—From EF—

Today was our ritual picnic at the oceanside, and my dented rattly self is somewhat soothed. I haven’t had such a long slog of depression for a while, and I’m doing my best to reach for my old trusty strategies. I don’t medicate; I’ve battled successfully without that, and I am reluctant to reach for that remedy.

But I will reach in a flash for another old medicine, and it’s helpful to think why it works. If I’m in the right place at the right time and in the right mind-set, Earth herself opens the gates for me.

My friend Lauren Raine, a maker of stunning goddess masks, is on a pilgrimage to sacred sites in and around Avebury (England). Her stated purpose is to further her sense of how humans can communicate with Gaia, and vice versa. Her sense is that the ley-lines of Earth and the meridians of the body are related, and that the concept of bodily chakras may very well be seen in Gaia on a larger scale.

This September in Ireland was the first time in decades I hadn’t gone to my personal sacred space in Bretagne: Carnac and environs. But our first full day in Ireland was at Newgrange, Bru na Boinne, an enormous passage tomb (burial site) from before the time of the Pyramids. An opening called the “roof-box” above the entrance is aligned in such a way that dawn of the winter solstice allows the sun to hit the interior passage with a shaft of light that gradually widens and “walks” its way into the center basin. As soon as I descended from the shuttle bus that winds into the protected hills, my sandaled feet touched the earth and I was jolted with a greeting from Carnac. I yipped and said, “It’s like Carnac!” and the guide grinned with understanding.

I always felt something invisible but powerful working at Carnac, and one year I took dowsing rods with me. I’d begun to suspect that the long lines of stones were mapping ley-lines, and I thought I’d see what the rods said. When I held them and stepped into one of the stone rows, the rods were nearly torn from my hands. I got the message.

I didn’t have dowsing rods at Newgrange, but my body knows the feeling by now. I’m sure that there are hot-spots on the meridians, the intersections of ley-lines, and I suspect that some such power-point is right here on the Sonoma Coast where we go for our weekend trysts. Not so strong at our winter beach, but really potent at Portuguese Beach a mile or so north. I instinctively went there a time or two when I needed to do a strong working, and eventually somebody told me, “Oh, yeah, everybody who knows energy around here knows that place.”

Back in the day I’d get home from my annual European journey and weep for two weeks. Since we moved to Sebastopol, I don’t weep any more, and now I have a better idea why.


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