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I woke up with the impulse to get out of London. I was supposed to have lunch with someone I met through a community event a few days before, but I knew that I had to go. So I invited him. We planned to travel to the West coast of England in a half hour, and we were out the door to pick up a rental car in one.
I mentioned Stonehenge but wasn’t attached to going there. A friend from Tamera who is from England sent other recommendations that seemed much more appealing and less tourist-trappy. But my new friend Andrew was convinced that we go to Stonehenge, and so I obliged.
We arrived at 5pm and it felt like it was already the middle of the night. We parked on the other side of the highway that passes Stonehenge and daringly played frogger to make the cross. I found myself thinking that I find trust an important aspect to survival as he pulled me across the highway.
We passed the locked entrance and anticipated jumping the fence but the barbwire was prohibitive. So we kept walking and found what he called a “kissing gate”- traditionally whoever crosses first turns around to kiss the next who wishes to pass over. I thought he was bullshitting me but was happy to kiss him anyway. I quickly learned to pass the gates first - and in the next 48 hours we would traverse a few.
As we walked up to the stones I noticed a light and before I could say, “I think there is a guard” I had been pulled down to the ground. I started to complain about capitalism and my irritation that a sacred site cost money and was closed off in such a way. He put his hand over my mouth as the light shone in our direction and I quickly covered my head with my hood. I was grateful that I had a black coat so I could hide in the shadows.
So instead of going up to the stones, which Andrew was inspired to do, just for a quick chat and possible run around the old watchman, I kept us there and we settled into a meditation to greet the stones and the spirits of the place. But as soon as I started noticing my breath a group of young men approached the stones without much concern and were quickly turned around - “This site is closed, get on with it!” he shouted.
So we stayed there, watching the watch man, until my winter coat was no longer sufficient for a lack of movement in the countryside, in an open and wet field. So we left.
Back to the car, safely across the highway, we proceeded to Glastonbury.
Andrew asked me if I wanted to go somewhere special, and of course - on a spontaneous adventure - any intuitive turn is welcome…
And we arrive to the Chalice Well.
He had not heard anything about my relationship with water, with the wells (as mentioned in previous posts and is a major reason for my trip to the British Isles).
I went up to the gate of The White Spring of Glastonbury and tears flooded my face as I listened to the sound of water rising out of the earth and reverberating through this ancient Glastonbury temple. After spending two weeks in London, surrounded by city, it was a huge reprieve. Later on, we found out from a local lad that it used to be a cafe, a rave scene, and what have you, and recently has returned to its pagan roots and is more protected and has caretakers. As it should be, I thought when hearing how it had been used before.
“The two springs at Glastonbury, less than 100 feet apart from each other at the foot of the Tor, come from two different streams with completely different mineral content.
One is the Red Spring, or the Mary Spring, feminine vibration and full of iron deposits. The other is the Michael Spring, or the White Spring, masculine vibration and is full of calcium deposits.”
These wells are known to preside on Ley lines, spiritually significant geographic orientations where particular energy manifests. Churches and other sacred places are assumed to be placed on Ley lines which helps connect to the spiritual realm and manifest christ energy. Here in Glastonbury, these springs, along with the “Tor” are on intersecting lines, making it an “otherworld” portal and spiritually significant.
So after we visited the wells and filled up our water bottles, we proceeded to the Tor, a short drive up the same road and parked. The walk up the hill to the Tor was dark, windy, and slippery. With graveled steps and sheep that appear out of no where like spirits, we paused a minute in remembering this as an ancient place, where people from all over make pilgrimages to, and that it was daring we visit it at such a dark hour. We prayed to the spirits and the ancestors to let us pass for a ritual, for safety, and welcome. To abate any fear of the dark or spirits that might arise, I trusted that I was welcome as I was guided here not on my own but intuitively by my new friend as the beginning of my travels to ancient sites in the British Isles. A call of the ancestors answered. Here I am, I said. Please, welcome me.
And so we went.
Upon arrival to the Tor, I stood in the middle of the tower, and opened my arms letting the wind take my breath away. I felt as if it would push me out and down the hill but I stood my ground and gave thanks for the wind’s strong presence greeting me. I took it as a sign of welcome. I went out of the tower to find Andrew near a cylinder that describe the Ley lines, and different areas and places that the Tor is connected to. I looked ahead, and his gaze followed and said, “wow, those are new stones.” I said “no, they are spirits, Sheep spirits.”
With confidence he rebutted, “no, they are definitely stones." And I badgered back, “no, they are definitely sheep” and finally one of them moved and started pissing so loudly it drowned out our own laughter.
Stones, Sheep, Spirits. It is hard to tell in the dark of such a magical place. They could have been anything.
We meditated and had a clearing ritual, and proceeded to Bristol where we stayed the night with a friend from Tamera.
I woke up the next morning from a dream where I was crawling underneath the grave of my mother’s parents, as the next in line to go on the journey. In the dream, I felt as if I always had known that I would have to go and was not particularly excited about it, yet prepared for it. So I began my journey to the otherworld.
I take this as a sign that I have begun the journey that I was called here to be on a month or so ago during my vision time in Tamera. To visit the ancient places of the lands of my ancestors, to reconnect, and know that my spirit has roots as does my body.
As a descendent of European settlers on Turtle Island, I am always with the question of where do I really belong? Is it the place of my ancestors roots? Or is it here in this place my body was born?
Upon my wandering in the Stanton Drew Stone Circle, I landed at a stone and received a semblance of an answer.
Just like the Stones I have a place and a purpose. That I can stand tall where I am placed and still ask the uncomfortable questions - but I am learning that I don’t have to ever question my belonging on this planet, for I am just a human after all, here for a reason with a life to live.