The Diary of a Metaphysical Bookworm
by Suzanne Valtsioti
©All Rights Reserved
The Death of the Bohemian
So, Raz, I was writing in my last installment about my grandmother’s youth, explaining how she was left alone to make her own choices at a very young age. My dear Coco left to her devices, chose to remain in London. And she settled in Soho, attracted to the wanton behavior, the artist colony, the debauchery and the reckless freedom.
That being said, I am feeling much better about writing out my thoughts and secrets to you Raz. Because I made a good start. Yes, writing about my grandmother.
I need to write everything I know about Coco.
Why am I writing this Raz, do you know? Do you know why I need to also write out Coco’s story when in truth it’s my story that I need to explore? Why focus on others when I need to finally dig inside, deep, deep within my soul, to allow myself to grab my own story and let it all out?
Because there is a saga unfolding before our very eyes.
Well, Coco left this world just last week. Nearly one hundred years from her birth. She left. She is gone from here and as I am writing in this ‘here and now’, she is definitely creating her noise someplace far, far away. And I am certain that she is happy there.
Coco, Coral, call her what you will, has died. This version of her had aged and withered like a leaf on the ancient oak. And I am left with a tremendous task.
Her dying words to me where to ‘find myself’, ‘to release Skye from all confines of the mind’ and ‘to fulfill my legacy’.
She said that I am one of the ‘wise women’, a ‘wise one’ and my emergence is to happen now. The only obstacle she said is that I am being blocked, and she told me to search deep inside and to open my eyes wide to the truth.
We spoke for days on end towards her final curtain call of this life, and it is all starting to fit in place. Everything that I knew to be true, all of my ‘weirdness’ and all of the strange facts, occurrences and coincidences marking our lives all seem to be making more sense to me now. So many unexplainable things making us so different from the rest all seem normal to me…as if they were naturally meant to be. I can finally see it this way.
I think that last night was the point in time when things sunk in. Things that I was afraid to face all these years now seem natural and they make sense to me in a way that I had never experienced before. But then again, last night I had a ‘seeing’…another vision.
You see, Raz, growing up the way I did made me afraid of what I really am. I like to call myself weird, just to excuse my being different. Now I finally feel like I don’t need to excuse it. I don’t need to be like the others and fit in.
Damn right I am different. We all were. And I suppose it is our legacy.
Look…how many people can claim to be raised only by free-thinking, spiritual, ‘different’ women,…and not by the mother but by the grandmother. I was raised by my grandmother, just like my grandmother was raised by hers. But that is not where the ‘different’ comes into play. Here is the ‘different’.
My grandmother found her freedom as a young woman in London in World War 2. Who finds freedom during a time of war?
Anyway, she was a wild intellectual and an extremely spiritual person – frighteningly intuitive and very strong. She was like a thunderstorm. And extremely in tune with things that others would never be able to see or understand. Searching for her world and for soul mates, she found her niche at first with a very freethinking crowd in a London neighborhood.
But that is just a mere description of her that hardly does justice to the truth about Coco. I barely skimmed the surface of her story.
From the moment that she stepped foot on British soil, she woke up to a new reality. Coco stepped into a dream world. That is how she used to explain it to me. She heard a calling. At first, she didn’t ‘respond’ to it. She just used to let it ‘happen’…she used to receive visions.
‘Seeing’ is how Coco referred to it.
She collected all of the information, what she would see, how she saw it, what was said. She wrote them down in a little brown notebook back then when they started to occur. She didn’t act on them at first, Coco just recorded the details in her notebook and collected them.
And she became fascinated with this dream world. Studying the details of her visions, she realized that they pointed her to Avalon, to Glastonbury. Coco was getting bits and pieces of a life there, of a calling to either ‘remember’ or to actually do something. She wasn’t sure what it all meant, so Coco would just allow for the visions to come, and she would study them.
One thing was for certain. She beckoned and wished for them to come to her more and more. Coco felt this strong need to communicate with whatever it was that she was seeing. And this began to dictate her life. That is why she felt so comfortable with a group of ‘crazy’ artists- painters and writers. That is what others outside their lifestyle called them. But she knew that they were far from crazy, they just saw more to life than the average person did. And that liberated them from the norms. This made them do certain things that the establishment wasn’t able to accept or understand. Their liberated lifestyle seemed almost corrupt and destructive to those who couldn’t understand that these people were seeing and hearing things from elsewhere, that they were being fueled and driven by inspiration from muses outside the realms of the five senses.
Coco became one of a select few of privileged wild and free souls that also frequented a very clandestine opium den in an underground space of a shop in Chinatown. And it was the opium that allowed for her to suspend herself for what seemed an eternity, hovering between worlds. While some of her friends were literally languishing in this netherstate, Coco seemed to thrive. Opium released her and allowed for her to embrace her link to Avalon.
It was in this state that she had the hallmark of her visions, the one that literally changed her life.
It was in this state, in that underground languid opium den that she saw and spoke with the great Merlin. He came to her and told her things that changed her whole life.
Coral Brackford became Coco who now shed her cocoon and emerged as a mystic woman of old, a wise one, a priestess, a visionary, that has suddenly found herself in this particular world. All of her past seem to peel away, and as she emerged back into the daylight from that opium den burrowed into the earth, that day, having spoken with Merlin, it was as if she suddenly assumed the identity of her true being.
Without ‘training’ or experience or influence, a whole new woman emerged from within her soul and showed its face to the outside world. And it was very real. And it was that woman that she now was, a Druid, a priestess of the Celts, a wise ancient archetype of a mystical band of beings, that sought to bring me into this world and to raise me. She did what she had to do to ensure that I would be born.
Because she knew that I had a mission to fulfill.