BECOMING CARMAQUANTAROT EPISODE II

Welcome to Becoming CarmaQuanTarot. My journey didn’t start the way you might think; it started with a search for protection instead of fear. Today, I work to bring you messages guided by love, light, and the highest good—not what we want to hear, but what we need to know.,. I’m your host, and I finally realized I wasn’t being followed—I was being supported.

In our last episode, I told you that ignoring a child’s experiences doesn’t make them go away—it just leaves that child alone with them. You’re left trying to figure things out with no language for what’s happening and no guidance on how to protect yourself. Today, I want to take you back to where that isolation began. I want to talk about the moments I “knew” things I shouldn’t have known, and the heavy price of being told that my truth was actually something “devilish”.

It started when I was only six years old. It was a Friday, and my mom had picked me up from school to go on our usual shopping trip to Salem. But while we were there, a sudden, heavy realization washed over me. I looked at her and said, “Grandma and Grandpa Simmons died today, didn’t they?”.

I didn’t need a phone call to tell me. I knew because they had come to see me in a dream the night before. I remember waking up crying in my bunk bed, and my dad coming in to sit with me. But later, whenever I brought it up—asking him if he remembered that night—he acted like it never happened. I don’t know if he truly forgot or if he was just too drunk to remember, but the result was the same: my reality was being erased.

My mother’s reaction was even more pointed. She “swore” that someone must have told me. She couldn’t—or wouldn’t—admit that I had access to information without a physical source. It was easier for my parents to label these moments as “devilish” than to accept them as a gift. This was a pattern that followed us.

Take the time my aunt had her baby. I remember going into my mom’s room, desperately trying to wake her up to tell her the news: “She had a boy. She just had a boy”. My mom was dead asleep, but moments later, the phone rang. I told her to go get it, that they were calling to tell her about the boy. Even then, she insisted someone must have called me first—even though a phone call would have woken her up just as easily as it did the second time. She just didn’t want to admit I knew things I shouldn’t, so she hid behind the idea that it was something dark.

By the time I reached the eighth grade, this spiritual isolation collided with institutional religion. My mother was divorcing my father, and she wanted our preacher to come to the house to counsel us. In our home, he was quiet, but a week later in catechism class, he stood in front of everyone and told me that my whole family was going to hell because of that divorce.

He stood there judging us for “breaking” a marriage, while completely ignoring the reality of what was happening behind our closed doors. He didn’t see the violence; he didn’t see the fear. He just saw a rule being broken. It was another moment where the “spiritual experts” in my life failed to see the truth of my situation.

The truth was that we were living in a state of survival. My father would get drunk and become incredibly violent; we spent many nights sleeping with our clothes on just so we could run if we heard him coming home.

One night, he was in a car with a friend driving him around our tiny town of 300 people, and he was shooting at us with a gun. We were running for our lives in the dark, terrified. Then, out of the craziest circumstances, we ran into my uncles. They weren’t in a car; they were riding a horse and wagon in the middle of the night. We climbed onto that wagon, and they carried us away. I truly believe that “miracle” saved our lives that night.

When you grow up in a house where your natural intuition is called “devilish,” and the people meant to protect you are the ones you’re running from, you learn to shut everything down. You learn that “knowing” is dangerous. You learn to stay guarded. But as we’ll explore in the next episode, when you try to lock the door on your gifts, sometimes the things on the other side just start knocking louder.

Growing up with these gifts in that environment was like being a radio that’s perfectly tuned to a station no one else wants to hear. Instead of helping you adjust the volume or understand the broadcast, the people around you tell you the music is “evil” and try to smash the speakers. You might learn to hide the radio under your bed and muffle the sound with blankets, but the music never actually stops playing—you just end up listening to it all alone in the dark.

I’m no longer reacting to what I lived through; I’m listening to what I’m being guided toward. Thank you for joining me on this journey of Becoming CarmaQuanTarot. We’ll continue the story next time. And remember: words are spells, energy is sacred, and intention is the magic.

If this episode resonated with you — or if you’ve ever sensed things before they happened — you’re not imagining it.
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