My clients sometimes seem to have difficulty believing it – seeing me, I imagine, as a Light Being or a visitor from the nether regions of the aether, but I was born. It was somewhere in Kansas thirty-seven years ago, … Continue reading
Well, last time it was the two, today the three has materialized. Do you remember the Ace of Tinfoil Hats – floating peacefully on a fluffy white cloud in a blue blue sky and representing pure distilled access to the world of spirits? Then there were two which, logically, should have been better than one, but the pair of them channelled an almost unintelligible dialogue of conflict between two opposing spirits. Not helpful, even to one like myself with almost supernatural abilities.
Now we must deal with The Three of Tinfoil Hats, and to all you aspiring tarot readers and mediums out there I say NO!!!! Don’t do it! Three tinfoil hats worn together can never be better than one pure hat, made with love and carefully maintained, (use your imagination, or if deficient in this area handle carefully and blow any dust off before using rather than getting the Hoover out. Never immerse in liquid of any kind).
This card depicts a red heart, barely recognizable as such. Attached to it like leeches are three tinfoil hats which, having drained most of the life from the poor thing by connecting the medium or tarot reader to malicious spirits, have damaged it almost beyond repair. But… some life remains and the thing to do to avoid further heart damage is to take the offending tinfoil hats from the head, crumple them up (maybe jump on them too), and put them in the recycle bin (aluminium is an expensive metal so it’s best not to waste it). Then get out your roll of foil and make another one or two as replacements, but: YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED – never again wear three tinfoil hats together. Oh, and take better care of your heart the next time.
Tarot readings are coming in, but I’m very busy with the goats and raspberries at the moment, so please be patient and I will give my carefully considered replies to your requests when I have time.
This is one of the cards I promised to reveal to you, my loyal followers, in the my previous post. It was made at a time when Jay and myself were moving, always moving, along roads wide and narrow, straight and bendy, and Hermaphroditey had deserted me. But now I am settled like the creamy skin on top of a bowl of goat’s milk yogurt I can look upon it and remember that time without too much distress.
I have a large collection of tin foil hats. The aether is filled with a cacophony of different sounds, not only the everyday noise of traffic, trains, people and other busyness heard in towns and cities, and mooing cows and combine harvesters in the countryside – all the ones that ordinary people hear – but the voices of discarnate spirits trying to impart information to genuine psychics like myself who are trying to access information from the other side of the veil in order to give the best possible advice to their clients. A talented and receptive medium can find sometimes that it’s difficult to hear the messages intended for them alone. This is where the tinfoil hats come in handy. They work like radio receivers, tuning in to the channel that the psychic person needs to hear. This is why I have a large collection, as I find that different shapes tune me into different channels or stations.
The card shows me, Aisselle A.T. Gabegie, eyes closed and a tin foil hat in each hand. A particularly difficult problem has provoked a deluge of gabble from the other side and I recklessly imagine that wearing two tin foil hats at once might help, but all it does is to filter the jumble to two disparate spirits, each with an opposing opinion, who begin to shout and yell at each other inside my head. Of course I take the hats off and the noises stop, and there I sit, keeping the hats well away from my head and each other until they become fed up and shut up. Later I try a completely different tin foil hat with complete success, but that’s another card.
It is hot again today and the poor goats are cooking in their long coats. I must ask Jay to speak to Hethermoor, our farmer friend (Heth for short), to see if he would like us to shear their coats. Perhaps we can use the wool in some way – I seem to remember someone mentioning a spinning wheel, now who was it…?
As you can tell from my newly created card I’m feeling so much better now Jay and I have settled in this lovely place. The Two and Three of Tinfoil Hats time has passed (more of those later), a new goat has arrived to join the others Jay photographed for the Three of Goats card, the weather is warm, the lake is cool, it’s deliciously shady beneath this tree and the teapot is full of hawthorn tea – so good for the heart. Something wonderful is about to begin – I feel sure of it. Because that is what this card is all about – like the lake my emotions run deep, and now that I’ve surfaced anything is possible and a new life is about to begin. No, not that though. Jay and myself will leave reproduction to George and Minette, who may have any number of hatchlings by now. I do hope the goats and other creatures are well.
Do you like the fishy tablecloth? I felt my lovely teapot needed something special to sit on, but all I had in the caravan was an old sheet, torn in the middle where it had worn thin due to recent restless nights and Jay’s toenails. I was just wondering whether to pull a card or two to answer that question when Hermaphroditey appeared and whispered in my ear that all I needed was an old potato, a sharp knife and some paint and I could transform it in the twinkle of a goat’s eye. So I decided on fishes to go with the lake – well one fish, anyway – and was soon well away, printing fishes like a professional fish printer! Really, I sometimes think there’s no end to my talents!
Now I should check again on my Readings page. There are so many troubled souls out there. But the day is warm, the lake is very cooling for the toes and the teapot calls. Later perhaps…
Three of Goats
Picture this: a country lane, a gypsy van. Jay is up front, keeping Pie on the straight and narrow (well narrow anyway – it’s a bit of a windy lane, this one). Aisselle, (yours truly), is sitting just behind him on a cushion. She is tired and achy and as if that were not enough someone is chanting in her ear; There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s… Well, you get the drift. But something is in the air. ‘Pull over’, I shout, ‘pull over!’ ‘Your blue one’s on the bed behind you’, Jay answers, but I point to a gate on a wide track just off to the left, he reins Pie in and we come to a standstill.
So that is how we arrived here, in this little field. The something in the air was the scent of goat – there are three, although it’s possible one may be a sheep, or rather a ram. He has beautiful curling horns and wise eyes. As I said, I am tired after all our time on the road so I think we will try to stay for a while. I had a long rest and then set about beautifying the shaggiest of the goats, whose coat was tangled with brambles and other debris. I was about halfway through plaiting the long strands when Jay returned from the farmhouse with the good news that we may stay in return for a little help – some raspberry picking, milking the goats and later on harvesting the fruit in the orchard. It’s not actually home, but maybe it’ll do for a while, and perhaps my head will settle down and the messages that came so clearly and easily before will sort themselves out and make sense again.
And speaking of messages, Jay tells me that there is something called Wi Fi at the farmhouse that we may be able to use. He tried to explain how it could help but his words didn’t seem to be able to get through the muddle in my head. No matter. But my old laptop seems to be working again, and as soon as I’ve posted this celebratory tarot card (Jay took the photo just as I was removing a huge orange slug from MuMu’s tail), for The Grand Ellessia Tarot of Aisselle Gabegie, and my first message since goodness knows when, I will try to catch up on any messages and comments on this, my poor neglected blog.
But I must go now. A frantic person has climbed the gate into the field and is doing some sort of semaphore at me. I shall go and see what troubles them – perhaps some sort of crisis that needs my very special skills, so the Reading Section of my blog will have to wait for a short while.
Till very soon,
Aisselle & Pie, a photo on Flickr.
Merry Meet, Dear Readers and Devoted Followers. It has been so long since I last posted here and I’ve missed you all. But now I must tell you what has come to pass.
The feelings I described in the previous post, all those months ago, stayed with me and built to a horrid dark nimbus which laid me so low that my beloved Hermaphroditey left and could not be found. My powers waned even as the moon goddess slims to a sliver every month before growing fat and full again. I became so thin and translucent that Jay feared for my life, and fed me nettle cakes, elderflower wine, milk and cheese from the goats, and wild honey, but nothing helped. I was disappearing, and had not the strength to see my clients or attend to the needs of my followers here.
Then, one dark day, when the sun seemed to have deserted us too, Jay carried me outside to see my beloved goats, possibly to say goodbye to them and the other animals for the last time. As he placed me tenderly on a goat’s wool blanket in the orchard and covered me, Baphomet left the little herd and skipped across the cold grass to stand beside us. I kissed his gracious nose and reached up to scratch the small spot at the end of his back, just above his tail. This is a bit risky as it’s essential not to do it for too long or he becomes crazy with lust. But before I could so much as tickle him, Baphomet leaned down, put his whiskers to my ear and spoke, and his words made perfect sense.
‘Listen kid’, he said, and his voice was deep and wise. ‘Ya gotta get outta this place and hit the road. Hermy’s gone cause the pair in there…’ and here he jerked his noble head in the direction of the cottage, ‘…is sprogging. I dessay Pan reckons which one – or maybe both, but none of us goats has a clue – we just knows there’s a kid on the way and Hermy doesn’t like it.’
As Baphomet spoke it came to me like a warm golden shower falling all over and around me that he was right, before I realized that it was just one of the other goats who had tiptoed up behind us. I thanked the lovely creature (Baphomet) for this enlightenment, and with new strength instructed Jay to take me indoors and put me to bed, where I lay and pondered long before falling asleep.
I woke the following morning with a happier heart, and spent the day reading cards in the basement – the first time I’d been able to do so for some time. And before the sun reached its zither the answer came and parked itself in the lane by the gate across the orchard.
Jay had been with me down there (in the basement), but had just gone up to make some dandelion tea when he saw it. He tells me that he ran out of the kitchen door, across the garden and the orchard and came back an hour later with a smile lighting his whole face. He brought me upstairs and we drank the tea together, then, taking my hand, he led me outside.
Through the orchard we made our way, the wet grass squeaking our shoes, and my heart sank. Under the oldest and tallest apple tree stood a chunky piebald horse. Not more animals to care for – Oh Jay, what have you done?
But I need not have feared. In the lane stood our salvation – a gypsy caravan! That just shows you the power of the Buckland Romani Tarot, for it was that I had been using all morning. Jay told me that the horse was a Vanner, and strong enough to pull us and a few precious belongings away from our troubles and out into the country lanes. He’d bought it and the horse from an old gypsy who’d named his price (way too high, said Jay), quick as a one card reading and dropped it in the time it takes to do a Celtic Cross (properly). Jay said that we could go anywhere our hearts desired, reading tarot along the way, following the Fayres and living on nettles and wild herbs. We could even take one of the nanny goats for milk. George and Minet could stay in the cottage and look after the animals, and we could come back sometimes to visit them (the animals).
So here I am, Dear Readers and Devoted Followers, well and happy, tapping away in the Café Net, as my old computer would not have worked in the van. I have been out of touch for so long, and would be still, had I not fancied a cup of coffee (naughty, I know) and popped in. Sadly there was no coffee to be found (or any net), just lots of screens and keyboards, so it seemed as if Hermaphroditey had led me here on purpose and must be heeded. For she had returned, appearing as a fluffy pinky-purple ball almost as soon as we’d left the lane, and now resides in the van, just below the ceiling, where she bobs merrily as we go along.
The last few Fayres of summer went well for us, and although autumn was wet and windy, and winter so far the same, but cold too, Jay and I are cosy in our little van, warmed by the wood stove. Pie, our lovely Vanner, loves to have his back scratched just like Baphomet, and it seems to have the same effect on him, so I have to be careful as he’s a powerful creature.
George and Minet told us before we left that their kindling would arrive in June. We wished them well, and left with gasps of relief. We have each other, Aisselle and Jay. We have our collie – dear precious Leon and the Goddess Hermaphroditey, with Pie to pull the van and Nu (who rides inside like a queen when we’re on the move) for milk. We are all we need.
I’m not sure when I’ll be able to post again, but do please leave your questions and requests and I’ll send the readings across the aether when I can find a connection.
In the meantime, look out for us on the road – our tarot readings are not too expensive but they are supernaturally accurate. Our stock of elderberry wine is only half immolated, and Jay bakes wondrous nettle cakes – his secret ingredient makes them truly magickal. We can raise a glass together.
Blessed Be Till When,
My goodness, it has been so long. Life has been eventful, to say the least, but in small and mundane ways. All our fruit seems to be ripening early; Baaaarbara made herself quite sick eating gooseberries off the bush. A sheep vomiting is not a pretty sight. She’s better now, but we had to stay up all night with her. She even ate the leaves, and I suspect some thorns as well. I am trying to get the rest of them picked, and stay ahead of the strawberries as well.
Minet/Joel was not pleased, as gooseberry crumble is one of her favourite recipes and she was planning to make one for George/ina (as they have taken to borrowing each others clothes and wigs, it is always hard to tell which of them I am talking to. I really begin to find it quite tiresome.) Jay made some joke about their having a child some day and my blood ran cold. I am not sure it was even a joke.
Still – it is none of my business, I suppose, even though Joel is my sibling. That is the best way I can describe Minet these days – you see, I cannot even call Joel by name as he might be Minet when I say it. I am not sure even my powers are easily coping with this. I must consult Hermaphrodite. Maybe they all need new names. The sort of name that can cover all eventualities. Hilary. Vivian. But those names are all so horrid.
I don’t know what has got into me today. I feel fractious and irritable about everything. I shall go for a long walk and talk to the grass. I must get back control of myself, or my powers may wane. It will soon be Fayre season – and we need to attend as many as we can, and raise the funds for the animals, at least.
Well, hasn’t it been a long time? I finally got my wish to spend time at the coast when the four of us decided to take ourselves off on honeymoon after a couple of lovely villagers offered to feed the animals for us.
It’s been wonderful! We found a lovely little cottage who were willing to let us take Leon (couldn’t have gone without him) and we did everything we wanted, all the touristy bits and laughed and laughed at Leon’s delight in racing into the sea. On our arrival, the owners did think our party a little odd, but nevertheless welcomed us with cheer. I guess our money is as good as everyone elses!
Minet and George seemed to have problems deciding which couple they wanted to be, which made me very glad the cottage owners didn’t live nearby but apart from that the holiday was such an enlightening tonic. We were able to leave our often problematical everyday life at home and even though we gave Henna a contact number and address, we were left to enjoy the time away that we deserved.
And now we’re back! It’s wonderful to be back in our fields again, and I’m sure all the animals are pleased to see us. The couple of good friends we’ve made who looked after the animals loved their small gifts of rock and especially picked shells. Their faces were pictures when I handed them over!
Anyway, dear friends, since this was a honeymoon holiday, I give you red roses of love that George, Minet, Jay and myself have shared so abundantly.
Handfasting, a photo by me on Flickr.
I woke yesterday morning to find Jay’s place beside me cold and empty once again and rose with a sigh to draw the curtains. The day I had dreamed of and looked forward to for so long – my Summer Solstice handfasting – had arrived, yet my beloved had disappeared and was still missing. I turned to go and wake Minet, determined that she should have a wonderful day, even if I should not, but a small commotion in the garden took me back to the window in time to see two magpies jumping up and down on the fence squawking raucously. Two for joy! My heart lifted immediately, Spiritual Insight returned and I knew that all would be well and all would be well and all manner of things would be well.
But Minet’s room was empty. I stood for a moment wondering where she could be. It was only as I was preparing a celebratory breakfast of homemade museli and goat’s milk that I heard singing becoming gradually louder, and went to the kitchen door to watch her cross the wet grass. She had been to pick redcurrants and wild raspberries in the orchard, and had some wondrous news – Jay had returned! He had asked Minet to tell me that he would greet me at the ceremony, as it would be unlucky to see me any earlier. I asked her where he’d been, but she said it was a surprise and I would have to wait to find out.
Minet had been busy while I’d spent those days walking in the rain, and everything was ready. Jay’s old friends who were to officiate as priest and priestess were parked in the lane in their ancient kombi – Minet had invited them to stay, but apparently Crow was allergic to cats, and Azriel, his lady and their seven little ones would be sure to bring on an attack. Minet said it was just as well though, as otherwise there’d have been no room for Henna and her young Vic. ‘What!’ I shrieked. ‘Henna’s here, now, this very minute?’ ‘Of course,’ replied Minet. ‘We couldn’t not invite our own mother!’ I had to admit there was some logic in this statement, and felt relieved that the Grand Ovum was not accompanying her, as I knew he would detect the presence of his book as soon as he set foot in the house.
Breakfast over, all that remained was to prepare ourselves for the ceremony. We met Henna and the young Vic (whose name by an odd coincidence just happened to be Victor), coming out of the spare room. It was strange seeing her again after all the drama about the Druid’s book, but she had returned to her multicoloured gear and looked more like her old self than when she’d left the last time. She greeted me as usual with a simple Hiya Aisse – today’s the day then girlie! the diagonally broken tooth adding to her slightly comic look. I think she must have been bouncing on the bed again as we’d heard her while eating breakfast, and she did look very flushed. Mind you, so did the young Vic. He looks about nineteen and has the face of an angel.
It was time to get ready. Minet had made me a combination tinfoil hat and willow crown to set off my new blue gingham dress, white blouse and red sequined shoes. She looked beautiful in a long gown of green satin with a hooded patchwork cloak of many colours and patterns and the contents of Henna’s jewellery box.
And so, after a fortifying glass of elderflower champagne, Minet and yours truly, Aisselle AT Gabegie, made their way across the wet grass of the orchard followed by Boötes and Baaaarbara and all the goats and alpacas, with dear little Leon dashing here and there among them, doing his best to be a proper sheepdog but failing happily. Henna and the young Vic had left earlier. And there in the orchard, under a bower of baby apples, just as the Lovers Tarot had predicted, splendiferous in his robes and antlers, stood dearest Jay with the priest and priestess. As we approached two figures stepped out from behind the trees. I recognized the aged crone from the battered caravan immediately – she was still wearing the long red velvet dressing gown and the huge pink carpet slippers. They must have been rather damp, for although the sky was cloudy and there had been no rain so far that day, the long grass was still wet from the night rain. The crone didn’t seem at all bothered, and waited silently (as was her wont), wrinkled hands buried in the deep pockets of the gown. I wondered if she were to be a guardian or witness, and how she would manage without speech, but she must have read my mind because she removed one hand from a pocket and flashed the flash cards she’d used the last time I’d seen her. Dear Copwatcher, dressed in her long purplish pink robe, the trusty binocks at rest on her bosom, completed the picture. All our friends were here!
George stepped out from the opposite side. I have to confess that he gave me a slight turn as he was dressed in his policeman’s uniform, but a sideways glance at a radiant Minet told me that this was exactly what she wanted.
Miraculously, the sun appeared from behind the scudding clouds to bless us, and the lovely ceremony began. Ancient traditions were revived and leapt into life, pledges were made and poems spoken. And then, telling us to wait, George and Minet disappeared into the depths of the wild orchard only to reappear moments later as… Joel and Georgina! Joel was wearing his red shirt with the frills around the cuffs, but strangely, Baphomet took no exception to it this time. And Georgina looked exactly like the Queen of Swords in the Golden Tarot of Klimt, except that she’d added a satin blouse to the ensemble and had replaced the high heels with pink spotted wellies just in case it rained again. Minet (or rather Joel as s/he now appeared) said that s/he’d made Georgina’s outfit her/himself after I’d posted my reading for them on the blog! They intend to spend half the year as Joel and Georgina, and half as Minet and George. So Mollie Promp was right, and Joel did return – even if only temporarily.
The whole ceremony was performed again for Joel and Georgina before we all wandered in procession to the magic wood to pass ritually through the hollow tree from one part of our lives to the next. The sun had not left us – it seemed we were touched by some magic. And so onwards through the trees to receive the blessing of The Woodman before completing the circle by returning to the orchard for the handfasting feast, where Jay’s disappearance was explained by his gift to me. He had journeyed far to collect a special carving, which I could see standing beneath our handfasting bower as we approached. Carved from a trunk of pine stood the Green Man in all his natural glory. He will remain there to remind us of this day, and though he may weather and darken, and cracks will appear in his body, he will endure, just as we will.
Green Man, a photo by me on Flickr.
As the sun went down and the longest day drew to a close, we lit the solstice fire and gathered round with a good supply of elderflower champagne, nourishing goat’s milk quiche, nettle and carrot cake and fresh raspberries and redcurrants. Be glad for me, dear friends. I have never been so happy.
Till when, Aisselle
Clarence, a photo on Flickr.
I left Minet engrossed in preparations for our double handfasting and spent yesterday and most of today walking in the rain again, hoping to prolong Saturday’s calming effect. It is cool and too windy for June, and such strange weather is unsettling, although perhaps the approaching celebrations have something to do with my mood. But Jay is much on my mind too. I usually wake at first light and wander into the orchard to be with the animals for a while, leaving Jay to dream of cake until breakfast. But yesterday morning our cock Clarence woke me at the usual time to find that Jay’s place by my side was cold and empty. At first I wasn’t worried, as I thought he might have heard an animal in distress and gone to check, but when he didn’t appear for breakfast I began to wonder. Minet knew no more than I, but she is so involved in her preparations that I doubt if she’d have registered anything he might have told her anyway.
I know so little of Jay’s life before we met, and there is a side of him that remains mysterious in spite of our closeness and the years we’ve spent together. I know of his need to melt into the woods and fields and to become one with the natural world from time to time, and have always known that he’ll return when he’s ready, renewed and refreshed. He in turn, knows it has never been necessary to tell me when nature calls, yet there are times – like when the police came – that my Spiritual Insight has told me that this time is different, that it wasn’t nature’s call that he answered but something quite else. But just now I don’t know what to feel. It’s as if both Hermaphroditey herself and my Spiritual Insight have deserted me. She has been strangely silent both yesterday and today, in spite of the sense that she was following me through the wood, although I suppose it could have been that damned Mollie Promp again. The woman is haunting me.
I came home an hour ago and descended to the basement to throw a few cards, yet had no heart even for my beloved tarot, and leaving the cards untouched, turned instead to the computer, and this, my very own blog, knowing that my devoted followers will send me energy to carry on to and through tomorrow, come what may. Jay holds my trust in his hands and I have faith that he will take good care not to break it. He is probably just renewing his connection to the Earth and will be back in time. But whatever happens, I will smile for Minet and George, and I suppose I could always ask Baphomet to act as a stand in if Jay forgets to turn up. Wish me luck…
Till soon, Aisselle
Oh my. So many things, so little time. I even went out to pick nettles yesterday – only to find they were all old and fibrous, as I had not done so in so long – and so I fed them to the grateful goats instead (Milky in particular gets quite angry when we eat them all ourselves!) We must have dandelions in our salad tonight.
My followers seem very quiet too – I suppose it must be the Time of Year. Almost Midsummer already, and so much is still to be done. I’m still not sure if we need two of everything, for a double ceremony. I have the flower pots and the soil already, and some elderflower champagne. I realise we shall have to have four willow crowns rather than two – but what about the cushions? And – I have made mine – but should George or Minet make theirs? I have of course plenty of red ribbon, so they can use some of mine. And crystals a-plenty I am assuming Jay still has all his essentials stored away.
The priest and priestess are old friends of his from many years ago, and he is very much looking forward to seeing them again. But we have no guardians, as Minet and George cannot serve as such – or certainly not for their own rites. Who to ask?
The details are beginning to get to me. So I decided to go for a walk in the rain. It was beautiful; quiet and lonely – few people like to get really wet, and it was pouring. For a moment I though I heard a voice behind me telling me to “cool it” – but when I turned around I saw no-one. Perhaps it was the old lady. She seems to get everywhere. And I did feel calmer for hearing it. I wish I knew who she was.
And then I saw the roses, and the rain begin to lift. I love wild flowers, and I almost love clouds. Who was that person who sings about clouds from both sides and not knowing them? I know what she means but I love both sides of everything. And these clouds almost looked as though they had a silver lining.
I collected rose petals from the blossoms, as the wind was blowing them loose. They will be perfect for the ceremony – I feel better already.
Till then, Aisselle.