I roam some of the hills of Italy #italy #MountVesuvius #amalficoast #pompeii

On April 30, 2019August 26, 2021 By Alethea KehasIn Memoir, Reflections, Travel Adventures2 Comments

“There are so many hills,” my husband remarked as he drove our jet-legged bodies down the highway from Rome towards Sorrento. There was the face turned outward, as though in warning. Harshly cut with chiseled lines furrowing brows guarding a pyramidal peak. The impulse to leap through the veil tangibly irresistible. We all saw them, even my mother-in-law, which surprised me a bit. Perhaps it should not have. We are not so crazy as we may seem, even to ourselves. We have just forgotten.

A view from the car. This mountain face looks tranquil lifted to the sky.

Everywhere I looked the earth rose in sometimes sharp, and sometimes gentle undulations, leading a pathway to the magnificent turquoise sea.

The roads of man wrap the body of the rocky Amalfi coast, but the breath-taking beauty belongs to the land and the sea.

In my sleep-deprived state, I found myself slipping beyond the familiar and into the hazy space of that magical realm too rarely ventured my our modern day minds. The hills called to me, and I followed their faces as our vehicle wizzed along. History records itself in these beings of slow time. And, more than anything else I read power. I was, after all, in the land of the Romans.

The magnificent remains of the Colosseum standing for nearly 2,000 years.

The mountains, though, hold a power that belongs not to man, but to Earth. We have been here long before you and will be long after…

The volcanic mountain, Vesuvius, watches over the crowded city of Naples which is built over cities buried by its fiery blood.

In the year 79 AD, more than 1,000 people, and countless animals, died from the eruption of Vesuvius, yet it is believe that the serpentine mountain whose mouth spouts forth deadly fire a few times each century, was greatly revered by those that fell to its mighty flames. A god of protection, perhaps, not so much of the people, but of the land. Now, below its summit, which last erupted in 1944, 2 million people live in its shadow as though they have forgotten the thousands of lives that it has taken during its reign of power.

The ghosts of Pompeii haunt the remains of their lost city. “We tried to hide here among the already dead” they whispered to me. The futility of their hold pulled my limbs through their layered graveyards.

I was surprised later in our trip, when we climbed its sides by car, then walked out to take in its vast energy, by how tranquil I felt. Almost as though I was being held in the arms of a lover.

Birds hover in the foreground of Vesuvius. Below, spring’s growth waves with the wind.

Yet eyes watched my trespassing footsteps, and those of the hundreds who joined us that day on the body of the mountain. Eyes belonging to inhuman forms beyond the grasp of our naive minds. Reminding me that I walked the body of a god, or perhaps more aptly put, goddess…

IMG_5859 2.jpeg — Baby serpents, spawn from Vesuvius’s last eruption, watch its many visitors.

Why I visit England (annually) and why we are called to sacred lands #ancientengland #sacredsites #travelingmystic

On March 14, 2019August 31, 2021 By Alethea KehasIn A New Earth, Gaia & Elementals, Memoir, Reflections, Travel Adventures12 Comments

I’ve been thinking about writing this post for awhile. To attempt to explain why we are sometimes drawn, mind, body, and soul to physical places as though we have no choice but to go there. The heart, leading the body back home.

I think many people I know are confused as to why I feel such a need to travel to England, over and over again. What may be viewed as a flight of fancy becomes, perhaps, seen as an excuse to get away in their minds. From the mundane. The roles we choose to play out in life that can feel old and weary.

It’s true. These roles can age us when we allow them to do so. The soul, mind, and body seeks replenishment from that which wears us down. But being drawn to a place on such a holistic level is a soul’s calling the body and mind to home. We live many lifetimes. Sometimes in one place. The location becomes an integral part of our being, woven into the memory of cells so deeply that it is brought with us through our lifetimes. We become, in essence, of that land.

We are all of the larger “land” that is Earth. Its elements have given us our body of life, but what I speak of is memory. Sometimes the call to a certain place feels as vital as breathing. It sustains us and enlivens us. It reseeds the sacred within.

I have tried to find this here, in New Hampshire and in its wider landscape of New England. I have had moments when I have felt the coming home, but this is not so much about place, but about surrendering to the union that connects all life. When I am in the ancient lands of England the sacred enfolds me and strips me bare. It opens the magic hidden within and I begin to remember fully and completely, through every cell of my being, the essence of Life.

There are certain places that hold memories for us to retrieve when we choose to open to them. Portals. Vortexes. The convergence of ley lines. Sacred temples. Stones placed upon the energy that feeds the body of Earth and in alignment to the stars…Long ago, all life lived in this union, but over time the ego took hold and dismantled union in a search for separation. We are still living the false ideal of separation, to our own imminent demise.

I believe there is that essence inside of all of us that searches for that Light of union. To feel, once again, a part of the sacred whether we are consciously aware of it or not. We go to churches and temples to find it, and sometimes we go to the land. I am drawn to the land. It is here where the memories of home sweep through me in perfect union when I find that quiet space to surrender to it. Each time I travel to England another part of me is brought to life. Another piece of my soul retrieved and reunited. The land speaks to me in a language I can understand. I am revived and filled with hope when I hear it whisper through my cells.

When I look at life through the eyes of the mundane I see a broken world. I see the ever-present quest for more. To be better. To divide and conquer. I see wars fought over this. I see violence because we are broken. Despair because we have forgotten. We rape and pillage ourselves and the land because we have become disconnected. We have forgotten that when we destroy another, we in essence, destroy ourselves.

Perhaps it is a fool’s quest, but I also travel to England not only so that I can remember, but so that I can somehow, through my words and experiences, stir the memories inside those we have lost and forgotten this sacred union. We are born remembering, but through modern ways of living we easily forget. Ceremony has been lost to the click of an icon to numb the searching brain. The temples of the past turned into playgrounds to capture selfies.

I don’t think it’s an accident that incredible work and care went into building these temples of stone so that they might stand thousands of years later. They are the physical keepers of our ancestral memories. Libraries set in Earth. And, it is quite likely when they were built they were built with this intention in mind. Knowing that one day we would enter, of our own free will, a long age of forgetting. And that we would, one day, also seek to remember as though our very lives depend upon it, because they do.

To place a hand on one of these stones and feel the flooding return of these memories is a testament to their sacred purpose. When I open to the ancient sites of England, the “I” and all its false needs and wants disappear. There is no I. There is only union. Union with the great stone. With Mother Earth. With the vast heavens above. And with all Life. Long ago, this is what our ancestors knew as Truth.

We are living, collectively, through the false ideals of the ego, lives of self-destruction. If we continue on this course, each individual “I” will perish collectively. In what is the utmost of irony in our striving to be better, different, and special from each other, we are making our “I” become extinct. Soon enough we will have depleted all the resources our planet has to offer and there will be no room for life to carry our “special” DNA onto future generations. There will be no living Earth to sustain progeny to live out or legacy, because our legacy will be extinct. Money cannot buy what we need for our survival. A bigger house will not spare us from disaster, no matter how much we fortify it with outer strength. Eventually the “I” dies. Each “I” has the same destiny of death. Yet if we really cared about each individual “I” we’d collectively realize it takes the “we” to preserve it. To ensure life continues on, sustaining and enriching each other. We are now at that pivotal moment in time. That tipping point where we can choose to continue on towards imminent demise, or trade in the self(ish) for the betterment of the “we.”

Living immersed, as so many of us do, in cultures that strive for individual greatness, we become numb to the sacred within and without. We look at a tree and see a resource, not a fellow being whose breath feeds our own. We look at a body of water and see it as a fun medium for racing our boats, not seeing that our boats pollute the liquid that is meant to sustain us and the life it holds inside of it. We look at our neighbors and think, you have something I want…a bigger house, a nicer car, smarter kids…without realizing that our neighbor is an aspect of ourselves.

When we come into the world, newly born, we still remember. When an infant gazes around you and past you, smiling as though into thin air, they are seeing what you can probably no longer see. Essence that dances around you as a sacred part of the light woven with all life. Sing the infant that cries to the overwhelm of this chaotic and foreign life we have brought it into, the sound of “Om,” and you will return to her the feeling of home. Of union. Stillness opens the eyes back to memory and the sacred returns in the moment of union.

We all have the doorways within us. We just need to find the keys that open them. England, in many ways, is my key. If you don’t know where your key(s) is hidden, its worth the search to find it. The life that sustains you depends upon it.

The Temple of the Knights #templechurch #knightstemplar #london #sacredtravel

On March 12, 2019August 31, 2021 By Alethea KehasIn Reflections, Travel Adventures12 Comments

It seems fitting to have ended my latest journey to England in Temple Church, London. Built for the England headquarters of the Knights Templar 800 yrs ago, the church is more recently known through Dan Brown’s book The DaVinci Code.

There is a small fee of five pounds to enter the church, which saw a large spike in visits in the months after the publication of Brown’s famous book. There were fewer than a dozen tourists inside the church when Larissa and I stopped by on my way to Gatwick. Had I not had the burden of my luggage, I would have taken a few more glimpses into the more hidden areas and perhaps a few more photos. The layered history of the church is palpable, even in the newer, restored areas. Like the sphinxes guarding Cleopatra’s Needle, the Templar Church suffered (more severe) damage from German bombs in WWI.

Now that’s some luggage I’d like to look inside 😉

The templars, considered “holy warriors” of their time, certainly hold an air of intrigue that can be felt inside the walls of their church in London. Although their order was only active for two hundred years their temples can be found throughout Europe and the Middle East. Founded in Jerusalem during the Crusades, the Knights Templar was formed to protect pilgrims visiting the holy city. Later, in battle, the Knights were known for their fearless valor as well as their financial prowess. They came to a rather gruesome end under King Philip IV of France after the Crusades ended in the loss of the Holy Land.

Stone effigies of Knights decorate the floor of the temple, including William Marshal the 2nd Earl of Pembroke

Despite being a rather small church, there is much to see, including the myriad faces of men in often leering and hideous expression peering out from the walls. I, though, was more drawn to the faces of women found beneath the pillars, as though lending a feminine balance and support to the masculine structure. The Knights, after all, were all men. Christian monks.

And then there was the impish figure sitting on the skull…

I’m no expert on the Templar order, not its churches, and walking through the Templar Church in London brought more questions than answers. More than the history, though, I am draw to the feel of these holy places and I was only too pleased to discover that we could go upstairs.

I peaked through a wooden door on the way up, but dared not take a photo.

It was a bit of a colossal feat to get up, and then down, these old stone stairs lugging a suitcase. You can imagine my dismay when I needed to maneuver around a visitor going down as I was going up. It’s heady stuff, especially when you get to the top and start walking the circle…(I was so caught up in the walk, I didn’t take any photos)

The circle from below. One can conjure all sorts of scenes from this place.

It wasn’t a long visit. Just long enough to walk the floor below and above and pause a few times to take it in. I was expecting it to feel more haunted and weighed down by the ghosts of the past. Instead it felt inviting, drawing you into its mysteries. The echoes of power and ritual call out to you, especially from the more hidden places.

A few more photos:

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Threading the Eye of the Needle #england #cleopatrasneedle #londoneye

On March 10, 2019August 26, 2021 By Alethea KehasIn Memoir, Reflections, Travel Adventures4 Comments

After a very full morning with Sue, Larissa and I headed back on the train to London. We still had daylight ahead of it, and we were committed to making the most of the glorious spring afternoon we were given. We had made a date with Cleopatra. Her needle, that is, which graces the banks of the River Thames on a site called the Victoria Embankment.

Victorian Embankment with Cleopatra’s needle guarded by two more modern day sphinxes and the London Eye in the background

When I first discovered, a few years ago, that there was an ancient Egyptian obelisk in London I was determined to see it during one of my trips. Although she had likely passed it several times during her travels, Larissa had also yet to visit Cleopatra’s Needle.

The obelisk was not made for Cleopatra, but for the sun. Its current name, instead, comes from the boat that brought it over.

The history of the obelisk that now pierces the London skyline at a height of 20.88 meters and weighs 187 tons, begins in the 15th century BC in Heliopolis. The pharaoh Tuthmosis III had ordered the building of the Temple of the Sun, as well as a pair of obelisks to record its dedication. In the 10th century BC, the obelisk was moved to Alexandria to decorate the temple of Julius Caesar. An earthquake in 1303 toppled the obelisk, and it was not erected again until it was brought to London 1877 on board the ship Cleopatra, as a gift from Egypt to commemorate the Battle of Aboukir. After its erection in London, two bronze sphinxes were made to flank its sides.

The sphinxes were the marks of German bombs from WWI

It seemed a fitting end to our adventures, gazing upon this ancient memorial to the sun with the London Eye shining golden with the day’s end across the water. A very full and glorious day, of time well-spent touched with magic.

The Gifts of the Stones #WaylandsSmithy #uffington #england #sacredsites #castlehill

On March 9, 2019August 31, 2021 By Alethea KehasIn Animal Messengers, Energy Healing, Gaia & Elementals, Memoir, Reflections, Travel Adventures11 Comments

It was yet another place I didn’t want to leave. Whereas I had felt the exhilaration of life at Castle Hill, the more I immersed myself into the energy of Wayland’s Smithy, the more I felt at peace. As the sun wove its golden light through the guardian trees, I walked over the long barrow and around it. Time slipped away and the veil thinned. The air was gently electrified, and I could feel the elemental kingdom and all the guardians of this sacred site watching, but also welcoming us. Below my feet, amid the last year’s fallen leaves, white feathers appeared on the path.

More white feathers. Gifts of spirit. If you look closely you may see faces in the leaves.

I was, without a doubt, walking holy ground in a landscape of the dead that was very much alive, revered and protected by forces more felt than seen.

“Look at the trees,” Larissa remarked. “Each one has a patch of white flowers.” Not planted, but growing as though in nature’s reverence. It felt like magic, in the purest sense. Each piece a deliberate part of the whole. And, as I walked, I could hear the whisper of the ancient stones.

Each stone has a personality filled with the history of its purpose. Even the smaller stones show the faces of the past.

Pairs appeared in stasis, like long married couples set in their ways, yet determined to protect the love they hold.

This pair of guardian stones look as though they are reaching for a kiss as Sue peers from the beyond.

It’s quite something to think of the work and care that went into the construction of this long barrow. A tomb to house the dead whose bodies were prepared with care that rivals that bestowed upon the pharaohs of Egypt. A tomb supported with carefully selected and placed stones. Huge sarsens, like that of Long Meg, mark the entrance to the inner chamber of the long barrow. All this work, including the massive stones, once covered entirely in earth. A house built for the dead, 196 feet in length and 50 feet at its widest point.

Standing at the end of the long barrow, you get a sense of the immensity of its size and the undertaking it took to build it.

“You need to leave a piece of silver for Wayland,” Sue revealed as we gathered before the entrance. “To shod your horse.” I didn’t question her words. I had silver in my pocket and I crawled inside the chamber to find a place for it.

Ani stands guard over the entrance to the chamber

“Can you find Wayland, the spirit stone, the totem stone?” Sue continued as we peered at the massive rocks before us. The faces on their surfaces morphing and changing with each angle. All for the dead…

Then Sue began to tell us the story of a visitor before us who had asked a question of one of the sarsens. Within moments his answer had appeared in physical form and still holds true to this day. While she spoke, I watched a bee circle around me. A February bee, but I had already seen two butterflies during my visit to England, so perhaps it was not too unusual…It made me think of the buzzing I had heard, low, but constant, as we were walking the path from the car to Wayland’s.

My chosen stone, guarded by a great bear

I chose my stone, as the bee continued to circle my neck, and pressed my forehead upon its surface. I didn’t have a question. Instead, I wanted only to receive whatever might be revealed to me.

The mound appeared before me in the full splendor of summer. Upon its green back, a white horse emerged, strong and sure. It stopped in wait as a figure cloaked in white descended and began to walk toward me. The landscape opened to beyond the barrow, to where people long passed gathered inside a great womb. I saw the path weaving in union between the land of land of the living and the land of the death. It became a processional of people coming towards the barrow. In the middle of the trail I saw a small circle of stones.

The visitors gathered around the mound of Earth, upon which the white horse stood with the figure cloaked in white. I could not see her face, but I knew her energy to be both feminine and strong.

The vision turned inward, and I felt as though I had entered an inner chamber. A shadowed form of a great bear appeared beside me, then morphed into a great serpent whose head rose behind mine. In front of me, a hawk of the sun passed before my vision, circling until all disappeared and I felt my body again. Each cell buzzing with renewed life, as though in those few moments of connection I had been washed with light.

The capstone of the chamber resembles a serpent.

It was soon time to leave, but before we left we placed more offerings for the spirits of the stones. It has been a true gift of a day. Full and complete in and of itself, even though it was just an hour passed noon.

It’s hard to deny the magic of Wayland’s Smithy

As we collected ourselves back into the car, even Ani appeared withdrawn into her own thoughts, refusing the small bits of sandwich we offered her. Each one of us quietly processing our return in our own way as we paused before our descent back into town.

To read the rest of the posts in this series, please click the links below:

Part 1: The Blindfolded Girl in the Hallway

Part 2: Keats and the First White Feather

Part 3: The Eye Opens: Long Meg

Part 4: I Journey from Long Meg to Little Meg

Part 5: Castlerigg at High Noon

Part 6: A Walk in the Woods with Tess

Part 7: A White Horse Appears (well actually two) and I Make a Stone Sing

Part 8: The Castle on the Back of a Dragon

Part 9: The Other Eye Opens: I Meet the White Horse of Uffington

Part 10: Wayland’s Smithy: A Temple of Trees and Stones Worthy of Reverence

Wayland’s Smithy: A Temple of Trees & Stones Worthy of Reverence #waylandsmithy #castlehill #ancientengland #travel

On March 8, 2019August 31, 2021 By Alethea KehasIn Gaia & Elementals, Meditations, Reflections, Travel Adventures16 Comments

There is an old road called the Ridgeway that connects Castle Hill to Wayland’s Smithy. It’s a mile in length, and had we more time we would have walked it. The Ridgeway joins the land of the living with the land of the dead, and I have no doubt it is as old as the “Castle” and the burial chamber of Wayland’s Smithy. To walk it, is to walk upon sacred ground where feet have traveled for thousands of years. Yet all do not treat it as such.

Ani and I waited for the site to clear of its busy visitors before we walked the long barrow.

The tread of reverent ritual has been replaced by the tread of travelers seeking outings from their over-busy lives. On the day we visited Wayland’s Smithy, there were visitors who had arrived before us. Two friends and their toddler-aged children were stationed at the foot of the chamber. The moms looked haggard and distracted as they half-watched their children and studied the screens of their phones. The children climbed the headstones around the entrance to the more than 3,000 yr. old burial chamber as though they were on a playground’s jungle gym.

Wayland’s Smithy feels, to me, like a natural cathedral worthy of reverence and awe.

My mind turned back two days, to that gloriously sunny noon at Castlerigg where a large family had created a picnic ground and play gym out of the sanctuary in the stone circle. “If this were a church, that would never be allowed,” Larissa put words to the emotions rising through me as we watched the young kids hang precariously off the great stones guarding the chamber.

The entrance to the chamber, as seen from one side, where the children played and their distracted moms leaned against the mighty stones.

Wayland Smithy is a place of worship. It is a holy ground for the dead, but also the living. A Sue noted, many years ago someone must have seen the site as a home of the sacred and honored it by planting a ring of ash around it, creating the effect of a natural cathedral. The temple of trees holds the stone chamber for the dead in an embrace of such sublime beauty and peace, the present mind cannot help but find sanctuary in the heart.

The open eyes will recognize a sacred site.

We had to wait maybe ten minutes for the visitors before us to leave, and continue on with their midday hike. And, in that time, I kept thinking about Castlerigg and how the energy of the sacred had retreated as though in self-preservation, deep within Earth. I looked at the long chamber before me and thought of the stones that were obviously missing from its sides. Stones that may have been callously dug out to line the border walls of houses or fields. Or, perhaps even to be trophies of sorts, displayed proudly on private grounds.

Lonely Stones: I got the sense that these stones were left behind as part of a border of stones, which are now mostly lost. They are spirit stones, filled with holes and intrigue.

Yet, despite the handfuls of oblivious visitors that visit Wayland’s Smithy, and its missing parts, the site still holds a very special energy. The guardian trees form a ring of protection around it, and I suspect most who enter their temple enter it with a feeling of reverence.

I felt much better with Sue and Ani sitting above the mouth of the chamber. Sue’s face reflects an unmistakable peaceful joy, and Ani, well, she could not have been happier.

As the mothers gathered their belongings and children and made their way back to the walking path, I stood upon the back of the grand chamber with Ani, ready to receive its gifts.

To Be Continue…

To read the previous posts in this series about my recent visit to England, please follow the links below:

The Other Eye Opens: I Meet the White “Horse” of Uffington #uffington #chaulkfigures #dragonhill

On March 8, 2019August 26, 2021 By Alethea KehasIn Gaia & Elementals, Memoir, Reflections, Travel Adventures24 Comments

I’m not sure what path is usually taken to visit the White Horse of Uffington, but I felt I must crest the hilltop and stand upon the Castle before I made my way to the chalk “horse” below it. The chalk figure is not small by any means. From one end to the other it measures 360 feet, yet the “white horse” is nestled just so within the hillside making it difficult to view unless one is high above it. Since we were diverted by construction, and the mist of morning obscuring the hillside, my best option to get a photo of the chalk figure was from the mound of earth called “Dragon Hill.”

You can just make out the chalk outlines below the crest of the hill, above the road.

The White Horse has been on this hillside for more than 3,000 years, and some say it’s not a horse, but a saber toothed cat, or even a dragon…which is rather hard to argue when you consider that just below it is the mound of earth known as Dragon Hill. The site where St. George is rumored to have slain the dragon. And, perhaps more compelling is the the curious shape of the Earth, which Sue pointed out, is also best noticed from high above…

In the middle of the right hand side of the photo, you will see Dragon Hill, a rise of earth covered in chalk (under the grass) where St. George slew his dragon.

Legend has it that the large white splotch of ground on the top of the hill will never grow grass because the blood of the dragon spilled upon it.

One does get the feel of battles fought and rituals held atop Dragon Hill, which looks over the land while being protected by the “Castle” behind it. It’s not hard to see the grandeur and feel the power of the place, as well as imagine the awe it must have encompassed over its many years of existence. Years that seem to be layered by different civilizations with different purposes. The mighty sword, taking over the peace of the land, but not anymore…

I stand above the “head” of the “horse with the wing of the dragon to the left and Dragon Hill to the right.

It is from the body of the chalk figure, though, were you can get a sense of the greater body that resides below you. The sheer awe is nothing short of exhilarating as you peer out over the vast wing rippling the earth. A dragon who may be sleeping, but whose energy is not dormant.

It took feeling into my inner sight to find the dragon beneath me as I descended Uffington Castle. To trust the knowing of where I needed to end up. Which was the place considered the head, but also looks curiously like an eye. Some say the lines hanging down from the “head” are teeth, some say they are the fangs of the dragon, but if you take the head for an eye, it resembles the Eye of Horus, which was all I could see. Another eye, drawing me inward… Whereas Long Meg had pulsed in the red energy of Earth, as I stood looking into the head of the dragon, I felt the pull of the sun.

It took all I could not to step inside…

This portal of the sun has a way of drawing you in.

I believe these sites are sacred. There are rules here that should be honored and respected. Reverence is required to walk the ground if you wish to learn what it has to teach you. If not, you should not be there. I felt that I had ventured close enough for that day, walking the edge, careful not to tread upon the chalk, while Sue and Larissa watched from above.

Larissa, Sue and Ani (who seems to have gotten special permission to walk the eye)

Two eyes had opened, and I felt wholly alive. It was time to cross over to the land of the dead…

To be continued…

To read the previous posts in this series about my recent visit to England, please follow the links below:

The “Castle” on the Back of a Dragon #uffington #whitehorse #dragonhill #uffingtoncastle

On March 7, 2019August 26, 2021 By Alethea KehasIn Gaia & Elementals, Memoir, Reflections, Travel Adventures19 Comments

During my first trip to England — you know the one where I went in search of the white horse in the wrong Uffington — I climbed Glastonbury Tor with my family. I can still recall the wild exhilaration that consumed me the higher I climbed the mound of earth, until I reach the top and felt as though I was queen of the world. Or my world anyway. Anything felt possible in that limitless space where Earth touched heaven in a path to the heart.

A similar energy stirred my cells to life as I climbed the hill leading to Uffington Castle. A hill that does not hold an actual castle as one might imagine it be, with stones and mortar, but the open-air castle of Earth kissing the heavens.

Uffington Castle had a similar feel to Glastonbury Tor. Not quite as wild, and more protected, it still gave me the feeling of union between Earth and Sky and a marriage of the divine masculine and feminine energies.

Although battles, perhaps many, were likely waged upon this hill and its surroundings, it has a powerfully feminine look and feel. At the top, anyway. It is like a womb, forever birthing and open to receive the energy that runs below it and above it. You see, it sits on the back of a dragon, whose fire energy courses through its body. The ley lines do not feel broken here. But alive.

Ani, Larissa & Sue stand nestled in the wing of the dragon.

Uffington Castle is an ancient “hillfort,” and it looks like a large grassy arena protected by raised banks of earth that slope into hollows in two places. Although the first hollow greeted me as I crested the hill, once again I felt the impulse to walk counter-clockwise, to the second depression. Stopping, for a moment, to absorb its full splendor, before I entered the body of the earthen womb.

It’s nothing sort of glorious to stand in the middle of Uffington Castle and feel the wrap of the womb open to the heavens. To gaze at the vast blue above and feel as though you are a part of it all. A tiny seed birthed into being from forces that are limitlessly powerful, yet filled with love. For a few moments I allowed myself to feel the wrap of the beloved in the center of the castle. Just me and the hawks of the sun circling in kite form above. It was nothing short of glorious. I felt wholly and completely alive.

IMG_20190226_094554 — Climbing the castle hill with Ani

Although there was the familiar impulse to linger much longer, it was enough stand in stillness for a few moments and allow the full sense of being to sink into my cells. Below the mound of Uffington, a dragon horse awaited me, its eye calling to be seen…

To be continued…

To read the previous posts in this series about my recent visit to England, please follow the links below:

A white horse appears (well, actually two) and I make a stone sing #uffingtonhorse #whaylandssmithy #blowingstone

On March 6, 2019August 26, 2021 By Alethea KehasIn Memoir, Reflections, Travel Adventures9 Comments

This would be my second attempt to visit the White Horse of Uffington. The first attempt occurred during my first trip to England, in April of 2016. I had taken my family with me, and we were traveling by car from Derbyshire toward Uffington, or what we thought was Uffington. To be fair, it was Uffington, just not the right Uffington. Turns out there’s at least two Uffingtons in England, and I had punched the wrong one into the navigation system, adding a 3hr detour to our trip and a great deal of frustration and disappointment. Instead of seeing the White Horse, we ended up at an old abbey, which happened to be closed that day. Determined to get something out of the mishap, I peered over the tall gate and took a few photos of what we couldn’t see.

The remains of an old abby in “Uffington”

Since there are actually several horses covered in white chalk in England, we did end up seeing one, albeit thousands of years younger than the horse we had intended to visit. Not to mention it’s rather ordinary looking in comparison…

And so it was that I had set out on another adventure to see the famous White Horse of Uffington. This time I was being driven by Sue, who knows the roads of England like the back of her hand.

It was one of those rare gifts of the day. Although Sue had only the morning and a wee bit of the afternoon to offer us, she had promised to pack a full day into the hours we had together. Larissa and I started our day before sunrise, planning to catch a 7am train to Aylesbury. We caught the 6:33am one instead, leaving us ample time to find some caffeine at our destination and spot Sue’s car before it could park near the train.

“I’ve given her a bath and a run,” Sue announced as I happily piled into the backseat to join the small dog I had read so much about. Turns out Ani was even more excited about our adventure than I was, and that’s saying something.

Since we were traveling at the peak of rush hour, we encountered a fair bit of traffic. Once we got through the bulk of the mess, and neared our destination, we had another hurdle to face. The road to the White Horse was blocked for construction. I wasn’t too worried, though. Time was precious that day, but I had faith in our driver and sure enough, Sue found another route. A route that just happened to lead us to another white horse, being lead by a rider on the roadside near the Blowing Stone. I took it as a good omen of things to come.

The Blowing Stone. Legend says that if you blow it right it can be heard at Uffington Castle, above the White Horse

“Give it a go,” Sue urged as we stood there staring at the ancient stone on the roadside. What the heck, I thought. I’ve traveled all the way here, I may as well give it a try. It took Sue having to point out the correct hole, of the many, to blow into, but three attempts later, the ancient stone sounded like a bugle. I was, admittedly, rather pleased with myself. Perhaps there was luck to be had this day. In the distance, nestled into the hillside was the white horse I had been waiting for. Just a short drive away. Above our heads the kites had started to gather in their dance with the sun.

To be continued…

To read the previous posts in this series about my recent visit to England, please follow the links below:

A Walk in the Woods with Tess & the Offering of Feathers: My Final Day in Cumbria #england #cumbria #travel

On March 5, 2019August 31, 2021 By Alethea KehasIn Gaia & Elementals, Memoir, Reflections, Travel Adventures5 Comments

After the experience at Castlerigg, I needed some time to process, accept, and surrender as best I could to what was. We had planned for a laid-back morning for my last day in Cumbria, and after I awoke I asked if I could take Tess for a walk. I should probably clarify that. Tess is not a dog you actually have to walk. She’s one of those rare gems that walks herself, and you, without the trouble of a leash to bind you together. I didn’t have to worry about finding my way, getting lost, or losing sight of my companion. Tess not only leads the way, she stops to wait for you and makes sure you know where you’re going. It was quite the treat for me, as I am used to walking two over-zealous dogs (on leashes) who could care less if I want to go where they want to go, which is often in a completely different direction from each other, and me.

Tess during our morning walk stopping to check on me.

Anyway, back to my walk with Tess. It was another glorious morning. Filled with sunshine and just the wisps of clouds to compliment the blue, blue sky. And as we set out, down the old canal path beside Bernie & Steve’s home, I began to allow the beauty of the day to sink into by body, as well as the many unexpected gifts the weekend had offered.

The paths that I had traveled these last few days had been filled with the warmth of the sun and of friendship. There was the ever-present reminder, albeit sometimes difficult to accept, that I do not walk this path in life alone. Although Castlerigg was not appreciated in the way I had intended for myself, nor revered in the way I might like to see other visitors revere it, it had still been appreciated for its outer beauty on a beautiful day. Long Meg and Little Meg had offered to me a more intimate visit in contrast, reminding me that the magic is always there, even though it may sometimes go into hiding.

Another day was unfolding before me. A quiet day filled with the grace of the present moment, if I chose to reside in it. Tess and I passed only two other travelers during out walk, and our passing was uneventful and unobtrusive. It was easy to allow peace to settle in and take the place of heartbreak as I walked in the beautiful land of Cumbria.

It was nearly impossible not to appreciate the beauty that surrounded me.

I could have walked for miles, and so could Tess, as she reluctantly turned around after we got to our third “bridge to nowhere” to lead the way back home. We, or rather I, had toast and Bernie’s prize-winning marmalade waiting for us. And, boy did it taste good. Rather like you might expect a drop of sunshine to taste, if one could taste sunshine.

The four of us, Tess, Bernie, Steve, and I, spent the afternoon at the seaside, enjoying the beauty of the day and the presence of good company. Following tea beside the water, Tess and Steve played frisbee on the grass, I took photographs and breathed in the sea air. Along the path of my feet, white feathers scattered the grass. I had been well taken care of by my wonderful hosts and Mother Nature during the weekend, and perhaps that’s just what I needed most.

But the journey was not yet other. I had more time adventures awaiting me in London and a magical day with Sue and Ani in the land of dragons and “castles.”

To be continued…

To read the previous posts in this series about my recent visit to England, please follow the links below:

The Light Behind the Story

Category: Travel Adventures

I roam some of the hills of Italy #italy #MountVesuvius #amalficoast #pompeii

Why I visit England (annually) and why we are called to sacred lands #ancientengland #sacredsites #travelingmystic

The Temple of the Knights #templechurch #knightstemplar #london #sacredtravel

Threading the Eye of the Needle #england #cleopatrasneedle #londoneye

The Gifts of the Stones #WaylandsSmithy #uffington #england #sacredsites #castlehill

Wayland’s Smithy: A Temple of Trees & Stones Worthy of Reverence #waylandsmithy #castlehill #ancientengland #travel

The Other Eye Opens: I Meet the White “Horse” of Uffington #uffington #chaulkfigures #dragonhill

The “Castle” on the Back of a Dragon #uffington #whitehorse #dragonhill #uffingtoncastle

A white horse appears (well, actually two) and I make a stone sing #uffingtonhorse #whaylandssmithy #blowingstone

A Walk in the Woods with Tess & the Offering of Feathers: My Final Day in Cumbria #england #cumbria #travel

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