Geo Cameron

By Ian McVean

Geo Cameron was a practising Shamanic priest until she became ill. This account is of her meeting with the author (Ian) and of their brief love affair.

Grab your copy now and be transported into a realm where spirituality, love, and resilience collide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maple Publishers
• Release date: Mar 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9781835380833

Book preview

Flamboyant Geo

Geo got out of her wee Peugeot car and turned towards me.

Geo, I shouted, for I immediately recognised her from the website.

Ruby lips, flamboyant clothes and red hair; together with a gigantic aura. Geo walked towards me.

Going on dates, she giggled, as we walked along the Cramond

esplanade.

I was immediately struck by her easy confidence. Her relaxed interactions with people. I do not suppose that Geo was any more intelligent or able than those of us who are not so blessed but confidence takes a person to places some of us can only dream of going. This makes me sound envious and, of course, I was but for a brief moment in my life I was able to see beyond myself. To see through her eyes a wonder that I could never have imagined. How did Geo have this power? The answer is simple. Love. She had always been loved. It imbues a child, and subsequently an adult, with confidence. That Geo expected others to do her bidding and always to be there for her could have come from wealth and powerful connections and she had those but when I knew her she was on benefits and the wealth and powerful connections seemed to have melted away. The confidence remained however and an enviable belief in herself.

We went for a walk by the sea, she with her dog Roxi and I with my dog Monty. I cannot remember what we talked about on that walk. Probably music. She would have sung the ditty she composed:

Cleaning, cleaning, cleaning so demeaning. I am cleaning, cleaning, cleaning feeling life has little meaning. I watch Game of Thrones cos I canna stand to clean alone and I am so keen on the Bean. All you ladies know who I mean.

Music is the cosmic dance as Maude said in the film Harold and Maude.

It was bitter sweet meeting Geo. The Cramond esplanade was where I used to come with Eileen. I don’t remember the Beach Cafe in our day. Geo laughingly talked about meeting dates. Her laugh was one of her defining characteristics. I think I was quite offended. I shouldn’t have been. I found out later that Geo was notorious for having several men in tow. She caused concern to her daughters’ social workers by having men back to the flat. Her daughters would have told their teachers, at school, who then informed social services. I had come across this before in artistic people. They do not feel obliged to follow society’s rules - including monogamy.

As we walked along the esplanade I took some pictures, with my phone. A hewn and carved stone with an inscription on it. A tree with some interesting exposed roots. I had planned to buy Geo a coffee and something to eat at the Beach Cafe but it was closed by the time we returned to pick up our cars. As we parted Geo promised that she would ring me.

So….How did we progress? I honestly cannot remember. The memory is, at best, an inaccurate storage medium. What impression did I take home of my first meeting with Geo? Certainly not of someone who is going mad. But then, I am no judge. If she was off centre, so am I. Professional custodians of the psyche would dismiss her, even then, as someone seriously deranged. But those who find the everyday unsatisfying and the ’sane’, dare I say it, boring, would find Geo enchanting. These are probably the thoughts I would have had. These and a hunger to see her again.

Dr. Georgina Cameron Gaiduschek was by then 2 years into a diagnosis of fronto-temporal lobe dementia but I did not know that then. I just experienced a wonderfully alive and interesting person. At that time she was still living with her younger daughter, Roxi, her Staffy bitch and Eclipse, her cat, in a flat in Cramond. I did not meet her daughter when I visited her at her flat but Geo’s flat fascinated me. It was full of the most wonderful artefacts; accolades and tributes to a life devoted to the spiritual. A celebration of the phantasmagorical.

Much has been written about the first stages of the kind of dementia Geo had. How there is a loss of empathy and the person becoming more selfish. I find this analysis puzzling. Surely to a greater or lesser extent we are all selfish. Those who pretend otherwise are being disingenuous, in my opinion. As for loss of empathy….well Geo is a Shamanic priest with a PhD in Celtic Shamanism. It is for us to connect with her not her with us. Of course, Cognitive decline is real and not open for discussion.

When I visited her house she told me a little about some of the wonderful things I could see about me. The Chinese painting above her settee was to be sold to a local Chinese restaurant; in celebration of the Chinese new year. She had an interesting rug on the floor. It was apparently genuine Turkish and about 20 years old. In her bedroom her bed had lovely fantasy drapes over it. Her desk had a beautiful carved chair drawn up to it. Everywhere I looked there was wonder to behold. An Italian dialler telephone, of 1960’s vintage, was in full working order. A couple of French La Rochelle chairs were casually used as dining chairs, in the kitchen. And musical instruments. Guitars. A clarsach. Drums. A keyboard together with recording equipment.

She told me she had found a mirror, in good condition, out for the bins, in Cramond. This she sold to me for £50. I would have liked to know where it came from (I have always been interested in the provenance of artefacts) but in any case it is still with me. A reminder of her determination and ambition to succeed. I am to Geo as Salieri was, reputedly, to Mozart. I can appreciate the spiritual, while being unable to participate.

Mention must be made of her umbrellas. The ‘impressionist’ umbrella with Monet stamped on the handle; a memoir brought back from a visit to Paris, maybe. The Mary Poppins umbrellas, one large, one small. The parasol, which would have been useless to protect one from the weather but, with its bright coup de theatre, could vie with the sun. Lastly the ordinary black and green, which surely Geo would never have bought.

Have I captured the essence of Geo? I hope so. I may have mis-written the details of her life but I ask the readers indulgence, of those I miss you’ll surely pardon. Are the art colleges full of people like Geo; who see the world differently from the conventional? I don’t know. I only know that when I was with Geo I felt energised and lifted to a higher plane. Not always comfortable, I emphasise, but something unforgettable.

We spent a lot of time exploring Cramond. Geo explained about the walkway to the island, which is flooded at high tide. She said that the island is a great place to record music. We had a meal at the Cramond Inn one day and that was when I discovered that Geo does not drink alcohol. I never asked her why. Health reasons? Geo was very health conscious and, of course, her daughter was vegetarian. Perhaps she had issues with alcohol when she was younger. Cramond is, of course, a very stylish part of Edinburgh and Geo pointed out J.K. Rowling’s house. Later we explored the housing development site in Muirhouse Parkway. Building dreams of living there, overlooking the sea.

We met John and Mary in the Cramond Inn. It was before the days when Geo wore her ‘Tiger’ hat, and she had on a plain black hat. Of course her vibrant hair made her distinctive. I had on my brightly coloured Nepalese coat so the two of us had an unusual look.

It was Mary who spoke first.

You two are interesting, she said.

Geo, as always socially at ease, replied, I am showing my partner Cramond. Are you from round here?

Silverknowes, said John, intervening. By the way I am John and this is Mary.

Ian and Geo, said Geo.

So began a strange relationship. It turns out that John and Mary are spiritualists and attend meetings at a centre in Drylaw. They invite us, and Geo, of course, is very keen.

I had expected the meeting to be on a Sunday but it actually took place on Friday evening. The centre was a large wooden building in the grounds of a big house. Almost in darkness, it was lit by candles in the corners. The celebrant wore a long black robe and uttered incantations as he beat his chest. He then invited those present to come up to the front of the building, to communicate with the spirits. There was a pentangle on the floor surrounded by obelisks. The celebrant moved from one point to another, in a circle, whilst making the sign of the pentangle with his wand.

I want to speak to my grandmother, said Geo. My mother used to communicate with her regularly.

Are you going to go up there? I said, pointing to the front of the building. I was now starting to worry.

Yes, replied Geo.

Geo stood in the centre of the pentangle and with her arms outstretched she began to rotate them. Following this she gyrated her hips and closed her eyes. She had obviously done this many times before and I watched in fascination as she entered an ecstatic state.

Did you communicate with your grandmother? I asked when she came back to us.

Geo looked perplexed as if my question was meaningless.

We are always in touch with the spirits, Mary said.

After the meeting Geo and I went for a walk with John and Mary. We ended up by the sea, Geo’s favourite place, and Mary started a curious humming sound. The sound was hypnotic and all four of us were soon in a trance state. I had some sort of hallucination seeing Geo lifted off the ground and swaying about in the air. The experience frightened me and I was worried that Geo might get hurt. John took my hand and looked deep into my eyes which calmed me. I think John and Mary felt a bit sorry for me and brought the celestial projection to an end. Geo was clearly used to spiritual manifestations and was relaxed with a beatific smile on her face.

The following day Geo and I met John and Mary at the north Edinburgh Arts Centre. I am not sure whether Geo ever spent any time at this place. Geo seemed to like this part of Edinburgh maybe because one of her children was a patient at the ‘Sick Kids’ beside the Meadows (this is closed now; about to be converted to luxury flats). The staff at the Edinburgh Arts Centre did not recognise her but that does not mean anything. They were all young and even last week would have seemed a million years ago. Young people are concerned about the future, that I do know, but:

We are rushing to a future, unprepared for and stark, while one by one we all die of a broken heart.

Broken hearts? Surely they are to do with losing a boyfriend/girlfriend, not loss of all we believe in.

Geo wore her Torx, rings and felt jacket and May and John were similarly adorned with feathers in their hair. I, as usual, wore only trousers and shirt, but the four of us elicited curious glances.

Mary and John did not speak as we wandered round the exhibited paintings but Geo asked the lassie at reception if she could hang her own paintings.

Do you have them with you? asked the girl.

Geo produced her portfolio, she always carried with her.

They will need to be approved by the committee, said someone standing out of sight behind the receptionist.

Geo did not accept this and explained that her folio were only samples.

John and Mary rescued her from further embarrassment by steering her out of the building.

I was puzzled. I did not understand how difficult it is to sell one’s work. My existence was one of working at low paid unskilled jobs, mainly for local councils. Was Geo used to her work being welcomed? When you are young and rich (well her parents were) the world seems bright and full of opportunities. At 56 years old maybe this is no longer true.

Let’s go and see Professor Willis, said Geo out of the blue.

So off we went to Edinburgh University to see this ‘professor’. Geo, of course, had obtained her PhD from Edinburgh University. John and Mary did not seem at all phased. Maybe they were university graduates and felt comfortable with the idea. I did not. We had made no appointment and the nearest I had ever been to a university was walking around the Liverpool campus with friends, donkeys, years ago. Actually entering a university building was like going to church, ill at ease and wanting to leave as soon as possible.

And asking for the professor was bizarre, bordering on the humorous. Geo could not remember which department or indeed faculty Professor Willis worked in. We asked various people, some of which had never heard of Professor Willis and tired and dispirited Geo consented to a coffee in the University cafe.

John and Mary, whoever they were, seemed indistinct by this time. Were they spirits invoked by Geo? Who knows!

All this left me with much to think about. Indeed my mind was in such a turmoil that I do not remember parting from Geo, John and Mary. Several days went by and getting anxious I phoned Geo.

How lovely to hear from you, she gushed.

I was to get used to her enthusiastic greetings.

John and Mary came round to my house, she went on.

So she had given them her address. My natural caution made me worry. What sort of people were they? Had I been hypnotised? As a highly suggestive person this was eminently possible. I felt drawn to Geo in a way I cannot explain but John and Mary gave me the creeps. Unlike Geo they did not dress in bright colours or wear ornate jewellery. He wore a dark suit and she wore a long black dress.

We met up with them again at the National Gallery. A favourite of Geo’s apparently. There is a picture of her lying outside the building. Behind her is a hoarding advertising some sort of witches’ celebration. 2003? 2004? I would guess, before her children were born. Geo was excited and bubbly and expressed delight at her new friends. I wanted to be alone with her but I had to accept that she needed lots of attention from lots of people. We wandered round the gallery and John said suddenly to me,

Are you into Shamanism?

Shamanism? I said.

At this point Mary joined in and explained that it was about the power of the spirits in influencing our lives.

Surely it is like any other religion, I proposed. A way of making sense of it all. It has no sense. The universe is random chaos and we poor creatures call a brief moment in time ‘life’, ‘consciousness’ or whatever.

You’re wrong, spluttered John, obviously upset. There is a higher intelligence guiding us.

I sighed, We are cursed as human beings with our imagination. Animals such as dogs and cats know when their time is up but they do not worry about it in advance.

How do you know? John said Have you been inside the mind of a dog?

Fair enough, I conceded.

I was later to find out that the Gaelic for imagination is mac an spioraid, meaning ‘son of the spirit’. Already John and Mary were starting to make me question my beliefs.

Why don’t you come with us to the Arthur Conan Doyle Centre? John and Mary both said together.

Named after the author of the famous Sherlock Holmes detective stories it is a spiritual centre in Palmerston, Edinburgh. Arthur Conan Doyle believed very much in the spiritual. He believed in the Cottingley Fairies; sadly and subsequently shown to be a fake.

Geo it appears had been there many times and had given lectures. Lectures?! I was discovering more and more about Geo and, of course, I was falling in love.

We arranged to visit the following week. I do not meet up with Geo during the week but we spoke on the phone. She tells me she is keen to get her work out. Paintings, music and writing.

Geo drives us to the centre in her Peugeot. The centre was curious, as one might expect, of a spiritualist ‘church’. Dark and sombre with a main hall and a dais and lectern at one end. I asked Geo if that was where she lectured from and she affirmed that it was. John and Mary were quite at home and greeted a man who walked towards us. He was especially interested in Geo and presently took her into a side room and closed the door.

Is he going to give her hallucinogenics? I joked uneasily, imagining weird sexual practices.

Don’t worry Ian, said John. Mark won’t hurt her.

There were pictures around the walls of people in transcendent states including obvious peyote ceremonies. I had read of these, of course, and was no stranger to mind altering drugs, such as LSD. Meditative music began to play through the door to which Geo had been guided but this was soon drowned out by rhythmic drumming from hidden speakers. John and Mary began to sway in time to the beat.

I was becoming concerned for Geo’s safety when the door opened and Mark and Geo emerged. Neither looked ‘spaced out’ and Geo smiled at me encouragingly.

Mark approached me.

What do you believe in? he said.

Why do you want to know? I replied

"Because you have struck up a friendship with someone who is in a different league, spiritually.’

Fuck off.

She cannot give, said Mark patiently.

What are you talking about?

You want something from her.

No.

Yes, you do and she cannot give it to you.

Mark walked back to Mary and the two of them walked away. I glanced at Geo and when I turned back Mark and Mary were gone. Perplexed, I wondered if they were ghosts. I was beginning to understand that anything was possible. Geo stood calmly unaffected by it all, which in itself was disturbing. Head full of questions, I accompanied Geo back to her flat. I heard music through the door. My one opportunity to meet Geo’s younger daughter. I turned and walked down the stairs and out of the block, leaving Geo at her door.

We never saw Mark and Mary again. Did Geo invoke them? Did I? Projections of my own tortured mind? Who knows?

Chapter 2

Fair A Far

It was in her bedroom, by the side of her phantasy