energy when confronted with what lies beyond the veil.
Scattered moments of terror from my life, once isolated and confusing, slowly began to align into a constellation of meaning. There was work to be done, of course, but the pattern was starting to emerge.
Over time, I let my eyes stay open. I let my childhood imagination rise and run with the visions instead of hiding from them.
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