I was no more than ten, sitting on the back steps that led into the old extra room, really a storage shed, tacked onto the farmhouse at Hillshore. In there, we kept our piles of chopped wood for the ancient black cook stove, “Beulah”.
It was also the place where Rocket, our large bullmastiff, used to sleep with Patsy, the small black Labrador cross, tucked close to Rocket’s tummy for warmth. Our stolid bodyguard, a cat named Sir Pook of Quinte, would ensconce himself on Rocket’s back and in this fashion the trio would settle in for their night’s sleep.
The day came, however, when Dad tore down the old shed with its step, and we could go directly across the small gulley to the larger apple orchard. Rocket was allocated his own suite of rooms in the barn for winter, Patsy was given hers close by, and Sir Pook of Quinte had by then inveigled himself into becoming a House Cat….
But the old steps and shed were still there when I settled in that evening in the late fall after supper. It was almost dark, and a light mist had fallen over the Bay. It was quite usual for me to find an odd spot to ponder things. I was a thoughtful, only child, very interested in the deeper questions of life. I was born under the Sun in Aquarius too, so that I was a child deeply concerned from an early age about justice, animals, refugees; I was always different” in some way, not quite one of the crowd.
And with an IQ of around 140, I was said to be “gifted” though no one paid much attention to such things in those days…certainly it was always more of a burden than a gift…
But I was a dreamer, and found my world in places others did not see. So as I sat there on the old steps, I was fascinated by the large auras of mist around the trees that lined our waterfront along the beautiful Bay of Quinte, and stood in groups in our apple orchard.
I felt myself merging with those misty apparitions, and as I gazed at them, a series of pictures began to form in my mind. They were very different from daydreaming, quite unconnected with anything I had been thinking about; they were coherent, with a message, a teaching session.
Such an experience might, in some circumstances, have been a worrisome “symptom” of impending mental illness in a child; not all that appears “psychic” truly is. Fortunately, in my case, these pictures were the announcement of a lifelong gift.
I know now that such pictures are a form Active Imagination, a kind of dreaming, during which the conscious mind and therefore the Ego both remain awake, participating in the spiritual, clairvoyant, and often psychological revelations of the Higher Self (and sometimes of one’s spirit guides). These pictures or images “come in”, one might say, like a text message.
These were the pictures that, in the future, would always be there on request when I gave professional life readings. They enter my mind spontaneously as I pore over my clients’ birth charts. These were the pictures that would light my Path in the darkest of times.