Hello Earth... Hello Earth...
Sep. 21st, 2011 09:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cedar_groveFrom The Book of Awakening: Having the Life You Want by Being Present to the Life You Have.
The wind grew stronger, whipping in the little holes where native spirits lived, and they began to sing beneath the wind, and I thought of Carl Jung confessing that only in terms of the centuries did his life have meaning, I realized that everyone who ever sought the truth of spirit has lived like this, looking out from their dark hallowed cave into the majesty of all there is.
There is nothing more... powerful to me, more moving than ancient sites, especially when visited at hours outside the norm. It brings to me a connection with Earth that I sorely miss... that used to be a part of me – still is, but deeply buried somewhere.
I've visited many sites in England at such times, hours of the day the sites were technically closed... slept at the foot of Glastonbury Tor many a time... Tintagel... Arbor Low – my Dragon-knight site... Avebury... Silbury Hill, where I was scared to death by a pheasant... the Rollrite Stones... Wayland Smithy....
Now there was a site... it's actually a long barrow, not a smithy at all, but the feelings, the sense of awe in the very air around the site was something special. The kind of place where you walk a step or two and feel the tingling in every pore of your skin and all your hair stands on end... There's power there that has been lost in so many other sites.
So much has been lost.
I was recently driving back talking to Mir – I think it must have been when we were coming back from Atlanta, and I started talking about this loss, this... lack of feeling in the people, the lack of connection with our sacred sites, and I started crying... it was as if a great sadness had swept over me.
In the days since, I've realised my own loss too, of these things, and I miss them, and of the connection I have with a guide that used to visit me often – frequently, but who is currently so hidden from me that he will not even allow me to remember his name. And I feel a sense of urgency that I do.
I need to find us again, I need to find that sense of place... I feel a little but like Will in Susan Cooper's children's novel, The Dark is Rising and my mind and thoughts and memories are turning to people that once held places of importance in my psyche... friends... fellow pagans... even acquaintances...
Just what is going on?
I thought I could become wise, but it is much
beyond me. Far away is all that has come into
being and very, very deep. Who can find it?
--Ecclesiastes, 7:24-25
The wind grew stronger, whipping in the little holes where native spirits lived, and they began to sing beneath the wind, and I thought of Carl Jung confessing that only in terms of the centuries did his life have meaning, I realized that everyone who ever sought the truth of spirit has lived like this, looking out from their dark hallowed cave into the majesty of all there is.
There is nothing more... powerful to me, more moving than ancient sites, especially when visited at hours outside the norm. It brings to me a connection with Earth that I sorely miss... that used to be a part of me – still is, but deeply buried somewhere.
I've visited many sites in England at such times, hours of the day the sites were technically closed... slept at the foot of Glastonbury Tor many a time... Tintagel... Arbor Low – my Dragon-knight site... Avebury... Silbury Hill, where I was scared to death by a pheasant... the Rollrite Stones... Wayland Smithy....
Now there was a site... it's actually a long barrow, not a smithy at all, but the feelings, the sense of awe in the very air around the site was something special. The kind of place where you walk a step or two and feel the tingling in every pore of your skin and all your hair stands on end... There's power there that has been lost in so many other sites.
So much has been lost.
I was recently driving back talking to Mir – I think it must have been when we were coming back from Atlanta, and I started talking about this loss, this... lack of feeling in the people, the lack of connection with our sacred sites, and I started crying... it was as if a great sadness had swept over me.
In the days since, I've realised my own loss too, of these things, and I miss them, and of the connection I have with a guide that used to visit me often – frequently, but who is currently so hidden from me that he will not even allow me to remember his name. And I feel a sense of urgency that I do.
I need to find us again, I need to find that sense of place... I feel a little but like Will in Susan Cooper's children's novel, The Dark is Rising and my mind and thoughts and memories are turning to people that once held places of importance in my psyche... friends... fellow pagans... even acquaintances...
Just what is going on?
