Isle of Apples

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Glastonbury Pilgrimage 2023

Well, I have just returned home from another Glastonbury pilgrimage. This time I seven lady friends and I from here in Suffolk went to experience the sacred sites around Glastonbury. We had a lovely time stopping at Avebury on the way, to walk among the stones and to get a feel for this ancient site, as well as having a lunch break at the Red Lion pub. We were surprised to see that their prices are still incredibly reasonable, even after everything that has happened in the last few years. In fact, we noticed that wherever we ate, we were spending around £5 to sometimes nearly £10 less than we would in Suffolk, for some reason. Since Covid hit, every pub and restaurant in Suffolk has increased their prices dramatically.  It made eating out on our roadtrip/pilgrimage even that much more enjoyable.

When we arrived in Glastonbury, a few of us immediately climbed the Tor. It was quite still, with very little breeze, which is rare on the Tor! Standing up there on top of than ancient hill felt like being on top of the world, as it always does. A few people were quietly sitting and watching the sunset, or meditating, and it was incredibly peaceful up there. The mists were beginning to gather in the Somerset levels below, and the setting sun peeped out through the clouds just before disappearing below the horizon.

The next day we began our visit to the sacred places all together. We began with the Red Spring (Chalice Well). It is a beautiful sanctuary of peace and love, with the waters of the Red Spring flowing through various gardens and areas before culminating in a gorgeous vesical pisces pool at the bottom. I always begin at the bottom, crossing the little stream and stepping through into the Otherworld before I continue my journey up through the gardens, and all the ladies did it with me together. It was wonderful.

We meditated at the pool and gazed at the flow forms, before heading up to the yew trees and walking through their gateway. We then passed beneath the archway with the wrought iron, archangel Michael’s sword over our heads, which we saw as the sword of sovereignty, rather than the archangel’s fiery blade. Once in Arthur’s Court, we took off our shoes and walked through the paddling pool, bathing our feet and beginning our spiritual pilgrimage in earnest. Afterwards we sat beneath the yews and just soaked in the atmosphere of that very healing spot in the Chalice Well gardens.

Next we moved up to the Lion’s Head, a tap where you can collect water from the Red Spring within the sanctuary of the gardens. After having bathed your feet, now you can take in the healing waters into your body and soul, having been purified and readied for the experience. We filled our bottles and, for many of the women, tasted the iron-rich water for the very first time. I love the taste, but it’s not for everyone!

From there we moved up to the holiest of holies, the wellhead. Here in this silent sanctuary we meditated on the waters with other pilgrims who gathered round in quiet companionship. Well, we tried to anyway. The pot smoke and noise across the street at the White Spring was growing, until someone blew a horn and the White Spring opened in earnest. Sigh. More on that later.

We ate a picnic lunch on the slopes of Chalice Hill, just beneath the apple orchards. The sun was shining, and it was an absolutely gorgeous day. We then headed down to the gift shop to pick up a few things, and then made our way to the Tor once again.

The climb up the Tor this time was different, with more people and the wind whipping around us. Thankfully the wind was at our backs, which felt like it was giving us a helping hand on the climb to the summit. Once there we came across a large group of people occupying the sheltered, sunny side of the tower, singing and chanting, and so we moved into the tower itself. It is a relic of the old monastery complex that used to be situated on the Tor, and is the second tower to be built there, the first having fallen after an earthquake.

We stood in the tower, looking out the doors and through the roofless structure to watch the few clouds scudding quickly across the azure blue sky. We spoke of the legends that surrounded this magical hill, and of who was said to dwell within it. We then sat in silence, taking it all in, when a lady and a man came in. She stood in the doorway and laughed, while he stood in the centre of the tower (and us) and began gyrating and shaking as if he was being electrocuted, followed by noises as if he was sexually climaxing. I rolled my eyes and left, resisting the temptation to give in to violence, and was followed by the rest of my ladies, bar one. She remained, giving him the stink eye while he continued, not allowing him to vibe her out of that space. Rock on, grrlfriend.

I then spent some time sitting on the hilltop facing west, and meditated, connecting to the energy of the Tor and the surrounding landscape, the elements and the myths and legends that abound in this magical place. I was interrupted five minutes later by some young teenagers nearby who, after smoking a joint, proceeded to record themselves making what they thought were sexual noises. Sigh again.

Eventually we headed back down the Tor and went to see if the White Spring was still open. It was, and so after a health and safety briefing we all went into the dim chamber of the Victorian wellhouse. Before this structure was built, the White Spring flowed from a fissure in the rock, coating all the plant life around it with a calcified deposit, created faery forms and shapes all around it. When cholera hit the town the decision makers decided to use the water from this spring, ignoring the calcium deposits evident all around. In a short time the pipes that connected the spring to the town were filled with calcium, and water had to be found elsewhere. It is so infuriating to think that with just a little common sense, a beautiful and sacred landmark could have been preserved.

All that being said, the wellhouse has now been transformed into a water temple. Ten years ago it was a fairly quiet place to come, reflect on the mirror pool in the centre and listen to the sound of water running all around you, down the floor and through little rivulets. In the last seven or so years however, you are lucky if you can hear the water at all, with all the other noise that visitors to the spring make in that echoing, high-ceiling chamber. Such was the case with our visit this time, as it was the last two times I have visited. There just seemed to be no regard for others visiting the site; it was all about doing your own thing and to hell with everyone around you.

The water in the big, round mirror pool was filthy. I’m not sure if it has been cleaned in recent years, but it sure didn’t look like it. It had a brown cast to it, with an oily film on the top from people jumping into it and putting all sorts of chemicals from their bodies into the water. The dipping pool is off to the left-hand side of the chamber, but people ignore it and go into the main pool anyway, regardless of whether people are trying to scry, meditate, pray or do anything near it. At any rate, I was deeply saddened to see the state of the water in the main pool. I myself have been in the water, many, many years ago now when the dipping pool didn’t exist, and the main pool was the only way to get in the water. I had booked the space for a private ritual, an hour of quiet reflecting and soft chanting, prayers and verbal offerings of thanks to the water before the doors opened to the public. We had showered before coming, and gave the space the reverence it deserved. It was a beautiful time, when everything was kept clean and the waters ran clear. It is a completely different experience now.

We had a look at the dipping pool, which was crowded all along one side by four naked men watching a naked woman bend over in front of them to get her clothes so that she could dress after going in the waters. We walked between them, appearing to be tourists having a look around as we tried to give the woman some space from these blokes. They just hung around and watched anyway.

A couple of us then moved to the Brighid shrine, and spent a few of minutes there before a large group of people took up the whole space, and we moved on again, to the shrine of Gwyn ap Nudd. The drumming had already started again, by a chap who moved from section to section providing the visitors with what he probably thought was a bitchin’, trippy experience. All he did was give me a headache from his loud, continuous hard drumming which reverberated off the stone walls and from which there was no escape. Singing began loudly from the group in Brighid’s shrine, competing with the drumming. I could take no more and had to leave. I sorely miss the simple sound of the water, and the sanctity that once occupied this space.

We left the White Spring annoyed, and all the ladies commented to me that they felt the space had been taken over by men and unthinking, male energies. I had to agree. The White Spring has definitely changed in these last 7 – 8 years, and not for the better. I feel a deep grief for the beautiful, quiet, sacred space that it used to be, and which is now a free-for-all with people climbing everywhere, doing anything they like without any regard for anyone else.

The day was getting on, and so we decided to head back to our apartments and take some time to ourselves before supper. We ate at the Who’d A Thought It inn near the market cross, and the food was pretty good apart from one meal which had to be sent back, as it was not what it purported to be. Tired from the day, we had an early night.

The next day the rain came. When it rains in Somerset, it doesn’t kid around. It rained all day, a soaking rain that is what makes this landscape so lush and green compared to the arid climate of our home county of Suffolk. But it was actually nice to be in the rain, as we have had so little in the last three years that we’ve nearly forgotten what it feels like! We spent the day shopping, and there are so many lovely shops to visit on the high street, down the alleyways and arcades. One shop that I feel I MUST mention, and which I hadn’t been in as it wasn’t there since my last visit, was Sons of Asgard. This is a witchcraft supply shop, and an amazing one at that. Well lit, with tons of homemade kits for everything you could possibly want, even a magical housecleaning kit with everything you might need to magical cleanse the home, all components made by the staff themselves! The room sprays and aura sprays I delighted in, as with my asthma I can’t burn incense indoors. These homemade sprays were divine, with essential oils, flower essences, crystal infusions and more. The choice! There were also witch ball kits, spell kits of all different kinds, and a good old-fashioned herbal apothecary corner where you could order quantities of however much you fancy, much like StarChild just a couple of doors down. I really, really loved this shop, and highly recommend it for your witchy needs.

We then had lunch at the Blue Note Café, which is still awesome. The food is just so good there. I had a wrap with a bunch of salads – you can get five little salads on the plate or chips instead, but I always go for the salads as they are delicious: potato, cous cous, coleslaw, bean and greek salad complimented my wrap. And all at pre-Covid prices too!

We visisted the Goddess Temple next, which opens from 12 noon to 4pm. I love the Goddess Temple. It’s just a room in the top of a building in a courtyard, but it’s so filled with love and energy and devotion that it has taken up a spirit of its own. You truly feel like you are entering sacred space because, well, you are! In their own Wheel of the Year, they are in the element of water for the summer months, and so the temple was decorated accordingly, with super soft music to reflect that energy. Both times I visited they were playing Jennifer Berezan’s “Returing” song, which is one of my favourites for meditating on the divine feminine, and which is also a firm favourite with the temple. I spent a large chunk of time alone within the circle of nine morgens, feeling their energy and blessings whirl around me in a clockwise circle as The Lady of Avalon gazed down at me from the large painting on the altar. Pure heaven.

We then did some more shopping before our feet and legs gave out, and we retreated back to our housing for a cuppa and some R&R before supper. We ate that night at Gigi’s, an Italian restaurant again near the market cross, and it was superb. I highly recommend their pizzas, and the risotto had rave reviews from the ladies too.

Another early night, followed by an early start awaited us. We filled up bottles of water at the taps outside the Red and White Springs before beginning our long journey across the widest expanse of England, back to Suffolk and our homes on the east coast. From east to west and back again we made our pilgrimage over four days, and we came away with some special memories. Glastonbury, thank you for your beautiful, sacred places, and I hope that they all maintain or redeem their respected status, now and forever more.

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Surrendering

Since the release of his book, Surrender, I’ve been thinking about this concept that Bono talks about in so many different ways. In one tale, presented live on the “The Late Show” (see video below) it really struck a chord within me (pun totally intended).

He talked about how he had (and still has) to approach his wife of 40 years within such terms. He spoke of approaching her like this: “Only if you arrive at her fort defenceless, do you have half a chance in challenging her own, almost unbroachable defences”.

I thought that this was utterly beautiful. It could be applied to so much in life, not just your loved one. For me, it’s about being authentic, about being truly and utterly you, to whomever it is you are trying to connect with. It could be your life partner, your parents, your children, your gods, your ancestors, your community.

When approaching the gods, there is no point in putting up a mask, surrounding yourself with defences. They are gods. They see through all that crap. If you choose to open up your soul to a god, then there is no need for games, for duplicity or falsehoods of any kind. There is only you, and the deity.

It’s much the same with your life partner, family, ancestors, even those of your community. Those who think that they are fooling you with guises and masks are only fooling themselves. People are more perceptive than many think. We know when something or someone is “off”, it’s just that often we choose to ignore that instinct.

Authenticity is about surrender. It’s about being utterly human, being utterly you. It’s acknowledging the good and the bad and everything in between. It’s about working towards being the best person you can be, without masks, without disguises.

This doesn’t mean you have to let go of all boundaries. But if you truly want to connect on a soul-deep level, it is about being totally, utterly you. Letting down your defences also allows those to come to your aid. Keep them up, and they keep everything and everyone out.

The concept of surrender, and of defences, is one that I am going to chew over for quite some time this winter. In the stillness and silence of a winter’s day, in the overarching darkness of a long winter’s night, I am taking this to heart and really experiencing what it is to live in this manner. It will will, I think, open up new ways of living and being that before were only imagined.

This winter, I am surrendering.

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My interview with Philip Carr-Gomm

Druidcast 94 is now out, with the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids‘ Chosen Chief, Philip Carr-Gomm interviewing me last June for their 50th anniversary gala. We talked about religion and philosophy, my books and also what is Druidry today. Have a listen, and check some great music and another great talk by Jonathan Wooley on Druidry and the young adult!

http://druidcast.libsyn.com/druidcast-a-druid-podcast-episode-94

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The Lure of Glastonbury

Glastonbury TorEver since childhood, I’ve always loved the stories of King Arthur, of Merlin and the Lady of the Lake.  I loved the tales of swords proclaiming kings, of beautiful and powerful women living on mysterious islands bestowing great gifts, of sorcerers and magicians that could both give rise to and destroy kingdoms.  This love has never left me, though it has changed and developed the more I learn about these tales, and the land upon which I live.

One of the things that has always captured my imagination, and always will, is Glastonbury Tor.  It is a wonderful place, a place of great beauty and incredible mystery.  For me, it is one of the holiest places in Britain.

The landscape is unlike anything I’ve ever seen – rising out of the flat, drained Somerset levels is the Tor.  From a certain angle it looks like a woman lying down.  The Tor itself is a marvel, for carved into it are plateaus, in what appear to be a labyrinthine pattern rising to the summit.  On autumn and spring mornings, often the mist obscures the ground, and the Tor rises out of mist – we could easily believe we have been transported back to the Avalon of old.

What is inside the Tor is equally fascinating – the White Spring.  It is widely believed that inside the Tor is a large carvern, where the White Spring emerges, eventually making its way down into the town of Glastonbury.  Old records mention of a time when a small hole appeared in the top of the hill, and when things were dropped down, it took a long time before a splash was heard.  The White Spring was redirected and made inaccessible in the Victorian era, a large pumphouse created to supply the town and cutting off access to what was once a beautiful little spot where the spring emerged, calcifying everything around it, giving it a fey quality. Thankfully, in 2005 the White Spring Trust re-opened the disused pumphouse and has turned the small caverns, rooms and interiors into separate sites where one can once again pay tribute and honour the spirit of the White Spring.

Two monasteries or churches were built on the Tor in the Christian era – the first destroyed, I believe, due to the Tor itself shifting, causing the building to collapse.  Was the previous pagan site revolting against this new religion?  Or was it the sand and limestone ever shifting, finding a comfortable place to rest for the next 500 years?

All that is left on the Tor now is the tower, St Michael’s Tower.  The rest of the building was destroyed in the Reformation.  I both like and hate the tower atop the Tor – it looks beautiful, standing there all alone, a kind of spiritual trig mark; I hate the fact that anything mars the natural beauty of the Tor, and do think that the tower one day will also collapse, as nature reclaims her own.

Smaller hills surround the Tor, Chalice Hill and Wearyall Hill.  Chalice Hill is said to the be source of the Red Spring, which flows down again like the White Spring to Glastonbury Town, and has the most beautiful gardens built around it.  For a small fee, one can enter the gardens and see it in all its glory (unlike the White Spring, which is free).  It was said that the Red Spring ran beneath a grove of Yew Trees, the iron rich water reflecting the blood red sap of the yew.

The Springs are perhaps the most significant thing about Glastonbury – White and Red, the colours of the Otherworld.  From two separate yet very close sources, these two very different springs come down to Glastonbury and are separated by the smallest of distances – I’m certain that at one point they ran together, but now I believe a street is blocking the union of the two springs.  Perhaps one day they will run together again.

The Tor, rising out of the watery levels, connected the Three Worlds of Land, Sea and Sky. The Red and White Spring issued forth from the fairy mound, the Gateway to the Otherworld.  The labyrinth way to the summit of the Tor was the spiral of life.  This is only a taste of the wonders that very special place – what a magical place!

Is it any wonder why I chose it at the setting for my latest book, The Isle of Apples?