Dear Soul Beings,
A photograph from a year ago last summer flashes up before me on Facebook. It’s from our UK trip. I am embracing the ancestral spirits lodged in one of the Megalith Standing Stones at Avebury.
Avebury is many things, but it is especially known as a landmark of the Goddess. In 1995, I had been reading about this sacred site in a book called, Crossing to Avalonby Jean Shinoda Bolen. She writes about her mid-life pilgrimage to several of these sacred sites and her whole journey struck a chord with me. I had lost both of my parents a few years back and by 1995 I had started to gain some perspective on their deaths. It was time to explore who I was, where I came from and to connect more deeply with my spiritual self. I was still in therapy, a somewhat unconventional therapy. In the world of trance and meditation I experienced visions that were transformational and I knew there was more to life than met the eye. I knew that my incarnation was larger than being simply the eldest daughter of my parents. At the time, I was drawn to books like Sea Priestess by Dion Fortune, as well as The Chalice and the Blade and, of course, The Mists of Avalon. Ancestral England was beckoning me.
It so happened that at that time, I was working at Ten Thousand Waves as a massage therapist, as well as working as a doula (labor coach) and studying aromatherapy independently. In my research, the best courses on essential oils were offered in the UK. I looked into getting a grant to study. The pull to travel there was strong.
So it was no coincidence, while working, that I see this man sitting on the bench in the lobby at Ten Thousand Waves. He has a pleasant face and dazzling blue eyes.
“Here’s your client,” the girl behind the desk says.
He smiles and with a distinctly British accent, says hello.
I take him to the room, lay him face down and cover him with a sheet. Clary Sage and Lavender oils go into the massage blend and I spread my hands over his back.
“While I was hiking I heard a voice telling me to go to The Waves,” he says.
I keep him face down, massaging his spine, his scalp, his long muscled arms, all the while spinning the conversation.
“Where were you hiking?” I ask.
“Baldy. Have you ever been there?”
“I haven’t,” I say. Then I change the subject. “Have you ever read THE MISTS OF AVALON?”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s the story of Sir Arthur told from the perspective of Morgan La Fey.” I refer to some of the sacred sites mentioned in the book: Tintagel, Glastonbury, the sacred ley lines.
He tells me he’s always loved Stonehenge, but now they’ve put a fence around the stones which is annoying.
“I’ve never been,” I say. “But I’d really like to visit.”
“By the way, what is that scent you’re using?” he asks.
“Clary Sage,” I answer.
I accidentally knock over the bottle. Now the room is drenched. Clary Sage, by nature is sedating and clarifying. We are submerged in the vapors.
“This scent is very intoxicating,” he says.
“I love aromatherapy. I’m thinking of going to England to study it.”
“Well if you do, give me a call. I know an aromatherapist in London.”
The man’s name is Gavin. We exchange numbers. He leaves to go to the UK for the Henley Regatta. At the time, I don’t know what a regatta is (a rowing event). But he calls me, then comes to visit. Then I visit him. He returns to Santa Fe every other week and we plan a trip to visit the sacred sites.
Four months later, we arrive in England. Gavin drives while I doze. We stop in Sommerset and buy apples. I have never seen such green grass. We drive from Gloustershire to Glastonbury. I see the Tor wrapped in mist, rising from the mystical landscape. Together we do a ceremony at the top of the tor. The energy is palpable.
We follow the ley lines, past White Horse, to the village of Avebury in Wiltshire, and park in the field. The air is moist and the wind is sharp. I know we are on holy ground.
Avebury is a serpentine circle of standing stones, ninety miles west of London and twenty miles north of Stonehenge. Originally, it was composed of ninety-eight great stones but now there are only twenty-seven. The sarsen stones range from nine to over twenty feet and are anchored into the earth up to two feet.