The way in
Is the way out…
The way out
Is the way in…
In the way
Is the way.
…And the Wood-Stone started to glow,
White it was…
And I felt an impetus to take flight,
but only as far as the end of the passage…
Which is just as well, otherwise, I would have missed the golden glow now emanating from the chamber…
And all the ‘statuary firing up blue’,
as whatever it was lighting the chamber,
slowly made its way along the passage…
Passed through me…
Or around me…
And then out…
A short time later, still in the chamber, we found ourselves asking the question to which that had been the answer.
And if you are curious to know, how golden was the chamber?
It was Liquid-Sun.
Further vindication of our unscheduled return was granted upon re-entering the chamber.
The free standing stone and the facing stone, which were separated by space and shadow, were both now holding the light.
The light that some say would not have been original to the monument.
From behind, the standing stone still looks like wood…
Still a little perplexed by the experience the previous day at the ‘Chant-Eater’ we ran through the nine-fold chant and this time got some good effects.
The middle three seemed to resonate most favourably which, being the heart triad, would make a lot of sense here.
After which we re-made our dedication…
Our timing was beginning to appear propitious…
But then we noticed that the ground was turning red…
We had known for some time, courtesy of Rupert Soskin, that the resident stone of the inner chamber at Bryn Celli Ddu is part of a petrified tree trunk.
And once we had our eye in it became apparent that other ‘chunks’ of petrified wood had been used in the construction of this chambered tomb.
At least two, and almost certainly more, of the ‘entrance’ or indeed ‘exit’ stones and the lintel of the passage itself readily conformed to the strange specification.
This was very exciting, for while we may have been able to extrapolate a workable symbolism behind the use of such material for the stone of the inner chamber, this symbolism was, perhaps, not so readily applicable to the surrounds of the passage-way…
And was also, possibly, an indication of a more utilitarian function for these stones.
The mind… began… to boggle.
The thing is…
It is impossible to ‘do’ such sites in one visit.
In fact, it is not possible to ‘do’ such sites at all.
If anything, they ‘do’ you, if you allow them.
As we were about to learn…
The stone I was interested to get a closer look at is a, one would hope, carefully positioned, replica.
The original, carved stone, is now in a local museum for safe-keeping.
The orientation of the tomb is, according to the authorities, towards the midsummer sunrise, so time-wise, at least, we were half a year away.
But I think it is clear that something is going on here with sun and stone, especially as it becomes obvious that a second outlier in an adjacent field also lines up with the stone and ‘passage-way’…
All things which would have been missed had we not returned when we did, but the best was yet to come…
The first thing to remark, apart from the increased Avian Activity Quotient…
Was, the difference an hour makes.
Was it simply the movement of the sun?
The progress of the day…
Or had the site responded to our earlier visit?
Given our theories on the sensitivity of these sites…
It could well be either, or both.
One thing was certain…
We were seeing more…
And were about to see a lot more.
Wen and I are back on the road which leads past Bryn Celli Ddu…
We had to double-back to the hotel because someone called down ‘Cloud City’ before we left.
“Don’t you mean, someone forget their wash-bag?”
“Anyway, it was good to finally get to the Hill in a Dark Grove.”
“Pretty literal with their names aren’t they?”
“There is one thing that puzzles me, though…”
“…There were no trees.”
“Nor is a mound a hill, exactly.”
“And I didn’t get any shots of the stone at the back of the mound.”
“We’ll miss the museum completely if we go back.”
“We won’t be long and we’ll still make it to Beaumaris in time.”
Scryer of Time.
On sky weathered stone
our accidental tourist has stepped
through long horned, shaggy coated, cattle
to glean and ponder
the sun in rippled grain:
no shadow cast
from this bright interior’s sheen
the mountain top of yonder earth
Should an eagle become an egg
beyond that outer maelstrom
of troubled cloud
and return heather dusted
head space full
of truth’s sweet, fragrant lie
lipped to life’s cold scrutiny
in a fluid bowl of vision.
to ground and save us one and all:
Scryer of Time.