Today I am allowing myself to sit with melancholy. It weaves the strings of the past. Attaching to old wounds that can be so hard to let go. Rejection holds the thread of origin. This umbilical cord that was supposed to feed love and only love. I know where it begins. I know its hold. I know its constriction. The cutting off of life. Of the throat that seeks air. Patterns like to repeat until they are healed.
A voice inside me speaks, It only matters how you feel and perceive. What you choose to give to yourself. What you choose to hold onto.
The laws of attraction show us that what we give out we get back. So I turn inward to the origins of doubt. Allowing the question to rise about why I hold on so tightly for fear of letting go… because when I let go sometimes a void appears, and I expect it to be filled, one day, with abundance. Oh, but truly only I can create that abundance within. That well of love filling endlessly with inner light.
Yesterday, I struggled to find the words to write a post announcing the creation of my new website for kids and teens. The building of the actual site was an overcoming of personal obstacles and the stomping upon doubt. I purchased the domain over the summer, around the time I released book one in the series, The Labyrinth. I let it sit for about three months, until I realized I had the means to build a site, I had long dreamed of, myself. For just about $90, I bought the hosting platform, and the dance of design began. And I found joy in where it led me. A dream unfolding through my fingers. The result wasn’t technically amazing. There would be no fancy graphics and videos, at least not yet. But I had, I discovered the tools within me to bring the platform forth into the world.
That was the easy part, because doubt comes back when it’s time for birth. The bringing forth of my creation into the world. To be rejected. To be ignored. Or, to be loved, welcomed and received. So I struggled with writing a post to announce it on my blog, telling myself I cannot hold on and expect the site to miraculously reach the audience that may benefit from what I have to offer. I struggled with words. I am not comfortable with self-promotion, which has its origins in self-worth. Another thread woven before birth.
In the end, opted for simplicity. As I hit the “post” button, though, a thought entered my mind held by the constriction of fear. What if it’s rejected. It entered my mind and took seed. For a day later, there have been two likes only on the post I sent out.
A part of my wants to rage at the irony. What did you expect? A part of me is pissed off. All that hard work, and no one seems to care, not even those who act like they care. Part of me wonders, what is wrong with me? What makes the gifts of me unable to be received? Yes, these are the demons that play through the mind. They like to hold onto the threads. They like to weave the origins tight around the heart, fearing, well, the loss of fear. It’s not fun to sit with our demons and let them play their game inside of us. The alternative, though, is to ignore. To deny. To pretend they do not exists. You do not belong to me. Go away. But then they linger inside that house of denial that you can choose to reside inside with its false walls and windowless rooms.
So, instead, I call upon the darkness within. I let it twist and struggle against release. I see you. I hear your pain. You are mine. But, you are not me. Someday, we will both be free.
This curious serpentine slab above the wall faces west toward the “V” Hut
From the “V” Hut we began to move into the disturbed remains of the Pattee Area of America’s Stonehenge. Passing from the west, the place of the womb-like chamber of the V-Hut where water seems to collect intentionally before it is diverted through channels, the three of us followed the East-West Chamber east.
I believe this is part of the restored wall of the East-West Chamber, but I did not get the site number in the photograph for confirmation.
I think this was around the time I grabbed my granola bar from my bag and started shoveling it into my mouth. Grounding was needed after the experience at the “V” Hut and I was not feeling wholly myself. We were now heading to the most controversial area of the site, the Oracle’s Chamber, which runs alongside and beneath the 4.5-ton slab of stone called the Sacrificial Table.
En route to the chamber. There are several areas that are enclosed by chains, but the majority is accessible to visitors.
According to the Tour Guide Map, there may once have been two chambers here. Radiocarbon dating performed in this area of the site indicate that part of it is as old as 4,000 years. Unfortunately, much of what was once here can only be surmised. There are chiseled holes that may have held the posts of tents in the large open area where no structures remain aside from a small slab that might have been a seat.
The stone-faced open area with channels and holes of unknown origin/cause believed to be post-holes for wooden beams and channels to divert the flow of water.
Walking along the upper edge of this rock face, you pass the Sundeck Chamber, which shows signs of having been altered over time. It is worth noting that all chambers aside from the East-West chamber on Mystery Hill face south.
The Sundeck Chamber with my family above in April 2014
Some people believe this area of the site that we are now approaching resembles the oracle chambers found in ancient Greece and Egypt. Having yet to visitor these lands, I cannot lend my opinion on this, I can only tell you what I experienced during my visit. Others more skeptical of the age of America’s Stonehenge believe Pattee constructed these stone chambers for storage, hoisted the 4.5-ton slab onto its platform, and drilled a moat around its perimeter to make soap.
As you approach the entrance to the Oracle Chamber, you get a glimpse of the sacrificial table behind the chainlinks.
There are some impressive stones in this area, as you can see from the above photograph. The stones in the walls may have been moved several times by hands over the course of many years, but the more massive stones have the feeling of permanence to them. I was both eager and apprehensive to be entering the chamber that stood before me. The sun was searing my skin, though, and while my companions Deb and Sophia studied the map and the stones before the enclosure, I ducked my head inside.
My husband standing at the entrance to the Oracle Chamber (but facing toward the sacrificial table) during our 2014 visit.
Just in time, it seems, to see the chipmunk scurrying out the other end. My faithful guide once again steering my feet and directing my eyes. It’s now time to go inward with me for the next part of the journey, into the narrow opening that awaits. In the above photograph, you can see the Chamber marked 28-A, walled by stone and covered by earth.
The entrance to the Oracle Chamber at America’s Stonehenge
It is dark and cool inside the passageway, and the eyes take a moment to adjust after leaving the sunlight. No longer used by humans, small animals and birds find refuge here.
A bird’s nest inside the Oracle’s Chamber. All photographs were taken with a flash, giving the deception of much more light than there actually is inside the dark chamber.
Although the chamber is not large, like the ones it may be modeled after in other parts of the world, there are places that draw the eye and make one think of what might have been. This is where the Running Deer Carving exists, chiseled into a side wall.
The Ibex inside the Oracle’s Chamber
There are also niches and shelves…
A rectangular niche inside the chamber can be seen at the end of this walkway.
A carved bench in a rock estimated to weigh 45 tons can be seen in the left foreground of the above photograph, where up to three adults can sit in wait outside the area that houses the “Secret Bed.”
Across from the seat, there is a closet with a 21 ton stone below it. I’m not sure I took the best photograph, but it is marked here.
Sophia and I sat on the damp stone of the seat while Deb read from the Trail Map. I was seated right outside the entrance to the Secret Bed, and while Deb read, my eyes wandered to the dark tunnel within.
“C” marks the entrance to the Secret Bed, which is a “niche large enough for a person to crawl into and be completely hidden,” according to the Trail Map.
I’m not sure how much I listened to Deb’s words as I turned away and peered into the tunnel. An overwhelming impulse to crawl inside consumed me, and I found myself grappling with reason. Don’t be silly, who knows what you’ll find inside, my logical brain told my illogical longing. The area did, in fact, look just large enough to hold my form lying down, but I knew the rocks would be even damper than the one upon which I sat.
Looking into the Secret Bedchamber: The photograph was taken with a flash, like the others, and it is much darker than it appears here. All you can clearly see with your naked eyes are the two slits of light.
Visions began to play inside of my mind as I peered into the small tunnel. A pair of eyes peered back at me, the only light in the darkness before me. Inside my mind, I saw the table above the eyes covered by a sacrifice. I saw blood dripping through the eyeholes and collecting into a mouth open to receive as its body lay supine, listening without seeing.
The Sacrificial Chamber: I’ve marked with a speech bubble where I think the speaking tube hole may be. The Secret Bed is just beneath it.
I don’t remember Deb reading these words, which are written in the Trail Map: “D) Speaking Tube. Words spoken through this stone-lined tube [the Secret Bed] exit under the Sacrificial Table (#31), outside the chamber, and give the impression that the table is talking — hence the term ‘Oracle.’ This small tunnel was found blocked at both ends with small stones.” I can’t tell you with certainty where this speaking tube is, as I was lost in my vision for most of our time in the Chamber.
I found this photograph in my collection taken inside the Oracle Chamber. It may be in the area of the speaking tube, but I can’t be sure.
We probably spent no more than ten minutes inside the Oracle’s Chamber, and they were not wholly comfortable minutes. Although I had that eerie, nearly irresistible impulse to climb into the Secret Bed, I was also eager to walk back out into the sunlight. Even if it was blistering hot.
The view from the ramp leading away from the Chamber: You can see the Table flanked by standing stones. There are more larger stones littering the area, making it difficult to know what it once looked like.This photograph taken, in April 2014, offers a wider view of this area. According to the Trail Map, #29 marks the “Exit to Ramp Drain. This is another stone-on-stone constructed drain; part of a series which begins near the “V” Hut, exits here and extends to the north of the Sacrificial Table.”
It’s raining. Again. We have been having a tropical summer filled with heat and humidity. It has been raining nearly every day for the past month-and-a-half. There are usually breaks of sun in between, but the clouds seem to want to linger over this area of the world.
Zelda the dog
I am sitting on the screened in porch with Zelda the dog, watching the fall of water from milky skies. We’ve had to empty inches from the pool more than once this season. That never happens. Usually, we are adding water with a hose after long stretches of heat without precipitation. This summer is not normal, but then again, neither is the weather normal for most of the world right now. The Earth is changing, trying to adapt to, but also protest, our impact. Some believe we are already in a period of crisis. It’s difficult to believe we are not. With fires raging worldwide, and too much rain in other areas, it’s hard to deny that there is a global imbalance to the elements. We like to blame Mother Nature, forgetting that she is merely trying to keep us all alive. Her children. Not just us, but all life on the planet, including herself.
My Children Dancing in the Rain Several Years Ago
We are playing with extremes, testing her limits like unruly teens. Refusing to believe that there is not an endless supply of resources to sustain us, we turn a blind eye to excess in our quest for gain. We play a game of “I” v. “We,” without realizing both the “I” and the “We” are one and the same and no side will win if the other loses.
My Daughter with Orbs of Elementals
I did not sit down to write a rant, but rather a reminder. Today, as I sit watching the rain fall, I am remembering joy. The play of my children as they danced amid drops of water many years ago. And, I, with them, taking photographs and laughing through the feeling of bliss. When hearts open to magic, it finds us. The simple joy of being breaks the veil of separation and the universe dances with you.
Surrounded by the “Fairies”
We knew we were not alone. I could feel the elemental energies dancing with us, and my camera saw them. My children, as many children do, also knew of their presence. I wonder, sometimes, if we have, collectively, forgotten how to dance in the rain with open hearts. To feel the sun not as a bronzer to the skin, but as a fire igniting the sun within. I wonder if wonder has been replaced with artificial pleasures created behind windowless walls. Have you forgotten how to dance in the fall of rain? To breathe fully the joy of being as the sun sparks the cells within? I know sometimes I forget. Too often, I believe.
Rainbows remind us of the Joy of Balance
I wonder, if we don’t stop and remember, will the “we” and “I” survive? I know we will not thrive…for right now there is more of a global struggle occurring than a global dance.
It was a strange series of dreams, on the surface, but then again dreams are often strange…on the surface. I was in school, a large brick building that seemed nearly endless. My classroom on the upper floor and down labyrinthian corridors filled with turns and shadows. One could easily get lost there.
The labyrinthian school in my dream reminded me of this labyrinth from my new book.
I was studying art. The assignment I was given was to fashion a multilayered piece that appeared one-dimensional until you turned it, allowing the light to reveal the inner layers that appear shadowed by the surface. The finished piece had been created, somehow, by my hands, hands that I did not believe could create a painting, much less a rather magical one that. A painting that when turned to the light at just the right angle revealed beautiful, hidden layers beneath. Like a hologram, but there were so many layers to this painting I had somehow created, I could not count.
We were to take our paintings outside, to catch the sunlight so that their depths could be revealed. That is when I started to fly, with my two dogs. Normally, in my dreams, I fly alone…
The two dogs in my dream, pictured here on one of our walks together.
During the day, I had been thinking about density. How we create our own density in our bodies and in our physical environment. We fashion energy into dense forms, like the car I was riding in while I was thinking these thoughts. Cars to drive in, homes to house our bodies, furniture to rest upon, toys to play with…the list is endless. I had also been thinking about how the density inside of me lifts when I visit ancient landscapes where my inner child burst forth into a state of pure joy and sometimes it is as though my feet are so light they hover above the ground…
My feet “hover” above the rocks at Merrivale in Dartmoor as I walk in the pure joy of being. Photo Credit: Lara Wilson
I had also been thinking about rocks, nature’s way of creating density to store the memories of Time. These rocks that draw people like me to listen to their stories, and have the ability to somehow make us feel less dense and confined to the worlds we create.
This bird drew my eye to the heart in stone on top of a New Hampshire mountain years ago.
The day had not been particularly “light.” I had allowed myself to be bothered by others behavior and the nuances of life we can attach so much importance to but are in reality merely passing moments that we can either grasp or let go of. I was, you could say, feeling weighed down by the time I laid my head upon my pillow to go to sleep.
This image popped up on my screen this morning when I opened my computer. Sometimes there are no accidents in life.
I am not, therefore, surprised my dreams brought me into a school, where I was given the opportunity to learn and grow. It was a gift. An opportunity and I had a choice to hold onto the density within me or to examine the art of my creation and allow the layers of light to reveal themselves.
In The Labyrinth, the character Sula, and her five fellow teen protagonists must face their trapped fears and release their density in order to open the gifts of their light bodies. It is essential not only to their individual journeys but also to their collective, as they realize they are each a strand of light in the network of light that connects all life. As warriors of this light, they come to understand they must embrace their true selves and learn to fly above their fears to carry out their mission of repairing the broken lines of light within Earth.
And they are not alone…None of us are. Sometimes we forget we are all connected. That the same fears and light reside within all of us, and we can either create more density together or reveal the light of our creation.
When I left the confines of the brick school building and walked out into the classroom of Nature in my dream, I found myself walking with my two dogs. As my feet lifted off the ground, so did theirs. I lifted first, but they followed my lead. Their leashes weightless ribbons joining us together in a trinity as though we were one-self. I felt rather felt like Santa Claus (yes, I actually had this thought while I was flying with the dogs in my dream), with my companions Rosy and Zelda flying ahead of me over the landscape below. A landscape filled not with mortored walls, but with the classrooms of the ancients. It was glorious to be flying over these places that draw my soul, and allowing myself to notice, but not stop and linger, where I felt the density of fear. I was there to discover and learn. I will remember this, I told myself, so that I can share it with others.
When I woke, I felt much lighter than I did the day before. That is the gift of these sorts of “dreams.”
We’ve all heard about the dangers of gangs and cults, but it is alarming how prevalent and insidious the cult-like syndrome is. I’m writing this post because I have fallen prey to it one too many times and I know so many others who have as well, many of whom are completely unaware that they are willing victims of this dangerous power-play.
My latest episode involved joining a group of “spiritual” practitioners and healers several months ago. A group that was not a cooperative, but an oligarchy. Mind you, there were red flags from the start (one that I could not ignore was the tagline of being “highly enlightened,” which goes against the heart and feeds only the ego. I do not personally believe myself to be “highly enlightened,” rather I learn in every moment) but I chose to ignore them because of my ego, as well as my idealistic heart. Despite all that I disagreed with, I really and truly wanted to help others, especially children and teens and thought I had found a venue to do so.
As I became enmeshed in this group, I became increasingly uncomfortable with the imbalance of energy that it was creating. Not only was it creating a financial drain (in the requirement of a membership fee that provided no return in the form of clients), it created an overarching energetic imbalance. Although I didn’t want to admit it until it became glaringly obvious, I realized the system I had bought into was more about feeding the ego than the soul. No one wants to believe that about a “spiritual” cult group. Yet it happens all too often.
Many of us have heard stories in the news over the years about dangerous cult-like groups and the horrors of what happens to their members. There are numerous cults who claim religious devotional ideals but corrupt the minds and bodies of their members due to the abusive nature of the ego. I was an unwilling victim of the Hare Krishna cult when I was two-years-old and the story is told in my memoir, A Girl Named Truth.
I was also the more willing victim of my family (cult), which is also told in my memoir. A strong statement, perhaps, but when we look closer at how our family units influence and shape us, we often find cult-like parallels and behaviors. Often, as children, we are completely unaware that there is a gross imbalance of power, and sometimes dangerous abuse occurring, because we so very much want to be loved and accepted. This desire can continue into our adult years, even when we should know better because there is a part of us that believes we need to continue to prove our worth.
Whenever there is an imbalance of power driven by the ego, individuals can become subject to a cult-like situation that can be damaging and sometimes dangerous to their wellbeing. It can happen in religious groups, spiritual groups, family units, schools, the workplace, etc. and there are usually some common themes which should trigger red flags.
One or a few people placed in a position of power/authority over others will often use this power to take advantage of you. This can include asking for services without reciprocation. (The leader of the “spiritual” group I was recently a part of would often ask for free services from the practitioners in addition to the payment of their membership fee. This is a gross imbalance of power and energy.) In corporations, sexual harassment and assault often occurs from misuse of power/authority due to hierarchical structures. “Favors” are requested from individuals who believe they deserve these favors because of their “position” in our life. In families, children are all too often abused sexually and physically because of the belief from their caregivers that they are subordinate.
What is, perhaps, most disturbing about this behavior is that it is often completely justified by the perpetrators. Some of which are completely unaware that they are doing anything wrong. In their egoic minds, it is justified. Why? Because we seem to be conditioned to believe that imbalance is acceptable. That there is a hierarchy to our worth as individuals and that it is okay to be above or below another. Not so. This needs to change.
Unfortunately, we see it all too apparent in our political systems. Dangerous misuse and abuse of power leading to harmful consequences, yet we continue to enable it. Why? It’s a tricky question, but when we look closely at ourselves and our vulnerabilities we may come to learn that there is a self-worth issue that needs to be addressed and healed. It can become a (sometimes painful) opportunity to heal and grow ourselves. When we heal the energetic vulnerabilities within us, we are less likely to attract those who tend to abuse and steal our energy and rob us of our self-worth.
I believe our individual and collective history repeats until we decide to heal and evolve individually and collectively. The inner tends mirror the outer, and vice versa. We are a funny race, as humans. We tend toward the belief of superiority and inferiority in our own cultures, but also when we compare ourselves to nonhuman beings such as animals and plants. The irony in this is if we want to ascribe to the belief of superiority then we are naively fooling ourselves. Nature knows better than we do that the web-of-life is about balance and cooperation. If we just watched and listened to what is occurring both within and outside of us, we would come to see this more clearly. We would see that when we struggle, so do those around us. The planet is in crisis, and so, I believe, are we. Our egoic minds struggle to hold onto the false belief that we are greater than others, when in fact, this division only breaks the One Light that threads through all of us. The light that is Life itself. When will we learn?
One of the driving forces behind this concept led me to write my newly released book, The Labyrinth. It is written as a young adult book, with its six teen protagonists, but it is not intended to be limited to this audience. I have, and continue to learn, from the characters in this book series, which I am calling Warriors of Light. Characters who must face their darkness to repair the light within and without. I still hold a crazy vision that unity can one day be achieved and that the broken lines of light in Earth and within Us, can be repaired into wholeness once again. That one day we may look at each other and see ourselves mirrored back, and the look given and returned will be filled with love and only love.
Meet Aponi, one of the six warriors of light in The Labyrinth.
“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.
I am climbing the walls of an old church. There is only the outer fortification of stone, smoothed into mortared slabs. Each slab is chiseled with symbols, hieroglyphics of an ancient language my cells remember, but my mind has forgotten how to read. My hands grasp the hollowed frames of windows, climbing through the inside through levels until I know I have reached the 3rd floor. Here my hands let go of their grasp and I find I am hovering weightlessly. My body prone, I look down to the depths below. And then I begin to turn, like a clock. My body the hands of the hours going backward.
I had this dream about a week ago, and it has lingered with me since then. It has been more than a month since my return from England. My third trip there in as many years. I go to this land to turn back time.
After we descended from Brentor, and I paid my respects to the guardian stone, Sue graciously offered to take us along in her car to the next site, and Larissa and I accepted without negotiation. I was more than happy to take a break from driving on the wrong left side of the road down the winding narrow lanes of rural England, and I knew Larissa shared my fear that there was a good chance we would get lost following Sue who drives with the skill and ease of a professional racecar driver.
I drove down this lane and many like it.
So to The Hurlers we went, with Stuart navigating using a traditional paper map as Sue manipulated the stickshift gears on her race compact car. Larissa and I were impressed, to say the least, and kept breathing large sighs of relief that we were not in the front seats and could enjoy the views that flew passed by. And, we never got lost. Well, that is until we got there and I started to wander…
A ewe leads the way to The Hurlers
To be honest, I rather wanted to get lost, but at that critical moment the brain won over the longings of the heart, and I turned around. But, I am getting ahead of myself…
It’s difficult to describe just how vast and complex the landscape of Dartmoor is, which covers 368 square miles of moorland filled with the evidence of ancient civilizations. Pure heaven for someone like me.
The Hurlers is the remains of three large stone circles in the wild moorland landscape of Dartmoor, which just happens to be aligned with the star cluster Orion and sits on the Michael ley line. To say it is a place of magic is an understatement. I knew I was home before I stepped out of the car.
The Hurlers are larger than they appear, and are perfectly aligned with the stars…
As tends to happen in these ancient lands, my feet began to move as though driven by some deep cellular memory, responding to the forces of the land. Find the seer’s stone, the command kept entering my conscious mind as it whirled with the energies of the land.
The seer’s stone sits in the center of the Hurlers
The land was damp from rain, and a puddle had formed within the well around the central stone. I could not comfortably sit here, as I had at Bratha’s stone in the Peak last April, so my visit within the circle was brief. After paying my respects, I walked the perimeter stones in two of the circle, while my eye caught upon the portal stones, briefly. I will return after, I promised myself.
Portal through time.
I could not ignore the intense pull to the land beyond. The hill with the balanced stones of giants felt like a magnet drawing me ever-closer to its energy. The land, as I have learned, beyond stone circles is filled with secrets of the past. Stones litter these ancient landscapes and each has a story to tell. There were too many to linger beside here, and my feet did not want to go slowly.
One can imagine a gathering place here, where the stones do the talking.
The vegetation of the landscape of these sites is always worth noting. How it grows along the ancient tracts…when it is interrupted, swirled or corse…
An uneven landscape that seems to have been modeled by deliberate hands.
There are many ditches around the Hurlers, as well as deep circular depressions. As Sue noted, it could be from mining the lands for ore, or for some other, perhaps ritualistic reason. There is the sensation of falling inward to another realm near some of them, and the grass often swirls in imposing tufts which speak of disruption.
Several depressions threaten to tumble the unsteady.
My feet, though, kept racing toward the hill beyond, where the Cheesewring sits like a giant stone bird. Was I following the Michael line to some sort of apex of energy? It felt like a force beyond logical reason. Yet, I stopped at the edge of the stone settlement, just where the land starts to dip before it climbs. I looked at the imposing hill just beyond with longing, before I turned around. I was far, quite far, from the other three I had come with and logic told me it would not be fair to follow my heart into the mist. And so the climb would have to wait for some other day, perhaps in the future.
I got tantalizingly close before I turned away.
Something told me, though, that if I had stood long enough between those to standing stones, I would have gotten there sooner.
“The ley lines, lad. The ley lines. The lines of light in Earth. Some call them dragon lines. They haven’t been right for quite a long time now. Clogged by darkness. Broken by greed. I’m a mess. But then again, that’s nothing unusual these days. The entire planet is filled with broken lines and clogged pores, you might say. But you’re here to help fix that. So much work to be done. You best get started.” — Albion speaking to Ari, Book 2: Warriors of Light
“When we saw the cover of your book, we knew you had to be here,” Sue confided after I arrived for the June 2018 Silent Eye School of Consciousness workshop. The hexagram started appearing to me before I enrolled with the school and even before I met Sue through the wonderful world of blogging. Sue, though, has been my primary human guide as I navigate this sacred symbol and others.
From the cover of my new book, The Labyrinth. Book 1 of the Warriors of Light series
The mystical hexagram seems to defy time and language, appearing throughout history and prehistory on Earth, as well as in the alignment of heavenly bodies. As above, so below. It unites the male and female aspects of ourselves and the “world” at large. Six years ago, I realized this symbol was asking to take form upon the pages of the book I had begun to write. Appearing in a grove of oaks, it looked like a maze of broken light. As I wrote, allowing myself to be led by the unseen force of the higher consciousness, I came to realize that lines of energy exist in the Earth and within us as the life force energy that is the “Light of Life” itself.
Ancient symbols predating religion appeared throughout the churches we visited during the June workshop.
And so it was no surprise that I was drawn to the workshop before I even knew why. The hexagram, leading the way. There was the hexagon around the Cerne Abbas giant, which aligned with the stars above. Orion mapping the inner and outer-landscape at each site we visited. Seven churches forming a star with an inner point of light. And, dragon lines running through it all, guiding present and long forgotten footeps.
“In the middle of the hexagon is the source of the golden light, but there are a million paths to get there. I don’t know how to explain it exactly. It’s like a spider’s web. There are smaller lines of light, like veins on a leaf, which fill the large star we share, all leading to the center.” — Sula, The Labyrinth, Book 1: Warriors of Light
I’m not sure I’ll ever be wholly or holy comfortable in a church. Although I admire their outer beauty, there is a rigidness to their structures that constricts my cells. An old church sits atop Brentor in England. Dedicated to St. Michael, it resides along his ley line. Inside the church, which still feels very solid and powerful in form, there is a stained glass window of the saint who is often seen in other churches slaying a dragon. Not so here.
St. Michael above Brentor
Instead, the dragon lies dormant below him. The mound of earth itself, having erupted with its fire energy thousands of years before. It is no wonder I was not comfortable within these fortified walls. Although the saint here looks a bit wild and paganish with his feathered attire, his visage is fierce as he looks down upon the land with his sword poised for striking. His skirt wears the eyes of the peacock. Is there a bold defiance in this image inside a church that has laid claim to the land?
Stuart and Sue explore the top of Brentor. Sue blends into the fortification, while Stuart gazes into the landscape.
The gargoyles here do not appear on the roof of the stone building, but in the guardian stone itself, which sits, placed by Nature one presumes, at the base of the hill.
There is not just one face in this Guardian Stone filled with protective gargoyles.
I like this stone, as I do most stones that feel like there is a living presence within them. They often feel like friends, and when approached with trust and an open heart, they have much to share. Eyes are often drawn to them without always knowing why.
The restless dragon mound of Brentor
The jagged rock of the guardian stone mirrors the tor it guards. Born of fire and earth, it is a hybrid of forces that feel unbalanced. I cannot help but think of Glastonbury Tor, so different from Brentor with its elegant conical shape, which to me feels very feminine, yet powerfully in control and aligned with the sacred heart. I do not recall seeing a guardian stone when I was there two years ago. Just ewes with their spring lambs dotting the landscape with the energy of rebirth and the promise of a resurrected heart filled with Christ-consciousness for those who wish to ascend its summits.
My daughter poised for flight atop Glastonbury Tor, filled with exhilaration.
Brentor, in contrast, seems to represent a struggle of forces. As though the the battle between Earth and Man has yet to be won. Its church is largely intact, and dominates its summit, unlike the solitary tower that remains rather elegantly atop Glastonbury. Beautiful and non-threatening. Yet, is there really a victory to be won here?
Despite the masculine feel of Brentor, it is guarded by Hathor’s animal.
The giant that lies under St. Michael’s church at Brentor may be latent at present, but history has taught us that we cannot conquer forces that are greater than ourselves, because these forces also reside within us, unbalanced. When we disrupt the energies in Earth, as we are doing now, She responds to our unease. When will we learn?
A sacred stream runs through the body of the land below Brentor.
Water, like fire, runs through the veins of Earth. Nearby the base of Brentor, there is a small stone enclosure that appears to mark a sacred stream. Unlike Glastonbury, this one is mostly hidden, and there is no urging of tourists to gather. Yet, there it is filled with hope, carrying the blood of life through the land.
“The ley lines, lad. The ley lines. The lines of light in Earth. Some call them dragon lines. They haven’t been right for quite a long time now. Clogged by darkness. Broken by greed. I’m a mess. But then again, that’s nothing unusual these days. The entire planet is filled with broken lines and clogged pores, you might say. But you’re here to help fix that. So much work to be done. You best get started.” — Albion speaking to Ari, Book 2: Warriors of Light
“In the middle of the hexagon is the source of the golden light, but there are a million paths to get there. I don’t know how to explain it exactly. It’s like a spider’s web. There are smaller lines of light, like veins on a leaf, which fill the large star we share, all leading to the center.” — Sula, The Labyrinth, Book 1: Warriors of Light 
The Light Behind the Story 