Sanctum of Gaia

Sanctum of Gaia

The grey granite men of old stand silently sentient in the morning Autumnal must. For thousands of years they have witnessed generations of villagers go about their daily business, quietly watching, none judgemental and somehow protective.
As if the stone circles themselves had created an invisible cloak of protection over the hamlet, maybe honouring the ancestors of the dark and distant past who brought them to this place.

Still invested with magic from the primeval rituals of long, long ago. Their individual energies remain placid and latent.
However when sensed as part of the landscape along with their monolithic kin, the high banks surrounding them, the nearby Silbury Hill and the barrow graves of the Neolithic dead, the culmination of power is dizzying in its intensity.
The whole area is imbued with the divinity of the Earth herself. The stones themselves standing in stubborn testimony to their eternal reverence to Nature and her cycles.

Each single megalith upon closer scrutiny can be seen to have their own separate characteristics.
Their are tall, slimmer boulders as well as lozenge shaped squat ones.
The surface of some of the weathered, lychen encrusted stone facades seem to almost have idiosyncratic facial features. Small holes and the cracked rough surfaces combine to give the impression of gnarled grimaces and austere stares to those who care to see. It’s as if the stones themselves have taken on the guises of past villagers, immortalising them forever in this very place of their birth.

The purpose and meaning of the site has been subject to much scientific and at archeological investigation. However it will probably never be proven as the original builders were of a completely different mindset and culture. These structures were not from a post enlightenment analytical perspective but from more sensory primal era.
A time when Nature was invested with ethereal power, when man was at one with the wider world and his senses attuned accordingly to his environs. Through their vision only can this sanctum of Gaia be comprehended and fully understood.

The Grove

I have on many occasions happened upon sites that seem to have their own, shall we say, ‘ anima loci’ and associated energy. It is reputed that Nature Spirits too have a different, subtle but intense energy. It is then not particularly surprising that energetically sensitive individuals ( e.g. empaths) are more prone to sensing their presence. 
There were many there, just out of sight, obscured from my vision by their different vibration. They were able to manifest if they so desired, enabled even more so due to the liminal and numinous nature of the site. 

A canopy of leaves from the large cluster of fir trees prevented the daylight from revealing much of the ruinous stone circle and its environs. This added further more to the air of mystery and secrecy around me. Any ceremonial or magical activity was securely cloistered from the outside world by the tight knit plantation of trees and dense undergrowth surrounding the stones that remained. 

I sensed many ethereal eyes watching me from under the cover of the bushes, trees and foliage as I sat on a nearby log. The air around me felt heavy with anticipation as if I had in some way interrupted some sacred liturgy. 

The moist sandstone hewn stones covered in moss and lichen appeared to subtly emanate a low green phosphoresence again adding to the apparent preternaturalness of the occasion. 

 The overhanging branches of the trees met the verdant amorphous scrub rising up from bog strewn soil as if to encapsulate all within in a further act of concealment. 

A small winged creature skittered across the pond a little off to my left in my peripheral vision. I was uncertain as to what creature it may have been but its action was determinedly avoidant. 

The slim lower branches of the trees were entwined with gorse, holly and ferns forming an almost impenetrable mesh in the undergrowth around the stones themselves. I swear that I could see hundreds of small faces in amongst the leaves, some wizened and grotesque whilst some appeared young and vibrant. 

Feeling distinctly awkward, a little anxious and somewhat unnerved I stood up to leave by the way I came. The pathway between the trees was up ahead, strange fluorescent blue lights seemed to be emanating from behind them as if each one were hiding a wisp like spirit within their trunks. They lined either side of the track like surreptitious phantoms silently awaiting the arrival ( or departure) of a very important guest. 

Thankfully as I walked towards them their cerulean glow seemed to dissipate the closer I become. 

Still having the sensation on the back of my shoulders and head of watchful eyes burning into them, I briskly left the grove into a comparatively sunnier and thus lighter atmosphere of a nearby glade. Whatsoever esoteric event was taking place that afternoon I would never know and perhaps it’s best that way. Some things are best hidden from the tender eyes and minds of mortals.

Thou Art That..

Although to others I appear as simply yet another human being amongst millions of other human beings. The expectation from them is that I too operate and act from a similar perspective. In that I will to some extent seek personal, ego related goals. That I will endeavour to make myself secure by the acquisition of material wealth. That I will have similar external interests involving media driven activities of which I am assumed to have a shared predilection. 

This is the hard part, as I by and large do not. 

Living within a society that lives out and expects individuals to adhere to an anthropocentric ideology  is, for me, completely unnatural. 

My empathic spiritual journey has now led to perceptual changes in the way that I experience the world around me. 

I am as one with the Earth. 

My human body forms the flimsiest demarcation of my soul, for my soul too is at one with the Universe. 

Out in the forest the feeling is intensified. 

In the wilderness, the air in my lungs once expelled becomes one with the wind. The breeze then wraps itself around my human form, caressing my hair and skin. Evaporating the thin sheen of sweat on my brow, which had once been part of one of the great oceans. Although the presence of blood, bone and sinew are to be found within me, they too are only borrowed. One day, upon my passing, I will again return to the Earth from whence I came and from which I have never truly been separated. 

Even in my humanity I can sense the other. 

The autonomic consciousness of the bee as it almost preturnaturally carries out its duties to ensure the survival of his hive. 

The feral mind of the fox, raw and unencumbered by a superego seeks to satiate his hunger. 

The various parts of the dense undergrowth, clearings and landscape that give rise to their own genius loci. That speak subtly of sublime nature spirits, evocations, spiritual communion and desperate entreaties to the ‘other’ world. For in these places the veil between the worlds is barely perceptible. One can easily visit other dimensions and planes of existence simply by being present. 

I have no wish to return to my previous experience of life as a simple, egoic human. Indeed I feel that I could not if I wished to. 

So if you see me around, please feel free to say hello as I have much to discuss and desire to hear of your thoughts. You will recognise me by my eyes, they have all the elements of the Earth therein. 

Where Worlds Meet

Where Worlds Meet 
Throughout the world there are many places where the meeting of the past, present, future and possibly other dimensions are felt more intensely. These are frequently sites of ancient origin which because of their numinosity are still reverred in some capacity to this day.

In the UK these consist of innumerable stone circles, henges, barrows, hillforts, ancient settlements, holy wells and many others too numerous to mention. 
Being somewhat energetically sensitive I am drawn to these places as they offer an extremely subtle yet tentative connection to other realms and times.

Many theories have been offered as to why these sites are perceived as ‘ special ‘. From leylines to having alignments to the Moon, Sun, stars or other features in the landscape. 

My personal viewpoint is that we, as modern humans with our largely Cartesian / rationalist culture find it nigh near impossible to empathise with our ancestors interpretation of their world. 

But if we are able to become more meditative and ‘ open ‘ then I believe glimpses can be felt or seen from an energetic perspective. 
The flint built walls of the ruined church stand starkly within the henge. Originally sited here to portray the imposition of the new religion upon the ancient beliefs of the indigenous populace. But the henge within which it was constructed had witnessed and was imbued with thousands of years of pagan supplication.
Sitting on a large cold, granite stone just below the medieval church’s tower I observed the dusk descend around me. The last deep amber rays of sunlight cast long shadows across the open landscape of fields, hedges and copses. A slight, ethereal mist hovered precariously over the grassland and the soft banks of the henge and barrow. As if to suggest the gentle rising of past spirits into the silence and security of the evening. Unseen and uninterrupted, they were again free to roam their home land as they once did. 

I could hear the distant hoofbeats of arriving horsemen from an ancient past.

I could hear the long gone church bells toll their last before Nature silenced them for eternity. 
It was as if time had stood still. 

Miniscule stars appeared overhead piercing the blackening velvet of the night sky. 

An overwhelming sense of stillness enveloped the area in and around the henge. 

The intensity of the silence penetrated my core. 

Every animal in the vicinity had seemingly held its breath as if in anticipation. 
My usual human senses no longer individually provided separate feedback from the outside world. 

My physical self had become as one with the world around me, no boundary remained.

There was no longer a separate ‘ I ‘. 

In that singular awareness of non duality, the entire unity of the universe and all therein was laid out in an infinite vision of interconnectedness. 
The deceitful human experience of time was lain to rest with the realisation that all that ever was, is or will be,were there and forever present. The grey veils that had divided the past from the future were simply an illusion.

This place is an organic sancta of Gaia. 

A site of reverence and revelation. Enabling her to impart esoteric knowledge in a way that is timeless and inaccessible from any other source.

October

For me, October is the most energetically charged of months. It’s as if my mind, body and soul have come home to their original abode.

Sitting here on this ancient hilltop, my back leaning against one of the many gnarled yew trees that stand in groups around the site, I look out across the valley below.

A golden Autumnal dusk gradually cloaks the countryside around me, the cool chill of the evening air caresses my skin.

The pungent but aromatic smell of the cold damp earth permeating my lungs, taking me back to my childhood days of wonder and my natural immersion in Nature.

The gentle golden sunbeams shining softly through the small copses foliage, casting long shadows towards the summit of the hill.

A translucent mist rises from the river like a spectral memory of the mythical past. Reminding me of our race’s spiritual closeness to these rivulets of life, of offerings cast into their watery depths.

The leaves slowly changing hue, producing a deep yellow and vermillion backdrop of foliage, rich in colour and texture.
No other month seems to suggest so strongly the inherent cycles of Nature. The continuous movement of the seasons as the year winds down, from the yang of Spring and Summer to the yin of Autumn and Winter are exemplified by the sensual changes in climate and flora.

There seems a stronger spiritual link to the past at this time. Of forgotten memories of previous lives of my ancestors. Times of hardship, of storing food for the Winter, of having to fortify their houses and selves against the oncoming frost and snow.

Rituals are performed, acknowledging our integral relationship with Nature herself. To again become intimately aware of our dependence and oneness with all there is and ever was.
Returning from my reverie, I become aware that night is fast approaching. A distinct, almost physical coldness has arisen with the rising mist. As I return home, looking behind me I can see the encroaching darkness combining with the mist to create a crystal ball like visual portal to the past. I imagine that I can see the spectral souls of long dead citizens busying themselves with preparations for a forthcoming feast. It would be a night of flickering campfires, an almost tangible smell of roast meat fills the air, a chorus of excited, barely hushed voices emanate from the camp.

The often flimsy, gossamer margins between the past, present and future worlds dissipate further to produce moments of a unified sensuality of spirit, of complete oneness.
I leave them to continue to eternally re-enact their celebrations in peace.

Genius Loci…………?

I began my trek to my destination. Heavy, grey clouds were gathering overhead as if to accentuate the importance of my visit by preventing the rays of sunlight detracting from my purpose. Through muddy fields and over rickety stiles I walked, the only hint that this path had been used for hundreds of years being a well worn path and the sense of joining the spirits of the many others who had also took part in the short journey from the small village over the millennia. 
Soon the route ( as is often the case when visiting ancient sacred sites) narrows and I am surrounded on either side by overhanging bushes and tree branches creating a natural aisle for reverential processions to proceed. Light birdsong and the soft, gentle trickling of water are the only sounds to be heard, creating a kind of Natures choir as I move closer to my goal .

The path widens a little but I am still enclosed in the seemingly welcoming and protective undergrowth flourishing around the well, as if to provide privacy and promote a secular spiritual intimacy to the occasion. 
The Cloutie tree in front of the well is festooned with colourful adornments, mostly ragged pieces of cloth left by visitors who await their degradation in order to relieve whatsoever malaise afflicts them. I can almost hear silent and sometime desperate prayers from those who have sought relief here. Many, many tears over the years have fallen from many cheeks upon this spot, their sorrow and entreaties forever mixed with the sparkling translucent waters of the spring. 
Direct access to the well is seemingly complicated by a mixture of deep bog and gnarled branches as if put there to deter only the most determined soul. 

Following the spring water further alongside the path, the stream enters a roofless ancient chapel. It’s grey corbelled walls forming a rough square with an entrance from the north. On entering the chapel I can feel the reverence and the sanctity that the site has been endowed with over the years. The barely tangible energies of the souls of previous supplicants frequent here, forever paying homage to this most holy of Nature’s shrines. The lack of a roof means anyone knelt in prayer in front of the altar offers up their beseechments and adoration to the blossoming flora and the barely visible sky amongst the treetops. As I stand, head bowed in front of the rough hewn granite altar littered with offerings of flowers and coins, I hear the soft, gentle waters of the spring empty into a crude font behind me. This accentuates further the feelings of ambience and serenity that epitomises my visit. 

Kneeling in supplication in front of the altar it seems apparent that the stone and earth beneath me have witnessed much worship here, mostly to Mother Nature in her various guises as the sanctum has almost become as one with the scrub of the grove. An overwhelming sense of peace and oneness with nature penetrates my core, merging seamlessly with my physical self. If this were to become my final resting place, this sancta of Gaia, there would no need for belief in an afterlife or thought to what happens at life’s end. For I am sure I would rest blissfully for eternity in this very spot.