Scotland, the Middle Ages.
I see myself as the Crone of the village. She lives alone in a house belonging to a castle. The house is small and with a low ceiling. There is a fireplace in the kitchen, and dried medical herbs hanging from the ceiling beams, filling the room with their fragrance. Behind the kitchen there is a chalk white room like a nunnery cell, with a Celtic cross as the only adornment of the room. Next to the kitchen there is a tiny room. Two dark green wall benches attatched to the walls, a few shelves, and a wooden table in the middle. That is everything, and that is my Tarot room.
It is mostly women who come to my house to get medical herbs.
If they linger in the kitchen I ask them if they want to visit the Tarot room. Often they do.
This inner film is very vivid, and I smell the herbs, feel the long velor dress against the skin, the atmosphere and the cold coming from the stone floor.
The dream is like a pearl necklace of Tarot wisdom that can be used by all Tarot Readers. They may add new pearls to the necklace themselves, but if we stop using it the pearls lose their lustre. To be connected to the necklace is like stepping into a room full of dense energy lifting and nourishing your consciousness.