When we think of psychics, mystics, and prophets, we often picture them in candle-lit rooms, whispering to the spirits beyond. But from 1912 to 1923, the “Sleeping Prophet” himself—Edgar Cayce—walked the dusty streets of Selma, Alabama, lived among its people, and quietly conducted readings that would change lives and foreshadow a legacy still whispered about today.
Long before Virginia Beach made him a household name among spiritual seekers, Cayce made his mark in the Deep South—hidden in plain sight.
Cayce arrived in Alabama in 1909, drifting from town to town as a photographer before settling in Selma. In 1912, he opened a photography studio, blending into the Southern fabric as just another working man. But locals soon realized Edgar Cayce was no ordinary man behind the lens.
By day, he captured images. By night—or more precisely, in trance—he diagnosed mysterious illnesses, spoke of ancient civilizations, and even gave insights into reincarnation and future cataclysms. It wasn’t long before whispers of his abilities rippled through Selma’s quiet streets like the waters of the Alabama River.
Cayce’s method was as strange as it was astonishing. He would lie down, close his eyes, and slip into a self-induced sleep. While in trance, his voice would shift. He’d speak of remedies for ailments, reveal hidden truths about souls, and answer questions no doctor or preacher could.
In a 1914 issue of The Selma Times-Journal, Cayce’s name appears in connection to his growing notoriety—proof that even then, people sensed something extraordinary was happening in that little photography studio on Broad Street.
What made his time in Selma so intriguing was the duality of his life: one foot in the mundane, and one in the mystical. On one hand, he was a devoted family man and businessman. On the other, he channeled what some claimed were messages from another plane entirely. Spirituality met Southern tradition—quietly, almost covertly—in the heart of Dallas County.
In 1923, Cayce’s world—and destiny—shifted. A man named Arthur Lammers, an astrologer and metaphysical enthusiast from Dayton, Ohio, approached Cayce for a reading. What followed was a groundbreaking moment. For the first time in a recorded trance, Cayce spoke openly about reincarnation, the soul’s journey through multiple lifetimes.
This was bold territory, especially for a devout Christian in the Bible Belt. Cayce himself wrestled with the implications, questioning whether such ideas could coexist with his faith. But Lammers was persistent, and intrigued by this new depth in Cayce’s readings, he invited Edgar and his family to Dayton.
Thus ended the Selma chapter of Cayce’s life—but the legacy lingered like the Southern mist on a winter morning.
After moving to Ohio and eventually Virginia Beach, Cayce founded the Association for Research and Enlightenment (A.R.E.) in 1931. Over the course of his life, he gave more than 14,000 recorded readings—many of which are still studied today.
His topics? Everything from Atlantis and ancient Egypt to holistic healing and end-times prophecy.
Yet despite his growing fame, it was Selma that served as the crucible of his development. The city shaped him, just as he quietly shaped the lives of those he encountered there.
Today, a historical marker stands in Selma, acknowledging Edgar Cayce’s time in the city. It’s a modest tribute to a man who was anything but ordinary. Many locals still remember stories passed down through generations about the soft-spoken photographer who could tell you what ailed your soul—while he slept.
In the world of the unexplained, Cayce remains a towering figure. But in Selma, Alabama, he’s part of a deeper, stranger Southern lore. A psychic among the magnolias. A prophet in a town of ghosts and old churches. A mystery that, like much of the South’s spiritual history, lives just beneath the surface.
As someone who has spent a lifetime exploring the paranormal, the psychic, and the inexplicable, I find Cayce’s Selma years especially powerful. This wasn’t the flashy Cayce of national fame. This was the man in his formative years, grappling with a gift he didn’t fully understand, navigating a spiritual path in a place not always friendly to such things.
It makes you wonder: how many other prophets, seers, or sensitives passed through small Southern towns, unnoticed or misunderstood?
Selma remembered Cayce. And for that, we remember Selma—not just for its Civil War or Civil Rights history, but for its Cayce history, too.