Timeless

On a lark I took a trip to the Maine Botanical Gardens and upon arriving immediately became a member.  Most of the day was spent walking, admiring, and making mental notes of species I would like to include in my personal gardens at home.

I wandered through theme gardens, woodlands spaces, ventured along paths lined twisted evergreens, wild blueberries and a plethora of ferns.  A crow's rant was the only sound that split the quiet; it's message: 'there's a human afoot.' 

Making my way downhill I discovered a path, beyond the manicured lawns and pampered roses, that meandered over a small stone bridge and down through a conifer forest.  A ribbon of water appeared and disappeared from view through the trees. After a few minutes I came to the end of this particular path and stood on the shore of the Back River which is a tidal channel approx 5 miles long.  My understanding is that this river connects with the Sheepscot River which travels along the west side of Barter's Island. 

Standing and gazing across the multi-faceted waves of sparkling light, I was aware of a lone seagull bobbing along the shoreline edge looking for a meal.  We were both enjoying the quiet.  The air was fresh and light, mixed with the fragrances of pine and sea water, a perfect scene and a delightful scent, at least to me.

Up to my left I noticed a clearing surrounded by cathedral pines. Large rocks, along with places to sit and a few standing stones were visible; something rested in the center like a boulder.  Curious I made my way up the gentle slope and realized upon arriving that the centerpiece was in fact a huge partially polished stone basin filled with water; its mirrored surface silently reflected images from the forest canopy; the space spread over different levels of meditative nooks nestled into the sloping landscape.  I felt invited to sit undisturbed.

The urge to remove my sandals upon entering the space was irresistible and I made my way quietly to one of the benches, sat, rested my hands in my lap and I closed my eyes.  Without any prompting my inner senses opened allowing the energy of the space to fill me. The atmosphere evoked surrender; the familiar 'opening of self' as one does in the presence of the Old Ones rested inside me.  Time passed; how much time didn't matter.   

Eventually I opened my eyes.  The feeling of reverence was palpable. I slowly stood and approached the basin. Looking across the surface of the water I allowed my gaze to penetrate the surface and rest on the bottom.  I imagined what it might feel like in another time or perhaps another place, to rest within the basin in the dead of night like this one, alone and naked, with only the pinprick of starlight reflected in the water around me, a warm summer breeze moving through the clearing, the river lapping a the shore below.  

Dipping my fingers into the tranquil pool I instinctively anointed my brow, my lips and heart.  The sensation I received was timeless.

Betwixt and Between

 

As I walk along the shore I'm aware of forces that have accumulated in varied levels of intensity just beneath the ground. I pause and using my senses I connect through my inner compass called my gut.  Utilizing earthly forces takes a competence which I have only attained through devoted practice, allowing intuition to become sharpened by time.  There are no short cuts in developing the technique, at least none that I have found personally. 

As an animist I understand the relationship between a physical object or location and its animaistic nature.  Because I relate to the world in this way my senses are acute and I have a deep respect for the forces present in most things.   I am not unique.  Many individuals have this ability.

When I come across energy that is flowing and abundant enough to be gathered I use a particular instrument to aid me in harnessing these forces. The process I use for finding such places of power is called mapping the grid.  Once located the atmosphere from which it emanates I refer to as the 'betwixt and between'.

In the area between land and water runs what is known as the telluric current. Pulsating at a lower and slower vibration due to the distance it has traveled it is markedly different from the energy I have experienced when walking among stone alignments at Carnac Brittany, Avebury England, the Cuillin Hills of Scotland or through the desert and red rock of Arizona.  That being said, the telluric currents here in Maine, are still viable.  

There are various names for the power within the land.  Many refer to it as the  serpentine path, earth energy, benker or ley lines, black streams or sprowl.  In the British Isles and Ireland power paths have been called Faery Paths and Holy Lines to God. The Greeks called them the Sacred Roads of Hermes, to the Chinese, who related them to the power of the earth dragon, this power had the ability to change the contours of the land.  Ley lines connect standing stone circles, ancient burial grounds and holy places strewn intact or in ruin across the landscape of the globe; it is little wonder that so many flock to these sites for healing and introspection.

Where the shore meets the sea is beloved to me.  I respect it in all its forms; calm, pensive or savage. There, where the trees are tethered only by grace to the rocky outreach, I willingly stand buffeted by the scent of soil and saline, a palpable and rich perfume.  Subtle and not-so-subtle forces dance between rock and sea foam, streaming and pulsating under the phases of the moon.  When gathered, it can be used to imbue objects, aid meditation, used in healing and ritual work.  Wisely coaxed and kneaded into prayer and invocation it is partnered to a given purpose by those who indulge in this kind of magic. 

Instinct and humility are the attitudes beneficial when dealing and working with chthonic currents.  Harnessed for benefit or destruction, ever coursing, pooling, waiting, never still, it resides where the twilight dwells and the old ones whisper.

"Bright
Fire-tongued
Serpent of the Land
Coiled
Waiting...

Movements felt in blood and bone
Awake thy breath
and by thy power
Come!"

Sea Sprowl

The storm's fingers reach for the coast where we live.  The amount of energy that is building is beyond palpable.  Standing on the ocean's bank, salted spray caught in a driving wind lashes rock, sand and bracken.  In a few short hours that will change to so much more.  Lingering long is not an option.

 

A deep guttural moan created by breaking wave and ragged wind upon this rugged shoreline sounds like a wind-roarer whirled by the hand of an ancient god. Leaves are torn from slender branch and twisted twig that belonged to the weather beaten trees I stand amongst for companionship and dwindling shelter.

 Energy like this reminds me what it means to be a practitioner of the old ways. I never question the push and pull of a storm's pulse. I've learned to be prepared, as best one can.

Upon returning home, I hear the wail of the wind trying to find a 'way in'. It's voice, perhpas that of a lonely soul who once knew shelter such as mine.

A cup of tea, cat in lap, and candles at the ready are my only plans just now.