Well we all have to start somewhere! We are all like bombs of sleeping consciousness waiting for the maturity, the time and the moment to go off! When we do, we are all effected in a different way, being the unique bundles of experience and soul progressions that we are, we all have a reason and a role to play within our direct communities and families. Nothing is haphazard and everything is divine timing. We create a perfect experience to develop and grow in, we arrive where we chose to be and we wake up when we are ready to take on the massive responsibility that goes with this privilege of seeing through the veil of deceit.
This is my tale, but we all have a tale and I’m only trying to help you join the dots of your experiences by sharing mine. I don’t like to talk about where I’ve come from and my personal journey, but if my story can help trigger others to unplug and jog out of amnesia, it’s worth a try, this is part one, it takes you through my journey as I feel it’s important to see how the journey works and then goes POP.
So I began my life in Rosemary gardens London, in the same 1968 march Spring that the premiere of Rosemary’s baby hit my home town of London , the film by the well known pedophile Roman Polanski was a very poignant film of the day and opened truths that many refuse to see still 47 years later.
My Mum was a gorgeous ballet dancer that had come to London with nothing and started her model agency Penny personal management, Penny’s for short , it was a well known model agency in the 60’s 70’s and 80’s, My Dad was in the film business at that time, but later took over the model agency and then set up Julian Cotton photography, that he still runs to this day in London. He was from an upper English class background and my mum felt secure to know she had married into the class system, as she thought it was the best way to be accepted socially in England.
I was a very strange child, I only know this today as the retrospective and my multidimensional perspective of myself has changed, so my point of observation has shifted allowing me to comprehend, why I bothered people so much. I started off ok, I was actually very clever and a book worm age 4, I remember going on holiday and reading 4 books in two weeks, I remember going to the very posh London Holland park Norland Place school where I was brutally teased for being the only girl who could read. It was the only bonding I had really done with my Mum as she actually taught me to identify words in real books, so I slowly put words together, but then I was doomed when I was obviously not appreciated by the other children, when I was miles ahead of the reading program.
My little brother Dominic had been born 18 months after me and he was to become a genius, in sports and music, especially Rugby and was captain to the secondary school sevens. He is to this day a health nut, he never left London, he still plays to a scratch handicap in golf, and runs the London marathon in record time, he doesn’t drink or smoke and is a passionate classical Trumpet player and teacher to children. However as children, we may have both been considered slightly autistic, we just had such high energy and we were given complete freedom to do and try everything we wished. I lived in my inner world peacefully reading and dreaming and he was deeply sensitive and needed lot’s of assurance and constant love from my mum, which he got, but I was very much left to live my dreamy existence.
I really loved my Dad, I think this worried my Mum, she was insecure that one day we would find out that she had come from nothing, from a very poor working family, she was terrified that we would reject her if we knew? My dad would send me secret invitations to see ballet at convent garden, he took me back stage to meet Monica Mason a prima ballerina of the day and he even took me to meet the police horses in Hyde Park. Then I got a kitten called tiptoes, my love for her became a great mutual point between Dad and I because he took so much time with me and her, tiptoes slept under my duvet curled in my stomach and I loved her till it hurt. Then she ran away when we went on holiday once, Dad spent days searching for her with a team of men, I heard him in Holland park screaming her name, as we lived with entry direct to the park. I loved him so much for bringing her home to me.
Then when I was 7 yrs old and my brother was 6, our parents started a most horrific divorce, as they were programmed to be gruesome, how many children have been left crushed since the collapse of the 50’s family nit during the rise of the Kramer V’s Kramer years of breaking families up.. at around this time, I had an experience that was to change my life, although it is only in the past few years that I can even relate or realize how meaningful that crash was for me.
I was sleeping in bed, I hadn’t had any prior fears as such before this event, or any reason apart from the cold atmosphere that reigned during the divorce years to have a nightmare or bad dreams. I was awoken to a large knocking on my window, still half asleep I automatically stumbled out of bed towards the knocking, the room was swathed in red haze and the night sky was red, there in the corner of my window, where I would often sit perched on the sill to observe the trees and the gardens, was the most terrifying black outlined shape.
We lived in a beautiful house on the top of Camden Hill Square and I was on the top floor, there was a huge drop below, but the figure was perched slyly, showing me only half his body of blackness, he had a hat on and he was smiling at me, not a nice smile, a deeply evil smile, in the background I imagined that I saw witches on broom sticks all flying around in the dead sea sky. I had no idea what shadow people were until about three years ago, when I discovered a lot of information out there, (google shadow people, there are thousands of stories like mine, they are always a shadow shape with no form, they seem to have a hat and resemble the men in black, they are ruthless and strip you to the core, they leave you paralyzed in fear and your life is never quite the same afterwards) here is a link of short shadow stories all like mine http://www.shadowpeople.org/main/shortyshadow.html
Well this experience completely put a stop to my life, from that day on, I was unable to read, to concentrate, to be completely happy and free. It stunted my natural development and I became the enemy of my household. No one understood me, My Dad kept telling me that Black people were the kindest best people around, he didn’t understand that I had seen a shadow because I probably didn’t even know what that was, I just kept repeating, there’s a black man at my window. My father thought I was racist! I became the problem child, I wouldn’t sleep alone, I slept in my brother’s bed and didn’t let him shut his eyes until I was sleeping! Poor Dom, he loved me so much, he always let me in his bed.
I also had an eating problem, I didn’t think it was a problem but everyone else did, we didn’t have normal meals in my home as everyone was working full time, we had aupairs that cooked us children’s food, that I found so disgusting that I’d only eat cucumbers and honey, then I discovered chips.
One day my parents came together to try and persuade me to eat an egg and a sausage, in return for a beautiful Hobbie Holly dress I’d seen, so I ate the sausage and the egg, never again! I lived on fresh air, nature and running in the parks I had no time to eat and digest. My school took my problem on board and for about a year I was humiliated every day, a child from the younger classes would come to the class and take me down to eat with the ‘babies’ where I was force fed and teased mercifully. One day I actually stood up and said NO I’m not going, I put a stop to my humiliation and became the class hero for speaking up to our very scary teacher! I think I even physically pushed her off me. My Mum found out about this and came in like a warrior woman to see the head mistress, which made things worse for me as my teacher then made me sit on her lap and told all the class what my Mum had done and that from now on we should ignore me in case she came back!
One night I was sleeping peacefully with my brother and I was dragged out of bed and literally smacked and shook till I couldn’t speak from the shock, as my desperate Dad who was having an affair, was scolded as he came home late and accused of destroying the family. I was keeping everyone awake, so he got his frustration out on me, but it had a big effect and I lost confidence in humans.
School and everyday life became unbearable, I remember being in this constant state of not trusting anyone, day and night I lived in fear. I had a repetitive dream that my Mum was a witch, I’d walk down the stairs and she would turn to me as another woman, I was convinced that my real mum had been taken into the sky and this one was not her! All effects of the divorce I imagine. I was separated from knowing my Dad from the day he left home, if I did see him, it wasn’t without massive guilt play that I shouldn’t leave my mum. I was suffering terribly at school, I was being constantly bullied by teachers, children, and kids in the streets I didn’t even know, it was as if I couldn’t relate to anyone, I knew now at the tender age of 7 that the world was not as it seems, but what could I do about it? How could I express myself? Who could I talk too?
After the divorce Dominic and I were sent to boarding school, which actually saved me, I loved the routine and discipline, I was reading again and best of all I could go riding. Once again I was a good student had girlfriends even if they teased me quite a bit for being odd! I had good marks. However when I would come home three times a term I felt how empty and sad our home had become, I felt the deep loss of my mother and I thought I should come home from boarding school to cheer her up.
I came back, my brother spent his whole childhood at boarding school, but I came home, at my request and started riding in Hyde park, I was obsessed with horses, I was also obsessed with nature and it wasn’t until I had my children that I realized that most children don’t go off all day to run in the park, or do they demand to be dropped off in Burnham Beeches a forest outside London where my brother went to school, I would be left with a packed lunch as my parents watched him play rugby and I’d RUN with joy to discover the secret paths through the woods, never was I more happy than being alone in the heart of pixie land. I had an Italian girlfriend at Norland place School, as we were both the misfits. Once I took her for the day into Holland Park, into the back woods and as the night fell I heard my Dad screaming ‘Victoria!’ He was with Beatrice’s father, both men were very angry as we had to climb over the closed park gates to be rescued, I didn’t understand why they were so upset as I was always alone in the park at night, but because I had taken my little friend it was trouble, I imagine my parents were forced to realize that most kids parents know where they are.
From the age of 12 till 15 I was always at Mr Nye’s riding school in Hyde park, I’d take the first tube before school at 5 30am muck out, go to school where I stunk the class out and then went after school too. I rode once a week and a free ride from time to time. These were great years for me because it became my new family unit. Ross Nye was an Australian who has just celebrated recently, 50 years of riding in London. He also had a house in Surrey where we went for Easter and the summer. They took me on board, as one of their children and as I got older I became a responsible figure at the stables, being left in charge of the horses. I was dedicated, I was known as the sweeper, still am today because I LOVE to sweep, I’d sweep the mews streets till I dropped and loved those years so much. All the children had come from broken London families and we found other children, who were healing too, Horses do so much therapy work.
I had begun school at More House in Pont Street London, it was a highly academic small catholic school for girls, the head mistress agreed to take me if I could keep up with the level, but I really couldn’t. I had no idea what was going on, I’d even copy out the home work assignment in my best writing and give it in thinking that was the work to be done. I became the class clown, or idiot and my focus was really only on horses. Then when I was 15 I went on an Easter break with my dad to his flat in Porto Banus Spain, and his new wife who I liked very much, although I couldn’t tell my mum that, as she was the enemy according to her. I hadn’t seen a lot of my Dad growing up, I was blossoming and I figured myself to be Madonna. I remember dressing up in a white leather mini skirt, a pair of tights that were black and white, red stilettos and a leather sailor hat over one eye, caked in the makeup, hoping my dad would think I was pretty. We went to a smart restaurant, the owner took a licking to me and I ended up being taken home by him and to this day can’t work out why my Dad and his then wife, let me be seduced and taken home by a dirty old Spanish man at 15? I was no longer at More house school as I was politely asked to leave, they explained my exam results would keep the schools level low, I was sent to a tutorial where I met other disturbed girls and we decided life was about dressing up, we were wild girls as society does try to push any young lost soul in that perverse direction. I fell straight in the trap and despite being a very gentle sweet girl, I was behaving in ways that my family didn’t understand.
It went as far as me nearly dying age 16, with an overdose of speed, it wasn’t intentional, only I had paid the most money, so I got the most pills. The girl who had got them, said that we had been ripped off and they were only caffeine tablets, so I ate about seven of them. I won’t go into the details of the horror story that followed, but I became an instant artist, fascinated in dark and light, I sat on the tube for hours drawing pictures, I could see that the shade and the light made up reality, every face was just shots of light and dark. It went on for hours until I ran to the police thinking they were the good guys. I couldn’t tell my Mum, so I left my front door open and run half naked to Notting Hill gate Police station, I was locked up and no one would give me a glass of water. I was taken to hospital and when my Mum arrived, I hid my head like an ostrich, thinking maybe she wouldn’t see me. This was the ultimate embarrassment to her, her life was crushed, she couldn’t cope with me, this and a couple of other incidents was her tipping point.
She had had enough of me, giving her a bad reputation, she had tried to tell me that sleeping with boys was not what a young lady did, but I didn’t get her problem, I felt fine and I was learning about life. She went on to find me a chaperone, a guy, who was to show me how to dress and behave and to watch where I went, to spy on me. He went a step further and found me a husband. Three weeks later a blind date was organized with my future husband.