“In the programme…” said the man wearing a green-kilt,
“…the portal-stones lead to another time.”
“He’s referring to a tele-vision programme,” said Wen, quietly.
“And what of the non-tele-visual world?”
“There isn’t one.”
The weather was beginning to regain its composure, but it was still being temperamental enough to lustrate the companions exploring the mysteries of an ancient landscape. Our next site was not far distant and it was not long before we gathered at the entrance to Cullerlie Stone Circle, the Standing Stones of Echt. We were greeted by the guardian collie, who was evidently torn between the innate need to herd the wandering group of humans and the sure and certain olfactory knowledge that at least half of them had treats in their pockets and the hope that a fair percentage could be induced to throw sticks.
Even so, there was a ‘rightness’ about his presence as he crouched, poised, between us and the stones. About the only thing that did feel right. And that was odd. The wide, open valley gives clear views for miles, broken only by the trees…
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There are times, I think, when ritual is both too much and not enough. Anyone who practises will probably understand what I mean. The ‘constraints’ of ritual pattern and structure are, on occasion, insufficient to meet the needs of the spirit, and instead one feels a deep and overwhelming need for something simpler…more spontaneous. This past equinox was just one of those occasions.
After yet another tiring day of extreme work-related stress and upset I went for my usual chill out time in the garden with a brew. I found a large stone in the garden which I sat holding and turning over and over in my hand whilst watching the sun begin His western decent. I started to reflect on the week, the month, the season, the year and all those things which have been, the things I’ve not achieved, the reasons why I haven’t achieved them, the things…
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