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The Raven Spirit

On By Alethea KehasIn Animal Messengers, Gaia & Elementals, Memoir, Reflections, Uncategorized9 Comments
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Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

Since my visit to the Nest, I have felt haunted. There is a restlessness inside of me; one which my rational mind has tried to reason with. If you were meant to be there, you’d be there. You have work to do here, it tells me. The work often seems illusive as I try to focus past the longing and stay in the moment of present time and space. The tears of frustration, I allow to escape when I am alone. I tell myself I am content to stay in a place that has never felt like home, but it comes with the condition of  purpose. I have learned a lot about myself in these three weeks. For one thing, I quite like the idea of having a clearly defined purpose. A purpose that I can act upon at any moment, unwavering and steadfast. Being idle and directionless does not appeal to me, and so I am in the midst of a great test.

The raven, though, is ever-present. This guide who has come into my life, and who has perhaps been there much longer than I have noticed. When the mind becomes quiet, though, the raven appears. It tells me, Open your eyes. Remember. The land is alive everywhere. The only division is inside of the mind. There is magic everywhere. Find it!

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Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

The curved black beak of the raven opens to eat doubt and fear. Its head turns to look, making sure I see how the flesh is stripped from the bones of the dead until only the core remains. It is ruthless in its devouring. The raven holds no mercy for the weak and wavering. Death, to the raven, is a necessary passage to Life.

Don’t be ridiculous, it tells me. Of course you know why you are here. You’ve always known. 

And so I relent. Allowing its fierce beak to devour the skin of the old self, while my cells stir into rebirth. Death is rarely a pleasant event, but the more one relinquishes the hold on the old, the easier it is to endure.

A Monday in Bakewell

On By Alethea KehasIn Uncategorized4 Comments

Sue Vincent tells the tale of a recent visit to the church in Bakewell, England, which is rich in a history that expands several centuries:

Source: A Monday in Bakewell

Spirit Animals

On By Alethea KehasIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Wonderful post about Spirit Animals by Running Elk:

A Misanthropic Bear's avatarStepping Stones

This post is based on the outline of an exploration session presented at The Silent Eye  (a modern mystery school) “Leaf and Flame: the Foliate Man” weekend in 2016. Whilst I have attempted to retain some of the flavour, and changes in direction, of the actual talk, the interactive elements of the exploration are absent, and since most of it was done “on  the hoof”, it is not really a true reflection of the session. Many of the sections are expanded considerably from that presented on the day…

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Sourced from internet. Artist unknown.

Whether we recognise it or not, we receive guidance, often in areas in which we have no direct experience, from what can only be considered an “external” source. This “subconscious” guidance may be considered to emanate from many sources, including “spirit animals“.

Belief in spirit, and spirit guidance, is firmly…

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The Return to the Mundane

On By Alethea KehasIn A New Earth, Gaia & Elementals, Reflections, Uncategorized1 Comment

It seems, in a way, cruel. To feel the curtains of one’s heart part without effort to enter the place of magic and pure presence, only to return to where you are used to residing.  I have not re-learned what the young child already knows: to live each moment in open-hearted wonder. The ordinary often takes over my mind, and replaces the inherent magic held inside all life.

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The blades of grass on the lawn attract the eye in their uniformity and neatness, but the magic they hold is hidden unless I stop to view with fresh eyes.

pexels-photo-220859This takes effort, or at least intention. The energy in the ordinary feels comfortable, and even flat, when compared to the extraordinary. Yet, this is the nature of life for most of us. I can’t help but think this is part of the cause of so many of our addictions. This inherent search for a “high” to escape the ordinary. When one feels euphoria, or glimpses “nirvana,” it is difficult to accept the placid.

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It’s not simply the placid, though, is it? It’s not fair to say the ordinary, alone, is not enough, and the reason why we seek something more, which does not always feel wonderful. When I was in the moors, at the Raven’s Nest, I did not feel wonderful. In fact I felt a profound sadness and longing. The key, though, is that I felt this state to such an extend it opened my heart to pure connection to the Land and its Spirit. There became, for that time, no division between us. We were one being. It’s a little ironic that I would gladly trade a piece of cheesecake (which happens to be my favorite dessert), to feel this presence again, with all of the pain.

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What I felt was a sense of purpose and belonging that was impossible to describe, except that it felt like I had come home. After, I should add, a long absence. For the ordinary life seems to distance oneself from this state of unfettered connection.

The real “high,” is not an artificial attainment. It is not an escape from the mundane, but rather to feel the extraordinary in the ordinary in each moment. Even if the extraordinary is not so wonderful to feel. I don’t even know if this is entirely possible to feel with such presence, all of the time. The care-takers of Arbor Low, I suspect, could not tend to their farm at its base, if they were feeling the energy of its extraordinary magic all the time. And, furthermore, does that mean that their life has any less meaning?

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I am, on the one hand, quite in awe of their role as caretakers, living a seemingly ordinary life that serves to ground the energies that are so powerfully present above them. It is almost as though they know not what they protect, and that in itself makes their role all the more extraordinary. Really, how else could one reside in a place such as this?

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Is the farmer living a life more, or less, real than the person who walks the stones and feels transported beyond the mundane? At some point, it seems, we all must come back to Earth. We must tend to our children and animals, clean our residences, prepare and eat meals and carry out the daily tasks of life. If we don’t, a state of chaos can take over. Messes pile up, the gnaw of hunger starves the body, bills go unpaid, and we eventually find that we have lost our handle on life itself.

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Yet we keep seeking, don’t we? As though we are trying to fill a void that is infinite. We use food, drugs, cars, vacations, houses, shoes, porn, electronics, exercise…there are so many ways to fill in the blank. There are almost an endless number of things we use to try to fill the void that is ever-present. Telling us there is more to life, if we could just figure out what it was and how to get it.

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Of course, getting it is the problem. There is no getting of what is already present. We look outside, instead of looking within. It’s not easy to see in the dark, so we resist the finding of the light within. To see into that place of magic that resides in all things. You. A blade of grass. A rock. The person beside you. To open that door to the extraordinary in the ordinary, and leave it open. To see the world through the eyes of the inner child, always, seems as impossible as it seem necessary.

 

 

The Re-Cycling of Life

On By Alethea KehasIn A New Earth, Dreams, Reflections, Uncategorized16 Comments

During the Silent Eye’s annual workshop this April, we engaged in a discussion about fear. There was, I believe, a general agreement that the ultimate fear most people, if not all, harbor is the loss of the individual as a separate entity. We fear the obliteration of the self as we know it, because we learn to believe that there is a self separate from the Source that is all things. How can the self be separate, but whole? Or is the self that is separate really whole? The illusion of separation allows us to feel special and different from other living beings. It feeds the ego’s ideal of superiority, or at least a sense of uniqueness.

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The other day, while walking in the woods back in New Hampshire, I thought about how what we fear the most is also what we most long for. It is ironic in some ways, but it also makes perfect sense at its essence. The example of the loss of self in the form of a part of the body came to my mind. I thought about the phenomenon of the phantom limb, which is felt by the body it once belonged to, and still does, in essence. For the reverse is also true, as seen with organ transplants. Patients who receive foreign hearts, for example, often experience personality characteristics of the donor after the transplant. The cell always carries the memory of its home.

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A home that extends, ultimately back to its source. Our bodies, made from the elements of Earth, carry the memories in our cells of their origins. Our souls, in turn, have a memory of the Source of All. We carry within us the memories of both as home, and all the “homes” and “mothers” that we experienced throughout our lifetimes. Which leads to the longing of the self to return to that union, even though we become somewhat used to the idea, or illusion, of separation. Confusing that longing with something else.

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By nature, birth leads to a physical separation from the “mother,” until death brings us back to the source from which we came. Usually, but not always, the parent experiences death first. The body returns to Earth. The soul returns to the Divine Source. Then the death of the child follows, and so on, in this continual cycle of life and death. We really don’t know, with certainty, what unity after death is like, which was also discussed during the workshop. The experience is, at least by most of us upon our birth, largely forgotten. If we remembered it fully, would we really want to be here to experience separation? Even with the knowing that everything, ultimately, returns to its source?

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And why are we so often disturbed by this cycle of life? One only needs to look to Nature to see how life is recycled over and over again. Before the workshop, I had a discussion with Sue, one of the directors, regarding this concept. In a series of vivid and troubling dreams about fears, I had dreamt of being in a laboratory filled with women who were taking human bodies, including their own children, and digesting them in a vat of juices where they were broken down and then injected by tubes into their own bodies. As Sue reminded me in my journal, this is not unlike Mother Earth, who recycles, or re-ingests, her children in a continual process of life and death. It can be a disturbing concept, but we are all a part of this cycle. In order to “live,” we must consume life. When we die as individuals, our bodies will be returned to the earth, eventually, even if we delude ourself by placing the dead in sealed coffins. The parts, once again, broken down by their source to be rebirthed into new life.

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Everything always returns to its source. And, everything, I believe, longs to return. We carry with us, even if we do not fully remember it, the memory of “home.” Yet why do so many of us strive for separation, as though it were an ideal? It is an empty endeavor, which never leads to fulfillment. A fact that is so glaringly apparent right now in our world rife with war and discrimination of the “other.” Energy spent toward division, rather than union, takes much effort and is always premised upon fear.

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How easily we allow ourselves to forget, and fight against even, what we truly are. There is no need to be a twin to know unity beyond the self, or have a “soul-mate” in the form of a lover, even though some of us harbor a belief that there are connections between living beings that are deeper than others. Connections that speak of a one-self instead of a separate self. Perhaps we are not here to learn what it feels like to be separate, but what it feels like to be separate and still whole. To see the self in the other in recognition, even if the other appears vastly different from who the self thinks she is.

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The Raven Crystal

On By Alethea KehasIn A New Earth, Dreams, Gaia & Elementals, Memoir, Reflections, Uncategorized10 Comments

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I didn’t know why I felt compelled to bring it, but I had a feeling I would never wear it again. There had been the sense for some time that it was no longer meant for me. Perhaps it never was. For more than a year I had worn it often around my neck, and felt the comfort of its presence against my heart. Last year at the Silent Eye’s annual workshop, The Leaf and Flame, where I played the role of Queen Guinevere, the rainbow crystal wrapped in wire rested against my velvet gown. It gave me the sense of strength and protection as I experienced my first journey with ritual drama.

This year, the crystal stayed tucked into the folds of my bag, until I brought it out when we ventured into the land of the Feathered Seer.  At the Raven’s Nest, where I had felt the longing to re-enchant a land that had been defiled by mankind, I thought about the small pile of stones I had with me from the workshop. Stones now energized with the collective love and light from our group, which would be seeded back into the earth from which they came. These stones have now traveled to places in the states, and have even made their way back to the United Kingdom. They will be planted by people with the loving intent of repairing the Web-of-Light in Earth.

For the next day, after I left the Nest, I thought about the small round obsidian stone I had with me, and berated myself on not leaving it where I had found the remains of a dark offering. Yet, it didn’t feel quite right.

Before we left for Barbrook to visit the final home of the Feathered Seer, I impulsively grabbed the rainbow crystal I had brought with me from the States, and tucked it into my pocket. It stayed there, almost forgotten, until after I had visited the waters that divide the moors into the lands of the living and the lands of the dead. Before we left, I visited the stone circle, and took my turn sitting first toward the outer-world, where the living dwells, and then the inner-world, where the unseen speaks through the veil.

By the time I rose from the Seer’s stone, I knew my answer. Removing the gloves that guarded against the cold from my hands, I dug into my pocket to retrieve the crystal I had brought with me. I had already removed the chain, but wire still wrapped its body. My hands, driving my intent, uncoiled the strands that bound it, until the crystal lay freed upon my palm. I held it up to the light for one last look, and saw the face of a raven in its form. I now knew why I had brought it to England, and why I had not chosen to leave the black obsidian at the Nest. A sense of comfort began to replace the unease that I had felt since my visit to the Nest. I imagined the rainbow light of the crystal nestled into the bracken under the rocks. It’s light coursing through the broken veins of Earth. Re-weaving. Re-enchanting. Bringing hope and love back to the land.

A couple of years ago, I had a dream about the stones of Earth, which are mined for beauty and adornment, as well as for healing intentions. In the dream, I saw a stream of water, not unlike the brook at Barbrook. I had a stone in my hand, and felt the loss of its connection to the land from which it came. The stones need to be returned to the land, I was told by a guide inside of my dream. Many others, including the companions of the Silent Eye School, have been hearing the same message. Do you have a rock or crystal that calls for a return to the land? Have you infused a special stone with your love, which is now ready to spread its light into the body of Earth? I like to imagine the threads spreading like the silk of a spider’s web, deceptively strong and clear, and holding the wavelengths of the full spectrum of the rainbow, as they grow and weave. Threading the Light back until the Web becomes a circle, connecting all life, once again.

The Journey of the Feathered Seer Part 4: The Magic of Arbor Low

On By Alethea KehasIn A New Earth, Gaia & Elementals, Memoir, Reflections, Uncategorized9 Comments

IMG_1528I never made it to Peter’s Rock, although we passed close by it in the car, and as we did I made a vow to visit in a future trip. It is said to be a place of initiation, where one must face fear to move beyond the veil of illusion into the Light of Truth. The shaman took us there during ritual 4, and I felt I knew this place, at least in essence. But to feel its actual presence would have to wait.

During the week, I thought often of the snake I had found coiled like a sacrifice in the middle of my basement floor before I left for England. A symbol of the cycle of life that moves through birth into death in an endless repeat. I knew before I left my home that I would be going through an important phase in this cycle during my journey in England. The stones had whispered this in my dreams, and they did not disappoint.

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After visiting the site where Bratha lived out her life as a Seer, the five of us refueled at a lovely pub, then made our way to the Serpent Stones. It was time to feel the enchantment of the land. Although I had heard Sue, Stuart and some of the others hint about the secrets of these stones, I was not wholly prepared for what I would encounter among them. Which is, I believe, just the way it should be. I had already discovered that stones hold the memory of the land and its children, but I had yet to experience the awesome force of their enchantment. This site, as I soon saw, is not asleep. The serpent stones are more alive than those who walk among them. It is like nothing else I have experienced before. It is, quite simply, magical.

The path to the stones, like all journeys, can be taken more than one way. The land surrounding and containing them is, without a doubt, holy ground. Here one walks the body of the goddess in all her power and glory to rebirth anew in the continual cycle of life. The guardian of Arbor Low takes the form of the living. It resides in the balancing energies of cows, chickens and the humans how tend to them below the mounded earth. Here the magic of the stones is settled into the grounding energies of daily life, neutralizing their force. The mundane nature of these seems necessary once one experiences the effects of the stones.

At Arbor Low, I discovered that when you are open to the magic of the Land, it does not disappoint. The memory of it makes me smile with shear joy, just as I did when I walked among its stones. Here is where the Light of Hope is very much alive, and has been for thousands of years. The land here is in control, protected by a force much larger than the Earth itself. Here, the sacred is not broken by human hands (at least not enough to break its magic).

There is a point, when approaching the circle from the head of the goddess-like form of mounded earth (for more on this, read the words of Sue Vincent here, as well as her piece, The Serpent Stones), when you feel as though you are reaching the threshold of something sacred. I felt the impulse to pause. To pay respect. To ask permission to go forth and enter the body of the Mother.

If you read Sue’s accounts, you will discover that many who visit feel and see the serpent energy of these recumbent stones. They face outward, but they also face inward, and their clock-like appearance tells of a time that is not linear, but cyclical. There are two stones in the center, also lying flat. “These two may have been standing at one time,” Sue told us, and I nodded my head. My inner eye saw them as two pillars pointed to the Light as it was brought down to Earth. I couldn’t help but wonder at the magnitude of the energy that must have been felt in a place that still held such power to awe and transform.

I now that I did not take a few moments to photograph the circle once inside of it, but I spent my time absorbing and witnessing the site. You can, though, find images of Arbor Low in Sue’s posts and online. Even in photographs, the images in the stones are quite clear, but they too are subject to the observer. I saw serpents in some, but I also saw other forms as I walked the stones. Sometimes they told me who they were before I could guess. “I am the face of the west wind,” the stone, which I later discovered was in fact facing west, whispered to me as I passed. It’s outward face was chiseled with strength, harnessing the force of endings. It pulled me to the center, and I walked beside it and the stone that looked like a coffin, to shed what I was ready to leave behind. I reached the center to be reborn, over and over again, as I walked their gateways. Each stone seemed to channel a different energy, which was equally transformative and magical. It was wildly exhilarating, and my smile grew with each step. Although, there was a point when  my body stopped me in warning, Be careful you don’t over-do it. 

Where some of the stones spoke of endings, others spoke of strength and new beginnings. Because I walked the stones as gates, I saw them as having two faces. There is an outer face to most stones (some are sunk into the ground at their ends), which is easily seen from the mound of earth surrounding the circle, and tells of the outer forces of life, which can be used to go inward. Once inside the “womb,” you can view the smaller circle of the inner world, which is akin to the soul. Here you can make out different faces of the stones,  if they have faces. Again, some of the stones slope into the earth, which adds to the effect of being pulled inward when you are standing in the center. Others rear up at you, as though challenging you to rebirth yourself anew.  Standing in the center of the womb, closing your eyes, you can image the light harnessed from two pillars once, drawing its energy into the Mother. Here is where the Divine Masculine joins into the womb of the Goddess. It is a site to behold and to feel. I can only imagine what it once was…and maybe still is, but I couldn’t help feeling like those center stones needed to be standing…

This was my experience as I walked the stones. A fitting end to the path I had walked through Bratha during the weekend’s workshop, which extended out to the physical body of the Land that she loved. Although I touched the stones at Arbor Low, I did not meditate upon them to learn more of their secrets. This will have to wait for another time. The storms were beginning to roll in and it was time to make our way back to the cars. We arrived at our vehicles mere moments before the storm rolled in, bringing a mix of wind, rain and snow with it. Apparently a not uncommon occurrence here, and I was not altogether surprised. Energies can’t help but be stirred when this circle is walked.

The End. For now.

Words from the other Players from The Feathered Seer Workshop with the Silent Eye School of Consciousness

On By Alethea KehasIn Gaia & Elementals, Reflections, Uncategorized11 Comments

There will be more, I am sure, but I wanted to create a space to share the words from the other participants in this year’s annual Silent Eye School of Consciousness Workshop, The Feathered Seer.  It really was a beautiful event, filled with the weaving of the Light and much Joy and Hope emerged from the joining of souls. Here are the postings from others:

The Directors of the School:

Aligned with the Raven by Sue Vincent

The Feathered Seer: Planting the Seeds of Light by Sue Vincent

The Landscape of the Feathered Seer by Sue Vincent

Beyond Time… by Sue Vincent (where she talks about the origins of the story)

The Feathered Seer – Fear by Sue Vincent

The Feathered Seer – The Observer by Sue Vincent

The Feathered Seer – Divining Meaning by Sue Vincent

The Feathered Seer – The Bitter Drop by Sue Vincent

The Feathered Seer -Patterns of Enchantment by Sue Vincent

A Day of Gifts by Sue Vincent

Snow and Serpent Stones by Sue Vincent

Flight of the Seer by Stuart France

Flight of the Seer II by Stuart France

Flight of the Seer III by Stuart France

Flight of the Seer IV by Stuart France

Flight of the Seer V by Stuart France

Flight of the Seer VI by Stuart France

Flight of the Seer VII by Stuart France

Flight of the Seer VIII by Stuart France

The Divine Light of Truth:  Jan Malique played the role of the Divine Light of Truth at the workshop. Watching her and the other Points of Light weave their lights through the sacred grid was incredibly beautiful and moving. Here, in Whispers of Ancestral Voices, Jan shares her experience at the workshop.

The Lore Spinner: Alienora played the role of the Lowe Spinner and Keeper, and with her counter-part, Dean, the Lore Weaver, created a brilliant story the encompassed the full spectrum of human emotions and experiences. You can read her accounts here in her posts The Lore-Spinner’s Saga and Musical Root’s: The Drum’s Song

From the Shaman: The Feathered Seer: Song of the Raven Clan 

Also from the Shaman: The Feathered Seer – Part 3 (No. Really. The Feathered Seer!) 

 

 

 

The Journey of the Feathered Seer Part 3: Finding Peace

On By Alethea KehasIn A New Earth, Gaia & Elementals, Memoir, Reflections, Uncategorized8 Comments

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Bratha left the Raven’s Nest with the gifts of the clan. Now cloaked with the wisdom of a seer, she traveled with her guide to speak Truth to those who sought knowledge. I had a day to process my experience at the Nest, which followed the weekend’s workshop with the Silent Eye School. If you read Part 1 and Part 2 of my journey, you will know that it was a transformative experience that was difficult for me to put into words. To play the role, and then travel the landscape where a seer once walked to share the wisdom of the Light, feels like both a gift and a burden. It is not my intent to sound dramatic, but there is the question that always begs to be answered, What does one do with an experience such as this? 

It is intensely intimate and personal, yet it is also, I feel, one to be shared. Bratha’s need to seed the magic of the land and the truths of the Universe is also my own. It is the inherent longing in all living beings to know Home.

Leaving the Nest was difficult for me, as I imagine it must have been for Bratha and others who have known its presence. Feeling my heart open to the raw and beautiful truth of my unseen guide, and the magic of a now troubled land had stirred a deep longing inside of me. It made me acutely aware of how latent my own senses were, and how separate we often live from Truth. I had never felt such a connection to the Land and to those who have loved it so fully and completely, and whose presence can still be felt in its stones.

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There is a safely to the Nest, but the fledgling is born for flight.

As I walked down from the hight of the Nest, as Bratha once did, I carried with me the feeling of sorrow and longing. In the hours that followed, each time I attempted to process my experience into words, I wept the abuse of this sacred Earth that is both our home and our mother. When we focus on the life we have grown accustomed to living, it’s too easy not to feel the inherent connection we have with our Earth Mother and with all beings who reside within Her.

The Light of Hope, though, was also within me, as well as its tangible presence in the form of a handful of stones of different colors, charged from the collective energy from the weekend’s workshop. There were many others who would be planting these seeds to help “re-enchant” the land and repair what mankind had broken. And, there was the knowing that there are so many beings who reside on this planet who are doing their part to seed the Light within and without.

After a day in Bakewell touring more recent, but still old sites, my traveling companion, Deb, and I got into our car once again to drive to the moors. This time we were following Sue, Stuart, and Sue’s son Nick, to the site where Bratha lived out the end of her days as a Seer of Truth.

Once again, the weather on the moors was blustery and cold. Perhaps worried I would wander again, Sue kept pace with me, and I, a little reluctantly, reigned in my urge to explore alone. As we walked the paths through the heather, I realized my heart was at peace. The land here does not feel distrubed and broken, and its energy is not the same as the high cliffs of the Nest. It is a place where one goes to pay respect for the Land and those that tended the Light within.

A stream runs through the hills where, thousands of years ago, people dwelled in harmony with the nature, and sought wisdom from the seer. In the land of the dead, where cairns mound gently above the heather, a circle of rocks rises out of the earth. At its entrance a larger stone stands out from the rest, and the ground dips on both the outer and inner sides of the circle.

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I traveled through the cairns near the stone circle before I paid homage to the Seer’s Stone. Here, in the land of the dead, I felt strangely comfortable and at home. The sense of peace was ever-present, as well as an atmosphere of reverence for the departed souls. I was walking upon sacred ground that seemed to be protected by those who had walked before me. My eyes, though, often turned toward the river valley that divided the living from the dead. Sue, reading my thoughts, asked if I wanted to visit the waters that held the memory of Bratha in their song.

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The tears, this time, were gentle, as I broke a path through the heather and made my descent. My companions stayed near the top, as though knowing I needed to walk alone as I stepped, once again, through the tenuous layers of time. I headed downstream, and then gradually made my way toward the fork that brought water down from the land of the living, taking in the energy of the stones I passed along the way. Above the stream, large rocks jut out of the side of the hill and take on the forms the past. The whale stone carries the memories of waters much deeper than those that are now no more than a gentle brook.

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Even the plants hold faces, and sometimes they join with the rocks. Before the fork in the river, a large arrangement of stones topped with bracken that looks like a mane, give the sense of another guardian protecting something sacred.  It follows the slope of a hillside, where mourners once gathered to pay homage to a feathered seer whose ashes returned to the land she loved.

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The peace I felt at this place of rest was a stark contrast to the energy I experienced at the Nest where the skulls of a sacrifice defiled the cycle of life. After a short visit, I was ready to return to the land of the dead, up the hillside where Bratha welcomed those who sought her counsel.

At the circle of stones, I found offerings from travelers, perched atop and around the divination stone. Hair ties mixed with Earth’s flowers, and I gently untangled the natural from the unnatural. The stones, I have learned, do not wish to hold offerings that do not decompose, so I pocketed the ties to throw away later.

As I sat with my back to the divination stone, I felt the memory of Bratha’s presence in its body. It is no wonder that those who pass by pay homage to this stone even without knowing, perhaps, its purpose. Facing outward, toward the land of the living, one can imagine the Seer sitting in wait to those who sought knowledge. The power of the inner, the unseen, courses through your back.

When you step inside the circle, the outer seems to disappear. The silent voice of the soul guides your thoughts, and the inner realm where darkness dwells amid the light of the soul’s truth takes over. All answers must come from this place. This circle holds an inherent magic, as all of them do, and its small size against the much larger landscape surrounding it can defy the eye that chooses to think in limitations. Like other sacred sites, this one seems to be a microcosm inside of a macrocosmic landscape that threads the Web of Light throughout Earth. It carries the light of the stars and the heavens; the light that weaves through each being and connects us all back to Source. It carries Peace and Hope for a world ready to awaken once again.

To be continued…