Monthly Archives: June 2018

The Rock of Brentor…

*

‘…A church, full bleak, and weather beaten, all alone, as it were forsaken…’

*

“St Michael de Rupe?”

“St Michael the Rock.”

“I thought St Peter was supposed to be the ‘Rock’?”

*

*

“The rock referred to here, is volcanic.”

“Nice.”

*

*

“Though you would never know it now…”

*

*

“…The church-tower can still serve as a beacon.”

*

*

“Curioser and curioser…”

“Wait till we get inside, Alice.”

*

 

 

 

Weathering?…

*

If Giants…

*

*

Could construct…

*

*

Balance-Stones…

*

*

They would look a little like this…

*

*

And for those still in need of perspective…

*

*

‘TAKE A LOOK AT THESE HANDS’…

If these stone structures are produced by ‘nature’s hand’,

it may be salutory to consider ‘modern man’s hand’ in contrast,

which has, by quarrying, made a ‘bit of a mess’ of what was once

a ‘hill-fort’ possessing as much beauty as that of Carn les Boel or Carl Wark.

*

 

 

Weather!…

*

Getting to the Hurlers proved easy enough…

*

*

Clustered, as they were, around the extremities of Bodmin Moor…

*

*

But the weather closed in…

*

*

Almost as soon as we set foot to turf…

*

*

Which made the prospect of a climb up to the Cheesewring, and Stowe’s Pound, a decidely unlikely event…

*

*

We walked as far as we could before caution proved the better part of valour…

*

*

And then, the sun came out…

*

*

Somebody, somewhere, muttered something about stones and humour.

Citadel of the Sun II…

*

… We had been at the mercy of the tides before.

At Lindisfarne we were stranded on the ‘island’ for eight hours.

This time we were ‘stranded’ on the mainland…

There is something about causewayed isles that speaks to the soul.

*

*

We wonder why anyone would choose to sail over.

Our fellow ‘pilgrims’ have, for the most part, dressed for the sun and they set off over the causeway before the tide has fully receded.

They appear largely unaware of the ‘why’ of their presence there…

*

*

So we watch the birds instead.

*

*

The ‘line’ does not pass through the castle.

*

Citadel of the Sun…

*

‘There is a certain atmosphere about the place,

an echo of a life that is hidden deep in the recesses of the mind.’

*

“Brown Sign!”

The Green Goddess lurched violently as she swung around the almost impossible corner, before her steady growl returned, and then a roar of satisfaction as she contemplated yet another ‘worm-hole’ through the space-time continuum…

“What is Carn Euny anyway?”

“It’s a prehistoric village.”

Forthe first time that day the mist which had descended with our arrival began to show signs of lifting.

And beyond it, the sun…

*

*

It was hard to believe that anyone else could have found the place but in amongst the well positioned stones and wild grasses, a lone baseball cap bobbed.

*

*

Patience can be key but when patience fails a well turned chant usually does the trick.

We did have a date with the tides to consider, after-all…

*

*

“And the Fogou?”

“Is up for grabs.”

“Grain storage?”

Snort

“Last line of defence?”

Snort again.

“I’d say this was a sweat lodge. Bring in hot stones. Pour on water…”

“…And journey to the Spirit World.”

“It still retains its air of sanctity.”

*

*

And just as we started to chant the sun shone in…

*

*

 

 

‘A very special place’…

*

The Eskimo has over fifty words for snow…

*

Carn les Boel, is marked on the map as a hill-fort but it is very different from the two ‘hill-forts’ we had just encountered on our Workshop…

It is difficult to imagine anyone living here, although, doubtless a presence would, in former times have been maintained.

*

*

The stones, predominantly erratic, have been judiciously supplemented, and in case we had arrrived with eyes wide shut the avian populations seemed keen to call our attention to the ‘salient points’…

*

*

These days we do not have to be told twice…

*

*

Although, ‘The Dragon’s Breath’ was proving restrictive…

*

*

Our request for clarity was graciously accepted…

*

*

Albeit briefly…

*

*

And why is Carn les Boel so special?

*

*

It is a place where Dragon Energies meet the sea…

 

 

 

Traced by Angels…

*

‘Of wheel-tracks there were none just strange,

narrow paths across the moorland.’

*

*

With the dust well settled over the Living Land Workshop, and already two days into our vacation, we found ourselves in search of a map.

A big map.

One which showed in greater detail the ways and by-ways of Old Cornwall.

*

*

We had done well that first day, discovering a goodly number of the most obvious and easily accessible sites…

But this was going to need precision.

*

*

We had a name.

We had a description.

We even had a picture, and now, we had a good map.

We could not fail, could we?

*

*

 

The Dance of Fire and Water III…

‘…As all things are discovered by one,

alone through contemplation,

so all things are born from this one,

alone by permutation…

*

*

… Its father is the Sun,

its mother is the Moon,

the Wind bears it in its belly,

the Earth nurtures it in its heart…’

The Emerald Tablet