The call of a dragon and the pyramid stone(s)

She stands alone in the vast echoing darkness, as she does each day. Her hair ripples a night without stars from her crown to her waist. “Ammon Ra!” She calls through the portal. “Ammon Ra!” She raises her scepter to the apex, heralding the opening. “Ammon Ra!” Darkness slips away to the effortless lift. Stones becoming an illusion to weight. Her body, the channel for the sun, her voice, the gateway.  “Ammon Ra!” Dimension collapses into waves of light, filling the great pyramid it searches for the veins. “Ammon Ra!” The scepter meets the floor and gold spills into the ground in a vast web without endings. Below the feet of the priestess, Earth pulses with energy. Tomorrow she will return. And the day after that…

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It’s a hot morning in mid-July and I am climbing a mountain that has called to me through the channel opened to the higher self. I am not thinking of Egypt or a long ago time that has rippled back to this one. Instead, I am trying not to think, allowing myself to surrender to whatever will be. It is hot. Airless. Just as it was a year before when I climbed another mountain with my husband on our anniversary because it called me from a place beyond logic.

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Bring the crystal you were given at America’s Stonehenge

Instead I have brought a packet of tobacco leaves, as I did when I climbed to see Chocorua. It is not yet time to bring the crystal, now I know why my daughter dug the wand of selenite out of a sandlot six years before I would find myself inside a vision of  life that is woven into this one.

It’s no big deal. There are others who call in the opening, collapsing dimension in the path to the stars.

Admittedly, despite the attempts to expect nothing, I am looking for signs along the path. At Chocorua I had several: the ghostly figures of Native Americans watching us walk beside the sacred stream, the white feather fallen upon the path, two snakes, the crow greeting our arrival and the pileated woodpecker, my “feathered seer” calling through the silence. And, finally, the face of the chief in the clouds just before we turned for our descent, not having quite reached the peak of our destination.

Today there are no ravens promising magic, only a woman and her dog who quickly disappear ahead of us and out of sight. I have a feeling it will be a quiet walk and I will be watched more than I will see. This is often how it happens, I am learning. A trust needs to be earned, and I am heedful of my steps and mindful of noticing where I feel the nudge to drop a few leaves of tobacco for the spirits of the mountain.

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But the energy is there. I can see the serpents in the stones we pass by and I can feel the lines of water, even though it is nearly dried up.

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We find the spring empty of people and I am grateful for the chance to linger beside the stones (who watch us closely) and cool my skin in the cold, clear liquid.

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It is a place I’d like to linger longer. Light dances with water here, creating alchemy with color on the stones. The veins feel alive with the pulse of the dragon and the stones eroded in a way that does not feel accidental.

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But we have a long way yet to go, and I am determined to reach the peak, unlike last year. I don’t know what to expect, but I am expecting something. Our walk, though, is quiet and intense in its ascent. The path we have chosen gives us few breaks from the vertical climb and the heat is strong today.

 

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Before we leave the waterfall, I notice the metal on the rock. The chiseled words feel, well, perfect.

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Ahead of us is more heat and the rigors of our climb. But we will not rest in one spot for too long. The stones watch us while we walk, and I leave my trail of tobacco leaves hoping it is enough.

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I still don’t feel home here the way I do in England, walking the newer lands of America, but I am learning to trust that the pulse that feels like magic beats here just as strongly. Even if it’s not quite as close to the surface. I have noticed during my walks through the mountains and forest paths of New England, that the land here is cautious of my footsteps, as it should be. Our ancestors here have left a troubled path, and my veins do not course with native blood. I am often acutely aware that I am an intruder who needs to earn trust.

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Yet, the stones show me their faces and forms when I look close enough, and sometimes a bit of unexpected magic is revealed.

Like the cube of quartz we find as though it has been tossed to be seen, just inches from our feet in the bed of dried leaves. It feels like a gift to be left, but noticed. Not photographed. A reminder of what I will bring with me next time.

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Instead I photograph the tiny orange mushrooms that look like a trail of the fey, and we continue our climb to the strange little hut that I cannot imagine falling asleep inside.

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“You’d need to bring a pad with your sleeping bag,” I tell my husband as I press my fingers into the unforgiving metal mesh. I’d rather not think of what else might venture inside the opening in the darkness of night.

Did I mention my bladder has felt the need for release before we began our decent? A minor inconvenience that my mind returns to each time I take a drink to quench my thirst. For some reason I can’t bring myself to relieve myself behind a stone. There’s no one around.

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Just the stones of a former habitation as we get closer to the top.

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And lots of large, curious looking boulders that call for a better look upon our descent. But we are nearly there, the signs promise us our feet will soon reach the peak.

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I am expecting, even though I have tried not to expect, a vast rocky face with clear vistas, but instead we need to climb once more. This time it is stairs up to a guarded platform. Here, finally, we meet more visitors and it feels crowded on top of this large mountain.

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But I am not wholly disappointed. Up here I can see the peaks beyond and take in the contours of the land from a point not seen from the ground. And, I can see the ripples on the back of the dragon.

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But we are hiking in the midst of a pandemic, and others are waiting for the view, so we don’t stay too long atop the constructed tower. Besides, I still have to pee, it’s lunchtime, and the stones below are calling.

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Although there is a great deal of the mountain remaining for me to discover at perhaps another time, this place beckons to me. And soon I have an idea why.

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It’s not just the stones piled into caves that will have to wait for my eyes to peer inside, it’s the stone in the middle, curiously shaped like a pyramid. In the distance, far beyond sight, a bird calls through the forest. It is a pileated woodpecker. My “feathered seer.”

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To be continued, someday…

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Finding Home Inside a Ring of Stones #thestruggleisreal

 

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A land holding magic. Photo credit: Sue Vincent

I’m sitting here imagining myself sitting on a plane in the dead of winter. I’ve imagined it often over the last 48 hrs. It’s not the difficult to do. Me, flying to a land frozen in time for 5,000 years, shivering under layers. Just me, and a circle of stones. The thought alone pulls me deep within to an untouched place. One thought stirs the internal waters until they flood my eyes.

Crazy.

Or is it?

I thought I had moved into the land of acceptance, until my husband forwarded me the airfare deal. In case you still need/want to go…

Can I differentiate need from want when the thought pulls me to the unknown that seeks to be known?

The wisdom of the ancients tell us that home is not a physical place, but a state of being. Yet I sit inside a house that feels false in many ways. It feels dusty with  pretenses.

It took only a photograph years ago to pull the cells out of hibernation. Hills made white with winter surrounding a ring of stones. It’s not just Castlerigg, though. Arbor Low evoked a similar response in me. I had to go there to discover why.

I waited at the threshold after the slow climb, pausing to receive permission before the womb opened to receive. One step and I was home. Flooded with bliss. Untempered magic. And I was home in the soft sweep of the moors where I found peace. The settled sleep of death undisturbed. Balance. And, I was home at the nest of the raven clan, high upon the hill, where I felt the shred of sorrow ripping me raw. A rape of the womb that was everyone’s. Earth holding the pain. Yet, I was home. I could have stayed there forever.

I reside in a land that has become numb. The artificial has forced life to retread. My body feels the weight of the false, and the struggle for a return that is slow and uneasy. It longs for the place where it doesn’t have to hide. Where the energy courses with life. Real Life.

And I know, someday I need to go to a place called Castlerigg. In the physical body. To remember. To retrieve. What? I do not yet know. The dreams and vision pull me only as far as the hills. The stones wait in stasis. Trapped in the movement of slow time. Yet, the life stirs within them with a force that has the power to pull me to them.  Three thousand miles apart.  An ocean of expanse. And I sit in wonder, thinking. Is the time now? Or can I wait?

The Chimpmunk & the Serpent: Part 2 of my visit to America’s Stonehenge

Continued from Part 1

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My body wanted to follow a path that wasn’t there. The arrows pointed left, while an invisible rope of energy tugged my heart to the right. I resisted the pull. If I had been alone, I would have followed the illogical urgings of the heart, but I was not. Deb and I had arrived without preconceived plans, but Sophia had brought her drum and offerings, and we both wanted to honor her intentions (I later learned Deb also had an impulse to walk a counter-clockwise path) so we followed Sophia’s lead along the marked path.

 

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A rather blurred photo of our small guide in the fork of a tree that guides the eye to a wall of (serpent) stone

 

She was, though, not our only guide. I noticed the chipmunk around the same time I noticed the serpents. Out tiny guide appeared throughout our journey at the spots that wanted to be noticed. There are walls of rocks that curve the hill of mysteries. Stonewalls not unlike those that cover the New England landscape, but there are differences. I noticed a pattern before we reached the top. Sinuous forms leading to large headstones with the faces of serpents. Many of them double-lined stone walls, processional walkways that seemed to guide the walker. The turn of a face at their ends, directing the gaze, the feet, the energy…I recognized these forms. I knew the energy that ran beneath them. Magic stirred within me as I looked at my furry guide who reminded me of another type of place. I began to think of the Eye, of Egypt, as well as that ancient land of Albion…I was beginning to feel like there was something here, after all, that connected a long-forgotten time.

Sophia had mentioned there being an Eye in the rock somewhere on the site before our visit…but the connections needed to form within me. The stirrings of latent energy I was not sure still if ever, existed here.The energy that effortlessly finds me on that island across the ocean, but feels so much more hidden here.

 

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A rather large serpent stone wedged between the trees marks the end of a wall of stone. Its open mouth and watchful eye have a distinctive dragon-like quality.

The serpent stones seemed undeniable. Sophia and Deb could see them just as easily as I, once I made the connection. Three crazy ladies, maybe, but something told me we were not. There were just too many signs that pointed us to something that felt like Truth. Could it be that there was serpent energy here on the top of a rather inconspicuous hill in New Hampshire? Is there, in fact, a connection to the ancient sites across the globe, which seem to share this universal, ancient symbol, which evokes the “dragon” lines of energy that weave the body of Earth?

 

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A pair of rather curious rocks following the path of the arrow

I could feel the familiar stirrings growing within. And, there was that curious guide of ours, popping up in just the right places to draw the eye. As I mentioned before, in many ways the walls look like ordinary walls, and, sadly, the walls of Mystery Hill in Salem, NH, show the marks of time. The bodies of stone collapsed and sunk into shadows of what must have been their original forms, marking possible boundaries, or something else. Not often, though, do you find these double walls of stone in this part of the world, harkening the processional walkways of ancient sites in other lands, nor do you find the marked endings with large, curiously shaped boulders, or the large, shaped, and seemingly deliberately placed standing stones in the middle of stone walls here, which mark seasonal paths of celestial bodies. Our guide seemed to indicate there was, in fact, something more magical than a farmer’s boundary happening here among the stones.

 

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Our small guide atop an unusual stone in the wall that corresponds with the seasonal path of either the sun or the moon (I can’t now recall where this stone is placed within the site)

Everywhere we looked, it seemed, there was something deeper, partially hidden and waiting to be found. Trees atop mounded earth and stone, curved, as Deb noted, in  alignment, besides their perfectly erect companions.

 

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This curious area had the feel of a vortex. Note the two dancing trees between the straight bodies of their companions, all atop a mound of earth and stone.

 

To be continued…

I discovered a wonderful post by Flowing Water Shamanism on the symbolism of chipmunk here for those interested in reading about it. 

 

 

 

I Visit America’s Stonehenge (again). A Hill Filled with Mysteries: Part 1

It had been four years and five months since I visited Mystery Hill in Salem, NH with my family to see America’s Stonehenge. In the time between my two visits, I would make three trips to England, traveling to the original Stonehenge, as well as several other ancients sites.  A lot has happened in those four years and five months, no wonder I thought more time had elapsed.

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The original Stonehenge in England, which is thought to be about 5,000 years old. This photo was taken in April 2016 during my visit. There is little resemblance to America’s Stonehenge.

Back in April of 2014, we were visiting the site with my sister and her family, and our four combined kids were more interested in climbing the boulders and chasing each other than searching for ancient signs and symbols, but magic was still afoot. It always seems to be at these ancient places…you just have to be aware of it.

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The kids atop boulders at America’s Stonehenge

While walking through the Visitor’s Center at the start of our visit, I admired the selenite pillars and remarked that I might purchase one on our way out. After watching the brief introductory video, we made our way outside to begin our journey at the Kids’ Gemstone Dig. Approximately two minutes into the dig, a large, rather dingy looking selenite wand appeared in daughter’s hands. Spurred on by the promise of a much larger reward than expected, three more sets of small hands began digging enthusiastically in the sand. Alas, only small polished stones appeared.

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What my daughter found alongside stones similar to what else was recovered by the kids’ efforts.

It seemed more than a coincidence…the talk of wanting a selenite wand, and within minutes having my daughter dig one up where there wasn’t supposed to be one…Later, while we were investigating the cave-like enclosures of rocks, a mysterious want of light appeared on the floor of one, where no light should have been. It looked, I thought, rather like the wand my daughter had dug up.

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This mysterious crystalline light appeared in one of the cave-like structures during our 2014 visit to America’s Stonehenge.

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Despite these mysterious occurrences, I found I was disappointed by the site. I think many people are. It really looks nothing like its namesake, at least on the surface, and although I hadn’t yet been to the original Stonehenge, I had certainly seen photographs.

The landscape at America’s Stonehenge is wooded and rocky, typical of New England, and the main attraction, when you reach it, is hidden from a distance and much, much, smaller than the megalithic structure across the pond. Yet there are similarities…much more than at first meets the eye, to original and to the many other mysterious, ancient sites across the globe.

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Astronomically aligned stones surround the distant perimeter of the hill. One of which aligns with a stone circle (which we somehow missed as we did not have time to explore the entire perimeter)

If you feel into the site, you will likely either notice a quiet peace, or a stirring of magic long forgotten. The effect is not as strong as being among the megaliths in England, but both sites wear the effects of footsteps and hands. The original structures have been altered by the imprints of humans. The energy that feels like magic dampened as though sunk deep within the body of Earth, waiting to be stirred back to life…

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What the central area of the site, now referred to as the Pattee area, looks like from the viewing platform on Mystery Hill.

Studies performed with radio-carbon dating show evidence the site in Salem, New Hampshire is as old as 2000 B.C., but there have been many inhabitants since this time. Native American artifacts have been found in the area, including remnants of canoes and a 2000-year-old wigwam, as well as several stones that resemble animals (I will have to look for these during a future trip, as we were more focused on other things and found only one or two).

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The Ibex, or Running Dear carving, outlined with white paint, can be seen in the area that leads to the Oracle Chamber.

In 1825, a man named Jonathan Pattee took up residence on Mystery Hill. Why he claimed this spot for his homestead is still up for debate, but it is indisputable that he left his mark. One can only guess at what the site looked like before Pattee decided to make it his homestead. Many stones were altered and repurposed by his hands, some of which formed into his fireplace, others part of his foundation and storage caves. There are some people who believe the entire area was created by Pattee. This seems highly unlikely when you realize the scope of the site, which extends far beyond his homestead area to include standing stones aligned with lunar and solar events that occurred approximately 4,000 years ago. Why Pattee would configure stones into an oracle chamber resembling those in Egypt and Greece seems rather odd as well, not to mention balancing a 4.5 tone slab above it to manufacture soap…but more on that later. It seems odd in general that he would choose this place for his home. I can only imagine what he would have seen if he allowed himself to.

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Inside the Oracle’s Chamber at America’s Stonehenge. April 2014

Whatever that might have been, we were here to find out. Three middle-aged women on a mission, carrying offerings for the ancestors and fey folk, a drum, water, and open minds. It happened to be a very hot, humid day for September, and we had only a few hours. We debated whether to watch the introductory video after spending several minutes surveying the artifacts in the visitor’s center. When we stepped into the auditorium, the movie was just finishing its cycle, but we were there just in time to catch words that spoke about America’s Stonehenge being on a line that connects it to Stonehenge in England and extends down to Newport’s Tower. I wasn’t even thinking about dragons until I stepped outside…

To be continued…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Finding Magic in the Land: Mt. Cardigan

At the ancient stone circles in the United Kingdom, the shape of the stones often mirrors the surrounding land. It’s both awe-inspiring and eerie. The magic held inside the sacred structures, which extend far, far beyond the more widely visited circles, is quite something to behold. I have written of this before in posts that speak of the magic, and also of the deep longing and sense of home I feel in these sacred places. Living in New Hampshire, where the land, itself, is no less ancient, but the magic has always felt more illusive and gentle, at best, I have recently made a vow with myself to find it. It seems necessary, vital almost.

A couple of weeks ago, I hiked Mt. Cardigan with a friend of mine. Being a long distance runner, who regularly runs 50 miles through mountainous terrain for pleasure, she does not adhere to a leisurely walking pace. Not that walking up a mountain is all that leisurely, but you can understand that it would not be particularly easy to pause and look. To really take in the surroundings, and the feel of land. Not that I had told her I wanted to. We were here to hike, and so we did. Besides, it was a beautiful day and the mountain trail was filled with people.

I would have to wait until we reached the summit to stop and take note. Although it was a beautiful, partly sunny day, it was very windy on the top of the mountain, whose granite peak is exposed to the element in a way that leads one feeling uncomfortable and a bit raw. Like you could blow over the edge if you didn’t watch your step. There is also nowhere to really sit, comfortably. But we made do, finding a fairly sheltered cove where we could eat our sandwiches and chat while our behinds gradually went numb against the granite ledge.

I noticed the tiny bird from the corner of my eye almost immediately. It looked like a junco, with its white breast and gray-black over-coat, but I could not be sure. It stayed just far enough away so that it could be sure I was aware. Looking over at us often. It was the only bird, as far as I could tell, on the mountaintop, and its attention was clearly focused our way.

Because I do not see this particular friend often, and we always have a lot of catching up to do, I tried to devote my focus primarily on her, and our conversation, but the bird kept its watch, and I noted its presence from the corner of my eye. When we rose to prepare our descent, I took a photograph of our winged friend, and noted only later, what the image exposed.

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Our winged friend looks out from the edge of the heart-shaped stone

A few more photographs were snapped as I tried to get a panoramic copy of the landscape around the mountain without, once again, really knowing what the images might later reveal.

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The heart-stone (to the left) mirrors a heart-lake in the land below (to the right)

The truth is, it took me a couple of flips through the uploaded photographs later, to realize I had captured an image of the heart-stone with a heart-shaped lake in the distance. They are almost mirror images. The bird, it seemed from the earlier photograph, had been pointing the way. If you read any of the posts by the directors of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, this phenomenon of birds at sacred sites in the United Kingdom is not uncommon.

On the way down from Mt. Cardigan, my eye caught upon a large round boulder. “I need to take a picture,” I told my friend so she would pause.  I was pretty sure I had found the guardian of the mountain. A guardian, apparently, with a sense of humor.

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The guardian? 

Although I did not get a chance to do a thorough search of the mountaintop, this boulder appeared noticeably to stand alone amid the curved, flat surface of the peak. Upon closer study of the non-cropped photograph, I noticed it had some surrounding friends.

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The Guardian and Friends

They’re a little more challenging to see here, but one can make out faces in the raised stones, particularly the two in the foreground.

And, so it seems, I had found a bit of magic during my hike on Mt. Cardigan. To be continued, I hope…