Belerion, Cornovia.

I feel that I have arrived at last in the land of my ancestors. 

The moors, valleys, rocky tors and the eternal voice of the ocean in the background seemed to welcome me back to where my heart and soul truly belonged. 

The landscape wholly rendiscent of a past life I had lived. A life that still seems a hairs breadth away, that is so near to the surface of my consciousness that I could so easily become overwhelmed with reverie. 

Yet I had never before set foot on this land. 

A land woven with myth, magic and majesty intrinsic and inseparable from its landscape. 

A place of groves, stone circles, fogou’s, holy wells , castles, standing stones, ancient settlements and hillforts. Many untouched by man due to the uncompromising nature of its granite hewn soil. 

Though many have sought through research and study to understand the purposes and possible relationships of the myriad of archaeological sites, it remains enigmatic. 

However therein lies the answer. 

Man had a very different interpretation of the world around us in those ancient times. 

The cold, analytical thought patterns borne of the ‘Enlightenment’ and furthered even more by science were still thousands of years away in the future. 

Man was still inextricably connected to Nature. He never saw himself as apart from the world, he was at one with the Earth, skies and stars. A natural and organic reverence for the Universe was an implicit aspect of life. 

A land so old it still reflects the archetypes and legends of primeval man.

Of Gods and Goddesses, of mermaids and piskies. 

Of giants, lost civilisations and alleged visits by the Devil himself. 

One of the keys that may lend to an understanding of this land is clairsentience. 

The feeling of being a small part a unique jigsaw. 

Of fitting in seamlessly with one’s surroundings unlike nowhere I have known before. 

The gnarled granite hills, many crowned with rudimentary fortifications. 

The overgrown aisles of black thorn and hawthorn bushes hiding away groves of healing springs. 

The dark but somehow luminescent fogous, a chamber for intimate communion with Gaia herself.

Stone circles stand testament to the passage of time, still retaining a mystical essence of primeval magic rituals. 

The roar of the ocean as its tempestuous waves throw themselves in anguish against the rocky cliffs. 

Any type of human interpretation is destined to be flawed. 

This is a place to sensuously feel the raw energy of Nature, to become immersed in it. To feel the essential oneness of all creation.

My lungs full of air drawn from the same high breeze that billows around me.

My blood, sweat and tears formed from the same crashing waves thrown upon the beach.

My bones created from the very substance of the earth. 

The fire in my heart borne from the searing sunlight bathing my presence. 

All of my human and spiritual aspects of self are reflected here in the outside world. I do not need to search for meaning or inspiration for I am home. 

Where the pains and joys of birth, life and death are a divine, ethereal journey in themselves.