A tree is a fine example of rootedness, let us explore what is this rootedness all about…
To root is a sense of steadiness than belonging
To value the depth of where you came from
Than to cling to your past in desperation and fear of exploration.
The very word rootedness is about groundedness.
A bonding without feeling bound!
Rootedness is the integrity of spirit in recognition of the soul.
Rootedness brings up lessons in humility, tolerance and most of all acceptance.
Rootedness is not about the pride of being, position, prestige or past achievements and privileges.
Being rooted is a knowing of support in the grounding.
Being rooted is an acknowledgement of the past in awareness of things as they were without allowing it to cloud the now .
Being rooted is a conectedness in equanimity and a learning to evolve along the journey of life in balance.
You think that you own your thoughts
Well, your thoughts are not your own
They come through, you not from you
For you know not what your next thought may be.
For all matter is energy that flows
In tunes of nature of life
You are the channel that plays an important part.
You are like a vessel, that contains a thought.
And in that time that you hold the thought
Before it passes you by
You have a choice of steering it
In your unique way as you are meant to do
For thoughts may come
And thoughts may go
It is what you choose to do
with the thought,
That makes all the difference.
To pause and reflect.
To notice and and witness.
To observe and take charge.
To sense and to know.
To appreciate and let go. All is with in and around…
“We can do Merrivale,” Larissa had announced after researching the sites of Dartmoor that were on our drive home. This time we were taking the scenic route to drive through a bit of the park. “We’ve got two hours, tops, so we have enough time for the crop circle.”
“I don’t like the name,” I kept announcing, without really knowing why. It just didn’t seem to fit. It still doesn’t, but sometimes we just have to go with what our more modern ancestors decided to call these sacred landscapes.
The day began with mist and ended with sunshine. I knew Larissa was a bit nervous, but truthfully I was in heaven as we drove through fog so think you could not see more than a few feet in front of us. My only regret was that I knew I was missing a lot, but the effect was all too perfect. Sometimes you have to accept the gifts of the elements, even when there are definite drawbacks to them.
“Dragon’s Breath” on Dartmoor
It was a little bit of a challenge finding the spot to pull over. Thankfully the navigation did a good job leading us there, and it wasn’t really a surprise that no other cars were parked in the lot. The weather really was messy. I rather like the term Stuart and Sue use for the heavy mist on the moors that gathers over the ancient sites. “Dragon’s breath,” along the dragon lines…
Larissa walks into the mist. Once you ascend from the carpark into the dragon’s breath, you are swallowed.
We were drenched by the dew by the time we returned to the car, but it didn’t matter. We knew we had a heater. I also could have used the umbrella I was carrying, but as so often happens in these places, the right side of the brain takes over.
A Guardian of Merrivale. One wonders how large the stone really is, with only its upper-half exposed and chin rested upon another stone.
A rather notable stone juts out of the earth and marks the ascend into the ancient settlement. There was no visible signpost erected by a modern hand, and we later realized we were not likely parked at the main lot. Just as well, though, like the mist, it seemed intended for the necessary effect.
Another notable guardian stone inside Merrivale. This one rather looks like a dolphin diving into the body of a protective seal.
I knew nothing about Merrivale before our visit, aside from it being an ancient settlement among many notable sites in Dartmoor. I like it this way. There is much to be said about starting your journey into an ancient land without preconceptions, allowing the nonlogical mind to take over. Here is where the landscape of the senses thrive, and the land of Dartmoor provides the ideal place to open the inner eye.
A sheep surveys the landscape.
Although there were no other people to be seen through the few feet of mist around us, it was not surprising to encounter sheep. They seem to own the landscape of Dartmoor, along with the famous ponies we, unfortunately, did not meet. The Bodmin Beast was also nowhere to be found, not that we were looking for it…
Sheep v. serpent stone face-off
So we had only the sheep and rocks to guides our footsteps, along with a rather fortuituous crow that kept appearing at just the right moment when I questioned whether I should continue on. There were signposts of sorts, but one could easily get lost in such a thick fog. Truthfully, I wouldn’t have cared all that much, but I did have my friend’s welfare to consider, and we did have that date with the crop circle…
It was rather comforting to have the sheep present while we walked through time.
Even so, time seemed to step aside to accommodate, allowing us to walk through the veil of its passage and return to a past now long forgotten. The stones and the sheep watched but didn’t interfere with our footsteps and I succumbed to the glory of just being in the magical landscape.
There are rocks everywhere, but their placements are deliberate, even though many seem much more hidden by the earth than they once were.
These places are mysterious, but not completely elusive. The arrangement of stones signal sites of burial and also gathering places. Avenues line streams and circles encase sacred space.
A place to gather?Stones surrounding a probable cairn
Burial chamber?
Each footstep led to a place of wonderment, and I soon realized I would not be able to travel the full breadth of the settlement. The further I strayed, with the urgings of the crow that appeared through the mist atop the stones, the more nervous I knew I was making Larissa. She, though, was very obliging. We both knew what general direction the car lot was, and that we needed to descend into the midst to get there. At the very least, the avenues and stream would lead us back, once we found them again.
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A stream divides two avenues of stones at Merrivale. One is longer than the other. I walked the length of the one near the road when I entered the settlement, and the other upon my return. To our surprise, another visitor had quietly entered the landscape while Larissa and I were wandering. An elderly gentleman, whom I surmised must have been a local as there was no sign of another car when we drove aways, was seated nearby the marker stone at the end of the avenues. He lifted his head in a slight acknowledgment of greeting, and I glanced at the easel before him, and the unopened umbrella beside his chair. Noting, as I did, how seemed to be more than happy to be present within the dragon’s breath, and perhaps would rather us not be there with him. There was a sense that he belonged there more than we, and we quietly left, leaving him covered in another time.
Trees in the distance beyond where we walked looked like a mirage.
I climbed reluctantly into the car, noticing for the first time how soaked by the dragon’s breath we were. My jeans were an uncomfortable second skin thickly glued to my legs, and I turned the heater on full blast as I turned the car around. I would miss this landscape and its assortment of living stones.
Each stone held a story, but there was not enough time to stop and listen to all of them.
As we drove away, through the winding hills of Dartmoor, the heavy mist started to clear. The transformation was quite dramatic, and I found myself wishing I could pull over to photograph the land unveiled to the light above. It did not escape me how lucky we were to be given the magical effect of the dragon’s breath, followed by the sun-kissed landscaped in its full, bare beauty. As we turned corners, wonders appeared, included a large stone circle tantalizingly close to the road but with no layby to pull over. And, we were now pressed a bit for time.
We did, though, stop at the bottom of the hills of Dartmoor to admire a river running with the light of the sun. There were much-appreciated bathrooms too, and just enough time to take a few photos.
After our visit to The Hurlers, Sue and Stuart drove us to our car parked beside Brentor. “Give our regards to the Spinsters,” Sue said with a mysterious smile before we received hugs and watched our guides return to their car for their long road ahead to Penzance.
As we loaded into our rental, Larissa remarked with astonishment at the generosity of Sue and Stuart for driving us to The Hurlers and back, adding hours to their day which would end at the tip of the Michael Ley line before it enters the sea. One of the many aspects that make the founders (Steve included) of the School so remarkable is their unconditional generosity and genuine desire to share their love and wisdom with others.
The Spinsters is a rather strangely situated dolmen, at least in the modern landscape. One can’t help but wonder what surrounded it thousands of years ago. Now it stands oddly in the middle of farmland, and seemingly out in the middle of no-where. There is no obvious signpost marking its spot, and we nearly passed it by driving the narrow and twisty roads of Devon.
Spinsters Rock Dolmen
Considering its remote location, and lack of a parking lot — we pulled over into the hedges and hoped for the best — it’s not suprising we were the only visitors there. Or so we thought…
The stones often have stories to tell, and its worth stopping to “listen”
Years ago, before digital photography, I visited the Poulnabrone dolmen. Arguably the most famous and visited dolmen in Ireland, the Poulnabrone dolmen is awesome to behold. The Spinsters appears lonely in contrast, with its small herd of cattle guarding it. Yet, there is mystery here too, and a bit of magic left in the site. The stones still feel alive and they seem to observe their surroundings with an eye of discernment. The capstone has a particular anthropomorphic quality to it, with its face looking outward as though placing judgement upon those who might wish to pass into its portal. I thought it had both a serpent and whale-like quality to its form, and I had a strange urge to crawl onto its back. It was a little difficult to resist. Perhaps others had also, as the stone has fallen at least once from its perch and had to be replaced.
The sign at the gate to Spinsters Rock
Larissa and I spent no more than fifteen minutes at the site among the stones while the disinterested cattle grazed at a distance. As I mentioned above, aside from the cows, we thought we were alone, but as we turned and began walking the short distance back toward the way we came, Larissa and I stopped simultaneously in our tracks.
The Mysterious Mark
The feather, we were both certain, had not been there when we entered the field to visit the dolmen. Yet, there it was, black as night, placed like a flag marking our path as we exited. Another corvid feather from an unseen guide. Too obvious to miss.
Every learning is a two way process. There is the imparter of knowledge, skill & wisdom of truth who could be called a guru, teacher or a facilitator. Then there is the one who receives, assimilates, processes, synthesizes & is then convinced about his or her interpretation of assimilation of truth enough to be called the student, shishya or disciple.
Now as learning is a never ending process of growth and realization all the seekers of knowledge should have the channels of thoughts, words & deeds open for correction, improvement to be able to retain & sustain the available information to the best of their abilities.
The interpretation of knowledge may happen with respect to the personal state of mind and matter of the receiver, no matter whether he is the student or a teacher. Both are only human and they are bound to the vagaries of human nature.
Poise…
The Light Behind the Story 