‘While-ever you’re attached to things,
You’ll never understand not-things…’
Count Jack Black
‘A midsummer vision awaits all those with hearts of innocence and childlike curiosity.’ So says the Storyteller perched on the Tree of Wisdom. He waves a hand, pours dreams and sweet words for all to partake of. ‘Will you not sit awhile and hear my tales?’ he says, a twinkle in his eye and smile so mysterious.
Long ago when the world was young and full of magic, the Sleepers in the Land descended, into heart of earth and rock. Sacred Ancestral Guardians and teller of truths were they, watching and protecting. Many came before and many after. You hear their voices carried on wind and song, if they so choose to warn and reassure. Remember well of what I say, for a time will come when they will awake. Then beware, heed their words of warning.
Did I unsettle and shake your souls? See beyond fear filled halls…
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Reblogged from Alethea Kehas at Not Tomatoes:
On this day, one month ago, I suddenly declared to the friend I was soon to visit in London, “Wouldn’t it be cool if we found a crop circle?” It was one of those things that just popped into my head. I hadn’t been thinking about crop circles, which is a bit surprising, as I’ll confess I’ve always wanted to see one, but suddenly I felt an almost desperate urge to find one on this particular trip that I was to leave for within a matter of hours…
Sue’s account of the circle can be found here. And I had promised her to write about my visit, and other happenings during the trip soon as well. I’ve only managed to get one post out though. I have kept myself very busy, so even though it’s now my bedtime and I have an…
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“And what did St Just do?”
“Well, apart from displaying his true colours,
and confirming the link between the stonework
of ancient and less ancient sacred sites,
he also reminded us why we’re here.”
“That’s the church of St Just, what did the real St Just do?”
“Oh, pretty much the same sort of thing, I expect.”
Although the hexagram was the main ‘pattern in the landscape’ that we had come to investigate… with a little help from the Giant on the hillside… there was another pattern that had been intriguing our companions… that of the crop circle that had recently appeared on the hills opposite the Giant.
We had no luck in finding it with the scant information we had that morning, but the girls had been doing some research of their own, and it was no surprise when they bounded into the pub, looking as pleased as punch.
Crop circle below Hackpen Hill, Avebury
Trawling the internet for pictures and asking the locals, they had, between them, located the circle and two of them had gone in search of it on the ground. They had found the field in which the crop circle had gone down but had been unable to find anywhere…
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Firstly, cover it with the Dragon’s Breath…
Secondly, consign it to a relatively late historical period…
Thirdly, invent for it a plausible name…
“What is a miracle play, anyway?”
“It’s a medieval drama based on episodes from the life of a saint.”
“What, like St Just?”
“Yes, just like St Just, Hermit and Martyr.” …
On our research visit to Dorset, we had really had to look for the Church of St Mary the Virgin at Hermitage. We had driven up and down the lanes for ages, before finally spotting a sign that led behind the village green and into the gardens of a cottage. We could see the church… a tiny, single-cell building, but felt a little awkward invading someone’s garden to get to it. Apparently though, that was the path to the church.
One of the reasons we had been unable to locate the church originally was the lack of a tower. Not only had this made our quest a little more difficult, it had also obliterated our theory about the tall towers and their significance within this six-pointed landscape in the shadow of a priapic giant. Luckily, however, a bit of digging soon reassured us on that point at least.
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Not only did our last hotel
fail to provide any windows, to speak of, in our room,
it also failed to provide us with a breakfast…
Which is just as well, really,
for we were up, and off, and away
long before breakfast would ordinarily
ever have been dreamed of…
However, by nine bells one might be forgiven
for expecting the local sea-front eateries to be offering
something in the way of refreshment?
So, we headed for St Just…
Our penultimate church was in Batcombe… these days a small and straggling hamlet, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. There has been a church on the site of St Mary Magdalene for nigh a thousand years and very possibly more. It stands in a green valley, far from enough people to make a congregation seem barely feasible.
The church boasts a tower taller, in proportion to the rest of the single-celled building, than many grander churches we have seen. Indeed, the first impression you get when you arrive is of the height of the tower and the isolated beauty in which it stands.
The church is a simple one, with the main entrance still being through the base of the fifteenth century tower, and leading to a nave and chancel. It is a long, narrow building and lacks both ornamentation and stained glass. It is vaguely unkempt, appears almost abandoned……
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