Tag: Re-enchanting the land

Why I am Absorbing Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Wisdom #reciprocity #connection

On By Alethea KehasIn A Better World of Books, Reflections18 Comments
Order this exquisite book if you do not yet have a copy.

I recently ordered the two books by Robin Wall Kimmerer that I have not yet read, Gathering Moss and Braiding Sweetgrass for Young Adults. I had not known about the latter book, which she cowrote with Monique Gray Smith (illustrated by Nicole Neidhardt) until about a week ago when I started digging more deeply online into the wisdom of Kimmerer. The fact that she’s adapted her masterpiece, Braiding Sweetgrass into a manual on reciprocity for young adults has me particularly excited because the sanctuary I am working to create will have a focus on facilitating a connection between the natural world and youth.

Every time I listen to, or read, the words of Robin Wall Kimmerer I become the rapt student. Life distills into essence through her narratives and a feeling of coming home overwhelms my senses. More often than not, I find myself weeping. And here is why: Even though our modernized world tries to rush us towards unfettered “progress,” our cells are continually pulling us back to their origins. They beg us to become rooted into our collective Mother. They plead with us to come home. There is an undeniable longing that awakens when we (re)learn our origin stories, and no one conveys them more eloquently than Kimmerer.

She is master storyteller. Kimmerer’s gift for weaving indigenous and scientific wisdom into compelling narratives draws the listener/reader in so deeply everything else disappears. Her words tug at the threads of DNA that join the solitary life into the web of all lives. One cannot help but feel the longing for reconnection. I am not holding onto an illusion that I can do it perfectly, but if I can nurture a space where the natural world exists in harmony with its human visitors—who are, after all, children of the land—in a way that threads reciprocity into one small piece of our world perhaps a bit of this longing will turn into joy.

Keeping a Promise to a Dragon and a Stone: Part 1 #VThikes #sacredsites #dragonlines #dragonstones #leylines

On By Alethea KehasIn A New Earth, Animal Messengers, Gaia & Elementals, Memoir, Reflections, Travel Adventures10 Comments

We left at 9:30am. Three women, piling into my little blue car to fulfill a promise I had made with a dragon. And a stone. We had everything we needed, or so I hoped. To be honest, I wasn’t wholly sure what we needed, or what at all to expect. All I knew was where I needed to go and what I needed to leave behind.

My offering was wrapped in gold satin at the bottom of my backpack. A gift unearthed six years before at in a place where it shouldn’t be by my daughter. I couldn’t deny I would miss it, just as I had the Raven’s Crystal but this too was not mine to keep.

Inside the pack, with the pillar of selenite, were my snacks and water, some tissues, bandaids, my wallet, windbreaker, and three bundles of sage and lavender from my garden. There had been no more dreams or visions, aside from the returning memory of a journey with my two companions to the Mystery Hill where my daughter had found the offering years before. They, in turn had brought their own offerings, which later we would realize were perfect. Being led, like me, with few clues but with a willingness to discover whatever awaited.

Photo taken by Deb. We saw hearts everywhere throughout the day.

The signs began to become obvious when we pulled the car into the base of the mountain. Although its electric charge was now at zero, the gas meter read 333 miles remaining in the tank. When I glanced at the sequence of 3s, then shared the number with my companions, it became obvious why we had formed a trinity for this journey. There had been a moment of guilt days before, followed by an extension of the invitation to others to join, but in the end we were left with the three I had envisioned. And, somehow we had settled, without knowing it, to embark on the day of a new moon, because it was simply the only day that worked.

Deb and I jumped out of the car to pay the park fee, get maps and make an inquiry.

“Can you tell us how to get to the Serpent Ridge trail,” Deb asked a dumbfounded attendant. I had an impulse to nudge her when I saw the look on the attendant’s face.

“There’s no trail by that name.”

“Yes there is,” Deb insisted, “readying her phone to pull up the evidence.

“Never mind,” I interjected.

I’m okay with not being considered “normal,” and perhaps a tad bit “crazy” by some people’s standards, but I saw no point in further alarming the poor woman behind the glass who seemed pretty close to making use of her own phone. To call the authorities.

“We saw it online,” I said. “It was probably just named that by some hiker, never mind.”

The car chugged up 2/3 of the mountain with some effort while Deb and I shared our experience at the gate with Sophia. Marking the beginning of a steady stream of jokes and much laughter that would carry us through to end of our day.

My faithful companions with just a hint of mischief in their visages.

The air was colder than I had anticipated, and the sky threatened a rain that never released from the clouds when we disembarked from the overheated car. Resting nicely in a near-empty lot, we left the vehicle behind to eat lunch.

“What time is it,” Sophia inquired.

“11:44”

The next time I would look at the clock on my phone it would be 12:44.

“Should we take the slut trail or the slab,” Sophia wondered as she studied the map.

“Slut?!”

“Slot, Alethea, Slot!” That was it, we were doomed. I could have blamed the wind for the tears, but it was pretty obvious that the three of us had reverted back to childhood. Laughter would turn out to be the balm we needed as we descended into the darkened forest.

Our first guide was a familiar one. “I was wondering if you’d be here,” I greeted the chipmunk as it scurried from stone to stone beside us.

“Do you remember the chipmunk at America’s Stonehenge,” I asked my companions. They recalled its uncanny hoping to the stones where our eyes needed to linger. This one, though, stayed with us for just a short time. There was another guide yet to make its appearance. A guide that would make me think of Sue.

I took it as a good omen we were in the right place, but I think the old man who passed by moments later thought I was as looney as the gatekeeper did Deb. More laughter, of course, ensued.

The next being we encountered stopped us in our tracks. Nestled into the roots of two birches aside the path, it was impossible to miss.

“It looks like…”

“Yep.”

“I had the same thought.”

All three of us, apparently, saw the same image encased in stone. And what we saw foreshadowed what was yet to come.

To Be Continued…

Where the Lichen Weeps on Stones

On By Alethea KehasIn A New Earth, Animal Messengers, Dreams, Gaia & Elementals, Poems, Uncategorized8 Comments

Where the Lichen Weeps on Stones

 

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

In a land before time

we remembered the curve of the Earth

and how it mirrored the heavens

Stars gazed past sight to the place of no mind

thoughts were eclipsed by the moon and the rocks reflected light

You walk to remember

to bring back hope and also sorrow

which must rise through the bracken to be freed

Long buried in forgetting

the hold of fear was strong

it held fast the magic of the land

that longs to breathe love

Beneath the hills, the bear sleeps to awaken the raven

a reunion of Earth and sky

while the river carries hope

in its struggle to move past time

Breathe with me

the fey wait at the edge of the circle

their white bodies move with the grass

Join your hands with theirs, again

and open the womb to life

The rainbow crystal is but a seed…

To read more about the story behind this poem, please visit: Keeping a Promise by Sue Vincent  and The Raven Crystal , an earlier post of mine written after a visit to Hordron in the Peak District of England. 

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 1 #sacredlands #ancientengland #magicallands

On By Alethea KehasIn A New Earth, Gaia & Elementals, Reflections, Uncategorized23 Comments

This time I traveled without my family, taking in their place a friend who did not yet know the land. There comes a point in one’s journey when the comfort of the familiar gives way without fear to the unknown. I was to play the role of Bratha, the “Feathered Seer,” without knowing what would await me. When I left the comfortable place of the hearth to fly across the Atlantic, I did not know the role I was to play at the Silent Eye’s annual workshop would become me as the land gave way her secrets.

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The journey began long before I boarded the plane. Such is the nature of all journeys, whether we are aware of it or not. They do not abide by the rules of the mind, or the laws of life as we are accustomed to living it. The truth is, the rocks had been whispering to me inside of my dreams; the land calling out to me with my first breath, as it calls out to all birthed inside the womb of Earth. We listen when we are ready. We follow the lead when it becomes the only path that pulls.

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Bratha lived at a time long ago, when the land was still considered sacred, but its people were turning away from the Mother, toward ego’s fear and greed. As the threads of light were torn by the hands of mankind, the stones became the keepers of memories, holding the secrets of the light inside their seemingly inert bodies as they waited for those who wanted to remember. They became the guardians of the secrets, marking the nodes of the web of light waiting to be re-ignited. They guard them still.

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The story of Bratha tells of a guide, who lent strength to the light of hope she carried through the land and spread to her people. It speaks of a seerer who refused to give up, even though the brutal violence of man raped and killed her people, and  burned and ravaged the land she held sacred. Bratha saw Truth inside of the shadows, and spoke it to those who would hear her words. Her journey was that of the greatest horror imaginable, but in the midst of the darkness, there was always the light. She died in peace, held by the hands of love. Her body, carried by the liquid water of Earth’s womb, found home once again in the Mother. Now she is a memory, dividing the lands of the living, from the lands of the dead.

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Yet she is not gone. I have felt her presence, as others before me have. As they do still. She speaks to me of longing. Of hope. Her grasp is urgent and intense. Once felt, you cannot turn away.

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Walk with me, and we will travel her path together…

In the posts that follow this one, I will take you on a journey through Bratha’s beloved land as I experienced it during my recent trip to England.