On the surface it may seem
Like a twisted mixed up dream
A dialogue of Soul and Self
My Soul: Why should the imagination of a man
Long past his prime remember things that are
Emblematical of love and war?
Think of ancestral night that can,
If but imagination scorn the earth
And intellect its wandering
To this and that and t’other thing,
Deliver from the crime of death and birth…
My Self: I am content to follow to its source
Every event in action or in thought;
Measure the lot; forgive myself the lot!
When such as I cast out remorse
So great a sweetness flows into the breast
We must laugh and we must sing,
We are blest by everything,
Everything we look upon is blest.
I’ve just been in Belfast for an ancestral and karmic healing workshop. It took place in the vibrant Townsend Business Centre, a non-denominational space in the Falls Road created for artists and artisans, local businesses, community workers and those in need of help. As their website explains:
In 1983, a small number of business people were invited by Bishop Cathal Daly and Presbyterian Moderator John Dunlop to consider the possibility of transforming a near derelict industrial estate in Townsend Street, Belfast into a community based business. This site could, in turn accommodate businesses which then could employ local people in a politically neutral environment.
The idea was to use economic development as a means of increasing the social and political stability of the Townsend Street district which at that time continued to be subject to daily disturbances sometimes on a major scale involving firearms, petrol bombs and much worse!
The venture has been hugely successful and this was my second workshop in this rather special space. With typical wry Irish humour, the first time I was there one of the directors told me about an interview he’d just given to the local media. Having spent quite a time explaining the non-denominational, non-political ethos of the place, he was stunned to be asked by the reporter, ‘Well, exactly how many Catholics and how many Protestants do you have here then?’ His answer? “I don’t know.” Which is exactly how it should be if there is to be ancestral healing and peace in our time.
From this: Divis Street/Townsend Street Junction 1970
To today. Yes, those are daffodils the guy is holding. An enterprise image replaces the old sectarian conflict-based murals still to be seen in some places around Belfast.
One thing you can say for Ireland, you certainly see some sights as well as the sites. If you look closely at the wide photo that starts this blog, you’ll just be able to see a guy’s bum by the pedestrian exit. He had held that pose for ages, and then went on to put his arms in the air. Intrigued, as we thought he was doing yoga, Janice (organiser Gillian’s mum) went out to speak to him. It turned out he came from ‘foreign parts’ and didn’t speak much English – or Irish for that matter. But when Janice gave him a piece of Celtic Golden Healer Quartz to take home, he happily put it in his pocket. We were working with the Celtic Healer over the weekend. One of its stated aims is to go around the world to repair the meridian grid for earth healing but it works on our inner landscape too. And the Celtic White Chevron assists in pulling out traumatic genetic memory and reconfiguring the ‘junk DNA’ so pieces of each were gifted to the participants and also placed along the base of the peace wall.
No, that’s not an original Banksy although fake Banksys did appear during an exhibition of street art. Perhaps he’d better get over there and start painting. I’m sure he’d produce something apt.
Just after our foreign friend left, a rather swish car pulled up. Out got a nun in a brown habit. She opened the door to let a dog out and walked it around the peace garden that has been created beside the wall. When the dog had had a dump, back in the car they both got. People on the workshop were affronted that she didn’t pick up its leavings. I was more astonished that she had driven there for that purpose in the first place. It is the Catholic side of the wall and, with the peace gate locked at the weekend, a dead-end that goes nowhere. Didn’t she realise that she was, literally, crapping on her own doorstep? I have a digital camera that doesn’t have an eye-piece just a ‘viewing screen’. The sun blotted out the picture I tried to take. Perhaps just as well. It was so symbolic of what we were there for. A wave of light and love went out to her from the group. I’ve now heard from one of the centre’s directors that it’s a regular thing. It will be interesting to see if she continues now that the healing work has been done there. Maybe she’ll find some respect and forgiveness in her heart? We can only hope so.
A picture I really would have liked to taken was of the guy who was trundling a machine apparently painting the central white line of a busy dual carriageway. No wet paint though. Was he just out for a Sunday stroll? Was the machine keeping him upright. ‘In England we’d have closed the road for health and safety’, I said to Gillian. ‘Oh, in Ireland we just drive around them,’ she replied.
But I did get the wonderful horsebox in front of us (read the number plate), and, serendipitously, the sign that continued our shovelling theme.
Having cleared all the appropriate chakras and visited our Akashic Records to reconfigure the karmic blueprint, we used the ancestral tree healing layout. Taking healing, unconditional love and forgiveness way back into the past and sending it out into the future. Ancestralite, the Celtic Healers, Ruby in Zoisite, a delicious Black Amethyst record keeper I’d just acquired (thank you Paul!), and other appropriate crystals were directed by the Dumortierite Dragon who insists on being called ‘Dum’ even though he is anything but. We were working on expanding the space in and around our cells, to make room for energetic changes in the ‘junk DNA’ – I’ve written about this in a previous blog and am now incorporating it into another Crystal Prescriptions that should be off to the publisher soon. If you want to know more, there are several workshops on the topic coming up, just take a look at the workshops page on my website.
Rain is also very difficult to film, particularly in Ireland because it’s quite fine, so fine that the Irish don’t even acknowledge that it exists.
(British Movie Director Alan Parker)
Then, workshop over, it was time for some sightseeing before I returned home. We had intended to go up into the Mourne Mountains. But, as seems to so often happen when earth-healing is needed, the land was being softly cleansed by a downpour. Heads shrouded in dragon’s breath, the Mournes had become the misty mountains.
But we were told we needed to work on water beneath the Mournes. The Bloody Bridge River flows down between Slieve Donard and Chimney Rock Mountain, meeting the sea south of Newcastle. The path that runs alongside the river is part of an old smugglers’ route, the Brandy Pad. So, off we went to Newcastle and ‘the Bloody Bridge’ – which was to act as a soul-release portal for all the souls lost in war, conflict and massacres in that land.
It is not known where exactly the name ‘Bloody Bridge’ comes from, although it is thought that it may derive from a massacre that occurred in the area in 1641. It is said that bodies where thrown over the bridge and into the river, tainting it red with blood. The area surrounding the Bloody Bridge is eerily beautiful and extremely popular with walkers and backpackers as a gateway into the Mournes.
I had with me the triangular piece of Celtic Golden Healer from the ancestral tree, with its matrix granite base, and a Flint ‘peace rose’ from off the Dorset Cursus. So into the rebirth cauldron they went, just below the bridge, with the intention of opening a portal so that souls could be released and peace enter into the land.
On the way back from the bridge I found this beautiful heart-of-nature with its delicate violets. Rocks from alongside it are now in the keeping of my dragon brood:
A white violet meant “innocence” while a purple violet would symbolize that the giver’s “thoughts were occupied with love” about the recipient.
The Language of Flowers
After which we had an excellent gluten-free fish and chip lunch in a pub overlooking the restless grey-green waters of Newcastle Bay. What James Joyce called “The sea, the snotgreen sea, the scrotumtightening sea.” (Ulysses). I thoroughly commend both the site and the music played, taking me straight back to the 50s and 60s. My era! There’s nothing like an open fire and Great Balls of Fire on a freezing cold damp day.
As I flew out of Belfast City, which has to be one of the most civilised airports in the world, I couldn’t help thinking of those great characters who so sent up the Irish way of life and made my sides ache with laughter. Politically incorrect in the very best of ways. Humour is a great healer. Who will ever forget a bunch of priests crawling around a lingerie department?
Father Ted: ‘It’s not as if everyone’s going to go off and join some mad religious cult just because we go off for a picnic for a couple of hours.’
Father Dougal: ‘God, Ted, I heard about those cults. Everyone dressing in black and saying our Lord’s gonna come back and judge us all!’
Father Ted: ‘No… No, Dougal, that’s us. That’s Catholicism.’
But back to Belfast, do add your healing thoughts to ours.
As I drove home from the airport in the dusky wind and rain, Denny Laine sang ‘Misty Mountains’ from his Reborn album, one of my favourite travelling companions. No, not the Hobbit song, this one goes further back. But I will quote you a little piece from the Hobbit song as it seems so relevant to our weekend. Part of our karmic healing was to find the gifts of the past and seed them out into the future to be reclaimed by generations to come:
Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away, ere break of day,
To claim our long-forgotten gold.
And I’ll leave you with this, which I discovered on Denny Laine’s website.
Below the Waterline
True or false right or wrong
A beating heart still going strong
The memory is all we have
Sometimes we cry and then we laugh
And far below the waterline
Out of sight of prying eyes
We see the world is doing fine
Without the need of a disguise
On the surface it may seem
Like a twisted mixed up dream
And words can’t say the things we mean
So look below the waterline
Who would know and who can say
We can’t go back to yesterday
We had to turn our lives around
Bury the past beneath the ground
And just below the waterline
Our reflections go floating by
Waiting there for the sun to shine
Through the clouds in the sky
Did we make it to the shore
Or sink down to the ocean floor
Were we lost for evermore
Far below the waterline
We only see the mountain top
But just like time it doesn’t stop
Beneath the waves it goes for miles
Beyond our tears hiding our smiles
Down below the waterline
Depending on how deep we dive
Although it may be hard to find
What we had is still alive
Some might say it makes no sense
Revisiting our innocence
I put it down to experience
To stay below the waterline
Win or lose sink or swim
That changing tide keeps rolling in
Where does it end or begin
Down below the waterline
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