The crystal dragon mountain is an enchanted place as you’ll have realised if you’ve been following these blogs. A liminal space where the veil between the worlds is thin. Past, present and future come face to face. Timeframes hang stacked in the air like pictures in a gallery. Ghostly figures lurk in hidden corners. Energies dance: a stately gavotte or a lively polka. It depends where you stand. ‘High’ celebrates ‘low’ and does not judge. Destruction may be all around but new life flowers and moves on. Lush and vibrant meets cold and dead but not yet gone and transmutes once more. The cycle of the year. It’s the perfect example of time passing and yet not passing. The metaphysical grounding itself in the physical. And it’s not the only such portal. There are many in our world – and in our bodies but we’ll think about that another time. As usual at this time of year, which is just post my three score years and ten birthday, I’ve been ruminating about the impermanence and permanence of being. It seemed fitting to post this for the moment when the old year morphs into the new. Time to ask myself: what will I take with me, and what will I leave behind?
When we were at the mountain on Halloween we saw two figures sitting outside the mine. Dressed in the distinctive old Welsh costume. The man with a tall stovepipe hat, the woman in her black silk topper and chequered shawl. Only a slight shimmer and the glimpse of the wooden shack through them belied their presence in our reality. There are many such ghosts held in portals worldwide -and in our minds. The beliefs and mores that hold us stuck fast to the past, are we ready to let them go? To find common ground? New fertile soul for growth? I hope so, it’s about time.
Three wise women – and a Victorian husband. Welsh archive photos.
It reminded me of Rudyard Kipling’s poem, written in 1910, The Way Through the Woods, said to have been written to commemorate the folk memory of a murder and the closing of a path where it had occurred, leaving only the ghostly memory and the rustling of a skirt behind.
They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath,
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.
Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate,
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few)
You will hear the beat of a horse’s feet
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods.
But there is no road through the woods.
The logging on the mountain is destroying the forest and churning up the pathways, obliterating some, opening up others. But it’s also taking out the gloomy conifers that were never native. Leaving the larch and the shining birches. Revealing space for new growth to emerge – and allowing the wonderful Golden Healer, Celtic Chevrons and ‘something other’ to come to our attention. We’d never have found them if the logging company hadn’t opened up the space and used the old mine tailings to build their road. Out of such destruction something beautiful emerges.
Destruction? Or an opportunity for new growth? c. Judy Hall
Rudyard Kipling was deeply interested in where the physical intersects with the metaphysical. And he would become even more so after his son was killed in the First World War. His correspondence with his friend Sir H. Rider Haggard reveals an abiding interest in other realities. The two shared many esoteric experiences. It was Haggard who wrote in his diary in 1924 while at Karnak Temple:
‘It is not difficult for the imagination to repeople those pillared halls and courts with the thousands of priests and priestesses who filled their sacred offices in them for uncounted generations.
It is impossible to refrain from wondering where these are today, and, if they live, with what feelings they look upon their desecrated fanes. Are they angry – or just contemptuous – having learned the truth and thereby acquired charity?’
Exactly what I always have thought! Especially when joining my old Egyptian priestess friend Terrie Birch in modern healing rituals. What knowledge have we lost along the way? Heka, Egyptian magic, was all about the manipulation of subtle energies – and timeframes. And travelling to the stars. Meeting the star beings. But have we really lost it? When Terrie and I work together, it instantly comes back. It’s always there, just beneath the surface. Shift your focus and you can see it.
Past, present and future intertwining. There really is no time. It’s an illusion we need to proceed with our lives in an orderly fashion. But do we need order? Or catalytic disorder perhaps? Step out of that illusion of orderly progression and anything can be achieved. Now. Go ‘back into the past’ and you can heal the ancestors or your own karmic past. Go ‘forward into the future’ and you can seed all you need to travel ‘back’ to your present and be reaped in the present moment. It’s an enticing thought. One that the crystals now revealing themselves wholeheartedly support.
This is Dobogoko in Hungary. The heart chakra of that country and some say of the world. Some time ago now we constructed a grid to strengthen that heart, especially as the major one at Glastonbury seemed to be lacking in vitality and needed support. Given what is happening in Europe right now, it seems fitting to put up the picture again and ask that healing, love and peace be sent wherever it is needed:
A drop of peace from everyone will create an ocean in no time.
Here’s wishing you a happy and abundant Solstice – and above all, a peaceful New Year for you, your loved and not-so-loved ones, and our world. Let’s leave the last word with Pooh:
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