life

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Namaste

These past two months, and these last two weeks in particular, I have noticed an increase in disrespectful behaviour on several Facebook groups that I am a part of.  Some of these groups have absolutely nothing to do with each other, so there is no correlating theme that might suggest crossover between them. So what is causing people to behave so badly in a public forum?

Trolling and dishonourable behaviour has always plagued online discussions, due to the lack of face to face contact and the deterioration of basic social skills as a result of an increased virtual presence and virtual world.  One can very easily be rude to a faceless person, or a faceless mass – there is no real-time, real-life repercussions in most cases (barring those individuals who have been prosecuted for various internet related crimes and misdemeanours, such as bullying or trolling on gross levels, often involving minors).  It’s a sad state of affairs, and I fear for the future of social interaction in a world where people are addicted to their phones and other social media (yes, I spot the irony in an online blog, but bear with me) and are increasingly isolating themselves whilst under the illusion of always being connected.

People being rude for apparently no reason, people are trying to publicly shame another person or group, people for whom basic manners is all but lost, people with low self-esteem or any other number of issues that lead too poor behaviour.  But why this sudden increase lately?

I wonder whether it has something to do with the weather.  Here in Britain, in a climate that for the most part does not suffer the extremes that other countries deal with on a regular basis, when it is very hot or very cold there can be a rise in poor behaviour.  These past few weeks Britain has experienced a heat wave, which may have something to do with what is happening in these groups.  In Psychology Today, Amie Gordon states “in the summer, hotter weather was associated with being in a more negative mood. Heat is also associated with increased aggression. So when you find yourself feeling sad, grouchy, or wanting to punch someone in the middle of summer, try taking a weekend trip to somewhere cool.”  (For the full article, see http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/between-you-and-me/201301/sour-in-the-sun-3-unexpected-ways-weather-affects-your-mood).  Dr Joh Grohol wrote a in his online blog “Heat waves are related to more violent behavior and aggression,  may be associated with higher drug and alcohol abuse,  anxiety tends to decrease with a rise in temperatures,  depression and lowered mood tends to increase with a rise in temperatures, high levels of humidity — which often accompany a heat wave — lower concentration,  high humidity also increases sleepiness (probably related to poor sleep) and  high humidity also appears related to a lack of vigor and energy”  (http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2011/07/20/the-psychology-of-a-heat-wave).

Though we are not, and can never be, separate from external forces such as the weather, we are also highly equipped to deal with our emotions and behaviour through cultural and social standards, upbringing and self-discipline.  We are not slaves to these either, but can use them to help reinforce a positive world-view and to make this world a better place for all beings. It is entirely in our hands.

When we are engaging with the world, whether it is using an online presence or a physical face to face engagement, we have to remember that we are dealing with another soul.  This is a person who has thoughts and feelings, a history and a future, a journey in life that they are trying to complete perhaps as best they can.  It’s all too easy to forget this.  I am often reminded by the simple Hindu word/phrase, Namaste – my spirit honours your spirit.  (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Namaste). Keeping this in mind has helped me a great deal.

This is not to say that simple acceptance of bad behaviour should take place, that we cannot change the world, that you shouldn’t stand up for what you believe in – if you need to speak out on an issue, then you should, with honour and respect.  I have done so in the past, and indeed am currently doing so in this very blog.  Note that I have not named names, groups, or anything that would personally implicate another soul.  Instead, I am trying in my own little way to work through this issue, have my say and try to make the world a better place.

So, if you are ever tempted to belittle, degrade, shame another person, either in person or in an online forum, perhaps in the hopes of getting people to “your side” of the issue, remember that there are no sides, that there is no real need for this behaviour, no positive effect on the world at large.  Talk about it, talk it through with respect.  Love and compassion are key, and where two souls meet but cannot agree, then, with respect, bow and walk away.

Being kind is not difficult.

And if all else fails, find somewhere cool to think it through first. Namaste

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New blog for SageWoman Magazine!

So, SageWoman Magazine approached me, asking me to blog for their channel on Pagan Square – it’s now up, and I shall be updating once or twice a week! Hope you enjoy it, and if you like it, you can share it on Facebook or on other social media…

http://www.witchesandpagans.com/Druid-Heart/Blogger/Listings/joey.html

 

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Welcome Home – Soul Retrieval Part 3

IMG_1505 (800x600) (2)The final piece awaited, locked within myself and held in trust by an old friend.  I had found those fragments of my soul through a two week exploration, being in the beauty of my ancestral home and surrounded by family.  It had been a lot easier than I had anticipated – perhaps it had something to do with being home, physically home in a place that meant so much to me. At any rate, it was the right choice to make, to follow this path of soul retrieval and finding the essential self on my own, instead of following the “traditional” shamanic route.  I am more comfortable with my own tradition – to each their own on this gorgeous journey of life.

The fourteen year old girl who hid away because she was bullied and found sanctuary with the horses in the valley – all I had to do was stand at the valley edge, where I could see her, extend my hand and watch her turn to me, smile, and extend hers – across the valley she flew back into me.  The 24 year old woman, who was about to leave Canada for the first time with her new husband, once again leaving behind everything she knew to face the unknown, and who did not want to come with me, choosing instead to remain on that path that she walked every day as she waited for the visa clearance – she was equally easy to find.  On a hot, humid evening I found her as I walked down that same path, and she walked towards me and straight into me, my heart feeling full as I told her that everything turned out okay, that there was nothing to fear. She settled at once within me and I felt both heavier and lighter at the same time, my heart a little fuller.  I now just needed one more piece to make the puzzle complete.

And so we went to the power spot, where the river met the lake, in the late afternoon sunshine.  In the sand on the beach, I drew a circle around me, reinforcing the nature of the cyclical, the sacredness of the world, the fact that there is no beginning and no end.  I made my prayers to the spirits of place, the four quarters of the world and the ancestors.  I sat down and made clear my intention, and then my friend joined me to help.

He reminded me of that part of myself that I felt I had left behind, that I had trouble reaching lately. He described, in detail, aspects of her that I had forgotten completely. Seeing myself reflected through his eyes, she came back to life.  Being with someone who knew me so deeply was not only a comfort, but he was also my guide back to her. And in doing so, he surprised himself by finding a part of his own soul that he had nearly forgotten.

With open arms I welcomed her back. We hugged each other with tears in our eyes as we both remembered our essential selves, and honoured the beauty and sacredness of the moment, this life, this world.

Welcome home.

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Soul Retrieval Part Two

So I had to think, retrace the steps back to where I left a part of my soul behind.  Taking a shamanic inner journey to the various Otherworlds was an option, but instead I opted for actually physically going back to my roots.  Sitting in the backyard of my ancestral home, after visiting all my power spots that I grew up with as a child, I delved down deep into my self to see what could be done.

The hedge encircled me, protecting me, sheltering me from the wind and the heat of the summer sun, the oak and birch trees also offering their shade and their welcoming presence. Centring myself, I rooted deep down into the sandy soil, pushing downward through the base of my spine as I had been taught, sending down my tap root. Breathing deeply into this taproot I anchored around granite rocks, and then sent out all the other supportive roots, stabilising myself.  Breathing up the cool, earthy scent deep down I relaxed even further and began, holding my intention clear.

The first thing I realised was that this was going to happen over several days.  There were different moments in time when a piece of my soul had split off, for various reasons.  I decided to begin with the most recent, and work my way back.

Trudging through the slushy memories, I came face to face with myself, and simply asked, “Why?”

She looked back at me, and in her eyes I fell fowards, going back to that time and space.  I heard her voice as the memories played back like a film before me.  She softly replied to my question with three answers that struck me deep inside a part of myself; they rang true. I didn’t like some of them, but they were true.

The memories then came flooding back, and I began to fall deeper into them, diving down.  A weight was in my mind, dragging me down, as well as physically – I could feel my head falling down onto my chest.  I was getting dragged down into the memories, without realising it.  I grabbed that part of my soul back and we both fell downwards, upwards, sideways.  And then help came.

From the cedar hedge all around me, the chickadees called.  These little souls, who I had grown up with, called me back.  Their clear calls awakened me from the memories, and I came back to myself sitting in the backyard, surrounded by my little guides.  I raised my head and smiled my thanks to them, and they quieted down, still waiting in the hedge in case they were needed.

I had my answer.  I had a part of myself back too, that I thought was gone forever.  A line from the fantasy book that I wrote years ago resounded through my head.  Things must be bestowed from within as well as without, things that are integral to your soul singing free and clear. Honour, love, laughter, forgiveness and compassion…

I sat for several minutes, feeling the dappled sun on my shoulders, the cool breeze on my skin. I breathed in the sharp cedar scent, and relaxed, pulling my taproot back into my spine.  A buzzing to my right caught my attention, and a foot away from where I sat a tiny green hummingbird was flying around the bee balm. I watched him for several minutes and gave my thanks for his beauty.

The next journey now lies ahead of me.  I have an old friend with me for this one, as well as my guides, ancestors and My Lady.  I look forward to it.

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Thank you!

I just wanted to say a big thank you to all who have taken the time to read this blog, and all the lovely comments, emails and messages that I have received. And a big hello to all the new followers that have come on board over these last two weeks – wow!  This is what it’s all about – sharing ideas, being open and simply travelling together on this journey called life.

As I walked through the woods today of my childhood home, I noticed that all the paths that I had made, and that others had made when I was younger, were for the most part no longer there. However, new paths had emerged, with a different focus on another part of the landscape that is equally beautiful.  The stream where I used to sit was a wide open space, with the ancient pine tree guardians waiting for me each time, whispering their secrets and allowing me entrance to The Hill when I asked for their permission.  Now that stream is fully overgrown with deciduous trees in the summer, and it has become an enclosed space, a beautiful little faery nook where the bridge is much better tended across the stream, and where I can sit and watch the dragonflies and the fish, the light dappling the leaves of the birch trees, those ancient pines still whispering behind all the new foliage.

Where I used to stand and watch the sunset over the valley was just a tiny little space off the path. Now, that space has been slightly enlarged, and reinforced against erosion (we have very sandy soil on the plateau). A single bench has just been put in this week. Now the space that I enjoyed for so many years is accessible to all who pass by, to take the time to sit and look out over the beauty that I call home.  A part of me is sad that my little spot is now public, another part glad that it can inspire so many more people who otherwise would not have seen it.  The beauty that is life is not just for me, I remind myself with a wry grin.

Things never stay the same.  And yet, some things are constant.  Like that view.

The forest and The Hill, the valley and the river are all the same, and yet they have changed, new things growing, trees where once daisies grew, new streams finding their way through to the bigger waters.  It is like that with us humans too – we have an essential self, even though we are constantly growing, changing.  That essential self can shine through if we let it – no matter how far we may have strayed, no matter how outwardly changed we may appear, no matter what people say, we are still that same self, or at the very least contain large aspects of that self.  That self is not alone, yet it is an individual.  It is a thread in the tapestry of life, a beautiful thread that crosses the warp and weft of experience. We may sometimes drop that thread, but it is up to us to pick it up and reweave it back in a harmonious pattern with the rest of the tapestry.  Together, we create something truly remarkable, yet we are all just a coming together of single threads. The tapestry is eternal, and yet always changing, new patterns forming, new images and ideas spreading.

Like the forest stream where I can retreat to, it changes and yet remains the same.

Like the view of the valley, it changes, and yet remains the same.

Like the coming together of souls, they change and yet remain the same.

A friend once said “The first prayer one should learn is Thank You”.  And so, thank you, to the awen, that inspiration, those trees and hills of home, and to all of you out there. x

 

P.S. In the last year, I have over 15,000 views on my blog, and have had people from 84 countries read my blog, from places such as Mongolia, Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, Belarus, Slovakia, Bangladesh, Thailand, Canada, Republic of Korea, Brazil, Australia, New Zealand, Iceland, United Kingdom, Lithuania, Bahrain, USA, United Arab Emirates and so many more – thank you everyone! This is truly incredible… I am truly honoured.

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You Are Doing It Wrong…

bunneh powaIn my 20+ years of being a Pagan, I have met the most wonderful, inspiring people. I have also come across my fair share of people who seem to revel in trying to take other people down.  A lot of this, I’ve found, stems from the thinking that “you’re doing it wrong”.

For me, in anyone’s religion or spirituality, there is no right and wrong way of doing whatever inspires them, whatever heals their soul and whatever helps them to establish that connection with the songs of life.  I liken it to creating art, for it is an expression of one’s soul, one’s inspiration.  Would Da Vinci tell Jackson Pollack that he’s doing it wrong? Maybe, but both are equally an expression of the artist, both are equally art.  I must confess, I have in the past walked around art museums, seen a painting, and thought “I can do that – that’s not art”.  I’ve since seen the error of that thinking, and the divide that it creates.  Is a six-year old’s expression of a drawing of their mother any less worthy than a piece by Donatello? However, I digress.

Believing that there is only one way of doing things leads to all sorts of problems within the human psyche.  Out of that stems arrogance, division, and narrow-mindedness, just to name a few.  We would not have the wonders that we know today had everyone thought there was only one way of doing things.  We would not have a wealth of theologies from which to delve in and expand our human awareness, and awareness of the planet.  We would not have the wonders of the modern technological age.  We would not have impressionists, or the romantics.  We would not have haiku and sonnets.

The people that have inspired me have been those who have had the courage to follow their own path.  Figures in Druidry such as Emma Restall Orr (http://emmarestallorr.org) come to mind, people who couldn’t find what they needed to nourish their souls in what they found already existed, and so blended what mattered most to them with existing ideas, creating new ways of doing things.  Twenty years ago, Emma’s mud and blood approach to Druidry was unique, and she had her fair share of people telling her that she was “doing it wrong”, I’m sure.  Now, she is one of the most prolific writers and public figures in Druidry, inspiring millions with her approach, and making them find their own way through the forest.  It’s bloody marvellous.

I have seen some pagan groups or individuals put another group or individual down, because They Are Doing It Wrong.  Oftentimes as well, some pagans will use the term “fluffy bunny” to denigrate someone else’s path when it differs from theirs.  The fluffy bunny syndrome I find fascinating – not in the bunnies themselves, but in the way that people use this approach to make their path seem more valid.  Why on earth would anyone want to do such a thing?

A lot of this stems from the fact that assumptions are made about people. This is especially rife on the internet, where one can judge another without ever even meeting them in the flesh. These assumptions become rapid fire judgements, in which their path is better, their way of doing things holding a greater validity. This is expounded by the fact that they feel they are free assume and judge others in front of the watchful gaze of thousands.

Simply because one does not share the same opinion as you, doesn’t mean that theirs lacks validity.

I could equally assume that the people making such comments have deep-seated fears about their own path, or have had troubling experiences in the past that makes them lash out, that they lack self-esteem and this makes them feel better about themselves – but again, these are all assumptions.  We have no idea why people do the things they do. We cannot get inside people’s heads.  What we can do, however, is realise that everyone is on their own journey.

Each spiritual path, each way of doing things, is as unique as the person who is travelling along in this journey of life.  Instead of denigrating people who choose a different path, another way of doing things, differing from the norm or not following the traditional way of doing things, how about celebrating this as wonderful expressions of the soul? We celebrate art in museums in the same way, why can we not do so with spirituality? Both are expressions of the soul.

If someone wants to wear black from head to toe, cover themselves in tattoos and piercings and do ritual with the Sisters of Mercy playing in the background, then that’s brilliant – if it opens their soul to the experience and gives them what they need, the connection that is at the heart of all religions and spirituality, then let them do so without criticism and judgement. Equally, if someone wants to cover themselves in glitter and wear fairy wings, channelling white light energy into their hamster, Brutus, to clear his conjunctivitis alongside with the prescription drugs from the vet, then that is equally fabulous.  To each their own.  Remember The Rede – An it harm none, do what ye will.

In Paganism, there is no one right way of casting a circle. There is no one right way of meditation.  There is no one right way of soul retrieval.  There is no one right way of invoking the gods and goddesses.  There is no one right way of making an offering, of praying, or dancing.  This also applies to all religions, not just Paganism.

I have recently been tagged into the “category” of “New Agers” looking for the next new and best spiritual thing.  It can be frustrating at first, being looked down the nose at by some people. It is also completely bemusing.  Comments such as these are always made by people who don’t know me personally.  Assumptions and judgements abound.  I have seen and experienced things that would make some people wet their pants.  I also *heart* faeries and unicorns.  Does that make what I do any less valid than anyone else? Does it make my way better? I don’t think so.

My Way Of Doing Things Is Better Than Yours has led to all sorts of horrific things; war and strife, racism and sexism, just to name a few.  Condemning other paths because they do not adhere to what you think is the right way of doing things is, quite frankly, a waste of time.

And so I salute all those who sing their soulsongs freely, and let their true selves shine through, whatever their path, inspiring others.  And I would also say, do not let others tell you what is the “correct” way of doing things.  Do not let others denigrate your path – let them say what they will, then smile, shrug, and keep going.  We all must walk our own paths, and no one else can do that for us.  Sure, there are plenty of people who can guide us along, and become great teachers – but be wary of those who tell you that you should trudge silently along the path when you feel you should dance, skip, or cartwheel.

I look forward to seeing you along the journey!

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Grab that strawberry!

The wild strawberries are now out in my garden, and I am reminded of this Zen story.

A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the vine sustained him. Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tasted!

What if I told you that we choose to let our emotions, our grief, the struggles of living day to day affect us?  Who on earth would willingly choose to allow these to happen? Those who are afraid to face them, to engage with them. They are often the people who believe that mediation is all about pushing your feelings away for a space in time in which to breathe. While this can be a short-term coping mechanism, in the long term it achieves nothing. We must choose to face the abyss, and have the abyss stare back at us (Nietzche).

So many people believe Zen or Buddhist meditation is all about emptying the mind, to achieve nothingness. To wilfully push out everything and focus on nothing. However, in doing so, as soon as when we stop focusing on nothing, everything else comes rushing back in.

If, instead, we focus on issues that we are facing when we meditate we can resolve them – perhaps not all in one sitting, but over time, getting to know our fears in order to work with them.  We’ll never know how to break free of our demons until we can name them.

Simply sitting, zazen, is a brilliant tool for focusing the mind on the here and now. Laying aside the past and future for a session, we immerse ourselves in the present moment, fully aware of everything going around us.  Sometimes when we do this, feelings come up, of sadness or despair, joy or tranquillity.  We can ignore these feelings, and see them come back and back again, or we can engage with them.

Engaging with them does not mean to fall utterly within their tantalising spell, however. Through our previous sessions of simply being in the moment, focused, we have developed two great tools – the power of concentration and the power of detachment.  Think of them as your power tools 😉

Using concentration, we can fully focus on the emotion, the memory – whatever it is that pops into our head, giving it our full attention. With detachment, we see it for what it is – something that exists in our minds only, that has no substance.  Using both tools, we can delve even further if we so wish, looking to where the thoughts may stem from.  Then, equally with both tools, we can see that it is a choice as to whether we allow the thought or memory to control our lives, or whether we choose otherwise.

It’s our choice as to whether we hold on to things, or whether we engage with them.  You can’t fight what you don’t know. Face the fear, the emotion, and come out the other side, naming it, staring straight back at it, knowing that it no longer has a hold over you. Some demons never go away, but are silenced for a time, and letting go is never a one-time process. We have to let go each and every day, face our fears, our emotions, stoically in order to understand ourselves and others.  Enjoy the present moment.

It’s your choice.

 

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The Spirits of Place Within Me

mont_tremblantAfter having had wonderful conversations with an old friend of mine, and currently reading “Pagan Visions for a Sustainable Future” the concept of the spirits of place has gained an even greater standing in my Druidry.

I have always loved the hills and mountains, the forests and rivers where I grew up in the Laurentians.  These ancient volcanic hills, softly rounded ,weathered and tree-covered sing to my soul.  They are not only a part of the landscape in which I grew up in – they are a part of very own self as well.

The water that I drank flowed from the rivers than ran between the mountains, fast in the spring with snowmelt, crashing over rapids and making its way southward through towns and villages.  This river fed the many lakes, along with mountain streams that flowed down the granite hills, bubbling and jumping merrily through moss-covered stones.  This is the water that I drank – it was a part of me, the rivers and the lakes, the mountain streams.

The clouds that scudded the hilltops gave rain that added to those mountain springs and rivers.  Those clouds were a part of me.

The sandy plateau in the midst of these mountains is where our house was built. It was the literal foundation for a very happy childhood.  Upon this soil I grew up. I tasted it upon my skin after a day spent outside, I inhaled the scent after a summer rain, smelt it on the cat’s fur when she came inside after rolling in the sand.  This soil is a part of me.

The sunlight beaming down upon my warm skin as we sat on the lakeside beach, slowly browning or freckling skin, drinking it in – that sunlight is a part of me.

The thunder and lightning storms that raged across the skies in the heat of August, restoring the balance and refreshing the body after the humidity of the day – those storms are a part of me.

The dairy cows in the lowlands fed by the river and other rivers gave us milk and cheese as we were growing up.  Those cows, the grass they fed upon, are a part of me.

The mulch thick and deep in the forest floor in late autumn, with mushrooms poking through and the wonder of life all around – that is a part of me.

Though I may now live thousands of miles away, all these things are still a part of me.  If we think about it even further, the minerals in our blood, the iron from stars in galaxies far away are a part of us – there is everything in us and we are in everything.

Go deep enough, feel all these things in your soul, have your mind blown time and again.  It begins to make sense, offers some comfort in our sometimes senseless society.

Words can give us glimpse – it is in the experiencing and relationship where the magic happens.

 

 

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Beltane – welcoming the summer

Beltane – the fire festival celebrating the arrival of summer. All throughout the UK, last night and today Pagans and non-Pagans alike are joining in the festivities of this special time of the year, with Morris dancing and bonfires, Maypoles and feasting.  A long weekend awaits us with a bank holiday Monday, where many pubs will host barbeques and hog roasts, entertainment and more.

After a very long winter, this festival is most welcome.  At Imbolc and the Spring Equionox, we quietly ushered in the lengthening days, the gradual shift towards the summer solstice, noticing the ever changing cycles around us.  Now it is a time for the first of what I deem the “louder” festivals of summer, where drumming and dancing and cavorting are done with abandon.

Here where I live in Suffolk, it’s not quite time however.  I prefer to celebrate Beltane when the May is out; when the hawthorn flowers in the softest shades of pink-tinged white.  It will be another week or two yet before these blossoms begin the scent the hedgerows, and bring with them that sense of a definitive coming of summer.

For me, Beltane is also a time when it is finally warm enough to stay outside comfortably, to sit in meditation or to make love under the dappled light of the sun beneath the tender new canopy of leaves deep within the forest.  The Goddess is still waking up, slowly, soon to dance freely with the Lord of the Wildwood. It is not yet time to awaken her fully with shouts and drumming and the ecstatic pleasure of ritual love-making – not quite yet.

I can feel the anticipation growing inside me, as I long to reach out towards the sunlight and stretch my soul into the warm air, or to dance in the summer rain.  It is coming, it is coming…

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Sacred Pilgrimage

Lisa and I arrived at Stonehenge mid-morning, alongside the bus tours and family tourists ready to go inside the fence and have a closer look at the world famous site.

Walking over the ditch into the complex itself, I asked the spirits of place for permission to enter, and to let them know that they were honoured.  The response I got – “Meh.”  They didn’t care.

Standing as close to the stones as you can get, it all looked rather small.  The jackdaws were having a lovely time of it, enjoying the attention. The stones, however, did not.  They still stood as tall and as proud as they were able, with the eyes of the world upon them, and yet they hated being a tourist attraction, a place where people simply come, look and then carry on with no real connection being made.  The stones themselves had withdrawn fully into their own being, not letting anyone or anything in.  They hated the tourists, unlike the jackdaws, who loved them (and the goodies that they brought).

For me, Stonehenge is a place of solemn ritual, not a place for hooting and hollering as the sun rises over that special point in the sky over specific stones.  It is a temple not unlike Notre Dame Cathedral – and you wouldn’t go in there and raise a racket, would you?  The original intention is lost to history, but if you try to feel it, to connect with it, there was something very wrong, and very sad about it all.  The intention wasn’t right.  I am perfectly aware that this is only my opinion, and that people may feel something totally different from the place.

Leaving Stonehenge we then made our way to Glastonbury; it was the destination to our pilgrimage.  We came in over the Butleigh road and saw the Tor shining in the sun – what a sight is always is!  Our hearts immediately opened to it, and we entered the sacred place that we call Avalon.

We made our way first and foremost to the Goddess Temple, to honour the Goddess. Inside was a Red Tent, which we smiled at the synchronicity of it all, for Red Tents have been popping up all over in our lives this past month.  The temple today was not a very restful or peaceful place, but I suppose that it is always shifting and changing. Children were running underfoot as we entered, and then the attending priestesses whispering loudly the whole time intruded a bit on my wish for silent reflection and immersion into the Goddess – along with the loud chinking of change right by my head as they emptied the donation pot to take to the bank before it closed. I know it is all necessary, but it certainly wasn’t peaceful. However, this was my first visit to the Temple, and so without going back to compare I know that my view is very one-sided.

Our B&B was on the hillside of the Tor itself, a lovely place with a labyrinth in the front yard and very down to earth, welcoming hosts with sharp wits and a love for the place that was infectious.  We climbed the Tor to watch the sunset and welcome the full moon as she rose, large and pinky-orange.  Time stood still on the Tor, and we have never experienced a sunset that slow, or a moonrise that took so long, but perhaps that was simply because the wind howled around us and we were freezing out butts off! Still, we gently drummed as we waited for the moon to rise on the sheltered side of the Tor, and eventually we did see it in its fully glory (though our best view was from the B&B itself!).

The following day we went to the White Spring, where we had booked an hour’s slot for peaceful ritual and awakening to this newly re-dedicated place of devotion to the powers of water and the Goddess herself.  The Victorians destroyed the old place where the White Spring used to tumble, covering the flora in calcite and making it a beautifully fey place, where green and white sparkled in the cove.  They had built a pumphouse in that very magical spot, to divert the water from the White Spring for Glastonbury town – a very foolish move, for it only lasted a couple of years before the pipes became so calcified that they could no longer use them. Glastonbury now gets it water from the Mendips, I believe.

At any rate, the pumphouse was reopened by the White Spring Trust, and is now one of the most evocative places that I have ever been. We were greeted by a lovely chap who showed us how to lock ourselves in, and then once we were sealed in the very dark, cavernous building we set to work.  Entering the threshold, the first view is of a large pool that the Trust built to collect water, a still and circular mirror surrounded by candles and fed in and out by a little waterfall.  Tall arched pillars stand to either side – it really does look like a film set, I thought!  So wonderful, so full of water – the sound of water was all that you heard, rushing down into the pool from the top of the left wall, and then out the other side, never disturbing the still surface of the large sacred pool itself. There was an altar to the Goddess, Brigit on the left hand side, and an altar to the Lord of the Wildwood on the right hand side.  We said our prayers to both, and sang our song of welcoming to the spirits of place, honouring them for all that they were. We disrobed, and then sang some more, honouring this very special place. Lisa took her drum out, and drummed softly.  We came together in front of the pool, and then it was time.

Stepping up onto the ledge, Lisa drummed and sang the Goddess chant, as I stepped into the pool of ice cold water.  The water was not very deep, but so very cold – I had been swimming in the deepest lakes of Sweden, and they were not this cold. Raising my hands over my head, I called to My Lady, to let her know that I loved and honoured her with all my body and soul, and lowered myself slowly into the black depths.  Once the water was past my waist, I could no longer breathe it was so icy cold – all you could do at that point was hold your breath and go completely under.  Coming back out, still unable to breathe, I gathered myself and rose up, standing with my arms wide, finally able to once again open my lungs and experience what can only be likened to the first breath of a newborn babe.  Exhilarated I raised my voice in zaghareet, my soul flung wide open to this Goddess of the Waters that was both so welcoming and so challenging. Grinning, I made my way out of the pool, and took up the drum as Lisa entered the still waters.

The beautiful follower of Elen, Lisa was all Earth Goddess energy blending into that of water as she slowly lowered herself, and came back up spiritually inspired to make the changes she so desired.  It was beautiful to witness and behold, as the candles flickered and the sound of the water falling mixed with my voice in chant as we gave ourselves up to the White  Spring.  Once out of the water, we drummed and danced in a soft, feminine way, and made our offerings.

Dried and with our time up, we left that dark and sacred place and stepped out into the sunshine once more.  We grounded ourselves and ate something, and then went to the Red Spring at Chalice Well Gardens, there to quietly reflect on what Glastonbury meant to us, and what we could give to honour it for all that is was.  A beautiful golden/yellow energy flowed from the wellhead, making  me smile as I sat beside it and opened my nemeton to this peaceful place, calling to my goddess Nemetona and letting my self release into her beauty in this wonderful place.  We need more places like Chalice Well and the White Spring, I said to myself, more places where one can open their soul in safety and honour the gods and goddesses that call to them, the spirits of place and the ancestors.  There were evocative places of reflection and communion.  I know that this can be found anywhere, but sometimes it is just nice to go to a place of beauty to be inspired, to open your eyes and see that beauty everywhere.  It’s difficult to explain.

We left the Red Spring and went back to Wellhouse Lane, just the other side of the wall to the road that now separates the White and Red Spring.  I took my bottles of water from each Spring and, with Lisa watching for traffic, stood in the middle of the road and brought the two waters together as they should have done, as they used to do, before the road was built and they were diverted from flowing together.  In the midst of the chaos of human life, I asked for peace and in the hope that one day these two otherworldly springs may once again join together.  A mother and a young child watched, and then came up to me afterwards, the young child wanting to speak to me.  “He thought you were a fairy”, the mother said, smiling as she later ushered him away.

We then spiralled up the Tor, making three circuits as we wound our way up.  Sitting at the top, with the spirits of the waters flowing from beneath the Tor, the ground rising up to meet the sky, the Spirits of the Three Worlds sang deep in our veins.  With so much elemental energy buzzing, I found it hard to connect – but moving aside I took out my medicine bag and reconnected with my self, and reminding myself before I could once again let go and feel that wonderful place again.  To let go of the self, you have to know the self first and foremost, I thought.  The sun shone brilliantly, the wind whipping our hair and the waters singing in our hearts.

After supper we retired back to the B&B, where we had our final experience of water in the land of Avalon, that land of water and mist – a lovely Jacuzzi!

After our vegetarian organic breakfast the next morning – this B&B had such a wonderful ethos – we made our way to Avebury.  The sun was hidden in a grey mackerel sky, for which we were thankful – our eyes did need a break after days and days of sunshine.  We walked the circle from quadrant to quadrant, honouring the stones that still stood and those that still lay beneath the ground, as well as those now broken up into wall boundaries, or buildings.  The most poignant part for me was coming to the inner circle where the Obelisk stone once stood.  Walking the circle as much as I could (for a church and other buildings were now in the place of where some of the inner circle lay) my gaze looked out and saw the stones as they would have been, as they should have been, though they were no longer there.  They were clear as day to my eyes, and Lisa’s chant that she received as a gift at the top of the Tor rang through my head the whole time.  I spiralled inwards towards the marker where the Obelisk once stood, and saw it standing huge and dark before me. I spiralled in and out of time, sometimes taking steps in this time, with the cars and tourists on the road, children playing on the banks, other times in a place of serene quiet where the huge sky overhead surrounded this massive stone. Flying through the shifts in time were the jackdaws, one who flew right next to me over where the Obelisk once stood – and through it where it now did stand, flickering in and out of time.  I made my offering there and then, and took out my stone that I have had for over twenty years, with the raven on it.  Another jackdaw alighted on the ground next to me, and I smiled at the little feathered fellow, saying my prayers to the spirits of place and honouring the ancestors.

Emerging back fully into the present time, we then visited the last two quadrants, where little newborn lambs with their umbilical cords still dangling down pranced near their mothers in soft and fuzzy joy.  Upon completing our circuit of the stones we then headed back home, stopping at West Kennet Longbarrow and Silbury Hill.

When we reached the barrow two youngsters emerged from the dark tomb, one with a drum, smiling at us and greeting us.  A felt a surge of energy follow them as they left, kind of pushing them back out into the sunlight even as I smiled at them and greeted them back.  I stood at the entrance and said a prayer to the ancestors and to My Lady of Sanctuary, knowing that I was entering a very sacred space.

The tomb was beautiful, but felt wrong – not because it was not a place for the living, though that could have been a big part of it, but that the energy there again was not right. Rose petals were strewn on the floor in the main back chamber, and unlit and dead tea lights were left in niches in the walls where the previous people had decided to leave them – littering, in my opinion.  I whispered my prayers for the ancient dead and left.

Standing out in the now emerging sunlight, we turned and looked back to the tomb.  It felt halfway between the open and welcoming energy of Glastonbury and the “piss off” energy of Stonehenge – it was withdrawing into itself, but hadn’t gone as far as Stonehenge yet.  The people who were coming here were had perhaps the best of intentions, but still not quite seeing the original intention, which is now lost to the mists of time.  However with a little common sense could it be sensed once again – it was a place of the dead.

Drumming and raising energy were all wrong for this barrow.  This was a place of silence, of darkness and of cool earth energy.  People were walking on top of the barrow, further leading to the erosion.  Why was this not fenced off to preserve this ancient monument of the dead?  Wildflowers grew upon the top of the barrow, being trampled by tourists and ritualists alike, along with other fauna that we heard in the yellowed grasses that had overwintered there – mice or birds squeaking deep within the sheltered blades of grass.

I think that the main thing for the barrow and Stonehenge was a loss of respect, something that was still quite evident and strong at Avebury and Stonehenge.  The Goddess was still be honoured at Glastonbury, but the intention at Stonehenge and West Kennet was lost.  They needed to become holy places once more. Failing that, we needed to create new ones.  Simply because something is ancient didn’t make it more worthy of honour that a newly built stone temple or place of burial for our dead.

Driving slowly through to the last stretch of home, through “Antler Alley” as I call it, where herds of deer live nearby, as well as the badgers, foxes, owls and other creatures, I considered the weekend, asking myself what I got out of it.  I then realised that a pilgrimage wasn’t about what you got out of it – it was about what you put in.  A pilgrimage was about giving yourself, of making the most of the time and energy that you put into it and offering yourself to the journey and the places themselves, which was what I had done.  It was a sacred time to stop and to honour all that which inspired you, to give of yourself without asking for anything in return. The gods, spirits of place and the ancestors should simply be honoured for what they are, not for what they can give us.

A sacred pilgrimage is an act of love and devotion to all that you consider sacred, and will reawaken your soul so that you can carry that into back to your homes and lives, sensing and seeing the sacred in everything.