We recently took a trip along the North Antrim time coast to re-connect with the spirits of our ancestors ( a very important element of our shamanic practice). Visiting ancient holy wells, the remains of castles and a stone circle which encloses a C. of I. church, by the end of the trail – on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic, next stop the Americas! - we were filled with a grounding ecstasy. What follows is an attempt to sum the experience up – accompanied by a trio of photos taken on the day.
Pilgrimage
We pilgrims sat together, questioning, at the edge of our world
where the clouds swirled and the dirt track ended.
Far above two hawks began a spiral dance,
carried by our minds divine,
holy well, holy stones, holy time.
In these birds a prayer we pray,
our souls corkscrew a double helix, on a journey
to a sky burial; a blazing ghat; or a soundless plot
split by a banshee lament,
at the walls of a church set down within a stone circle:
sanctified short circuit producing angelic messages of change in discarded feathers,
holy well, holy stones, holy time,
holy well, holy stones, holy time.
Change my feathers black for the voice of angel;
my feathers white for consideration and understanding.
Burn me down beyond the bleached bones of skeleton;
fill my skull with moss saturated with peaty water;
give me myriad leaves where I had words;
fill my veins with all the species of small black insects;
make my skin crawl with creepy things;
scorch my soul with the green word;
fill my ears with the crackle and hiss of creation;
the sough and toss of surf on a stony beach;
rip out my eyes and in the sockets plant a forest,
and in the forest the smell of damp and decay,
holy well, holy stones, holy time,
holy well, holy stones, holy time,
holy well, holy stones, holy time,
holy fire, holy breath, holy rhyme.
Privilege is everywhere
Life is what happens
when you look away.
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