Tag Archives: weekend workshop

Weather!…

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Getting to the Hurlers proved easy enough…

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Clustered, as they were, around the extremities of Bodmin Moor…

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But the weather closed in…

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Almost as soon as we set foot to turf…

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Which made the prospect of a climb up to the Cheesewring, and Stowe’s Pound, a decidely unlikely event…

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We walked as far as we could before caution proved the better part of valour…

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And then, the sun came out…

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Somebody, somewhere, muttered something about stones and humour.

The Rock of Brentor…

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‘…A church, full bleak, and weather beaten, all alone, as it were forsaken…’

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“St Michael de Rupe?”

“St Michael the Rock.”

“I thought St Peter was supposed to be the ‘Rock’?”

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“The rock referred to here, is volcanic.”

“Nice.”

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“Though you would never know it now…”

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“…The church-tower can still serve as a beacon.”

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“Curioser and curioser…”

“Wait till we get inside, Alice.”

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Mother Bear…

HM15 884Carreg Samson

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With a total disregard for tradition we tackled our ‘just right bowl of porridge’ first .

It is strange to say, perhaps, but this particular conglomeration of, once covered but now exposed, structured stone did not, initially, feel particularly motherly.

For one thing there seemed to be a general reluctance for people to step inside.

Was this fear, awe, reverence… ?

Perhaps it was a commingling of all three emotions…

The structure does cast an illusion of wanton precariousness.

Those undressed slabs of rock together comprise an impressive sight and tonnage.

The bones of our ancestors were once interred here.

More recently it has served as a sheep shelter.

Whatever it was it was soon dispelled as we got ‘down and dirty’ in the chamber in order to read a contemporary ‘Druid Prayer’.

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HM15 901*

There is a theory about male and female standing stones.

The broader, squatter, shorter stones being deemed female whilst the taller, thinner, longer stones are deemed male.

It struck me that if the Cap-Stone were upright it would probably be regarded as a male stone.

According to another theory the Cap-Stone would definitely be male, irrespective of whether or not it is standing, for it has seams of white-quartz running through it.

From this angle though the Cap-Stone, in its present state, looks like nothing so much as a bird skull.

Which notion may cause pause for further thought…

Was there a deeper level of symbolism at play than the familiar Womb-Tomb equation?

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HM15 842*

There is talk in the official literature of a possible second chamber and certainly from this angle the Cap-Stone looks quite badly broken.

It would also explain the curiously lonely looking ‘stone figure’ to the right.

Whichever way one approaches the structure it is hard to shake the resemblance to a modern day coffin with pall bearers…

Except, perhaps, this one…

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HM15 918*

The Cap-Stone possesses contours which closely resemble a distant Head-Land.

This is best seen in image one.

When the structure was covered in earth and grass this resemblance would, presumably, be even more accurate, especially if seen from a distance.

The portal ‘looks out’ across an ocean which has an island in it.

It is from this Isle, legend tells us, that St Samson flicked the stones to land and take up their present position.

So, St Samson must, at some stage in his story, have been a giant.

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A Day’s walk?…

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…”The why, is always the same.”

“In order to connect, or to make whole?”

“And in order to then participate in that wholeness.”

“Which is connection.”

“They call Glastonbury England’s ‘holiest erthe’.”

“Perhaps that is why?”

“Today, we look up to the night sky, and wonder, and dream of perfection.”

“Or, at least, some of us do.”

“Perhaps, there was a time when, at certain junctures in the sacred year, to participate in that perfection was just a days walk away?”

Something fishy in Glastonbury…

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‘It doesn’t feel like we’re in England. It feels like we’re in France or something.’

No idea why France in particular except, perhaps, that my memories of that country shimmer with light and heat, and the sun was beating down that day.

Such days, in an English summer, are still rare and may be that, to my mind, made the place suitably ‘other’?

How habitual it is to rationalise.

Almost second nature, as if one nature were not more than enough!

We were in Glastonbury for a symposium, a weekend of alternative lectures and radical thinking…

We ‘knew nothing’ of the vesica then even though we had read Michell’s ‘…View…’ some years before.

‘It’s like any book. Some things stick. Some things don’t.’

We knew, though, that we would be returning to Glastonbury and there was no rationalising that away.

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‘In the landscape round Glastonbury Abbey can be found a clear exposition of the former practice of sacred geometry…

A circle with radius one furlong passes through the Old Market Cross, the Abbey fish pond and the town’s Catholic church and defines with its circumference the outer limits of St John’s church and the old Abbey house.

Another similar circle centred on the Catholic church encloses the church of St Benedict and also passes through the Market Cross and the fish pond.

The two parish churches, 1000 feet apart, are now placed symmetrically within the two circles. The centre of the vesica thus formed by these two circles falls on the Abbey Almonry, the centre of charity, and one of its sides can be seen to mark the building line of houses in Magdalene Street.

Thus, the town of Glastonbury lies below the interlinked circles of a vesica piscis, the basic figure of sacred geometry.’

John Michell – The View over Atlantis

 

Fortingall…

 

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A berry long time ago…

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Before Worshippers…

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And Scholars…

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And Monarchs…

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And Warriors…

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And Romans…

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And Scorts…

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And Picts…

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The Iron Age…

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The Bronze Age…

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And The Stone Age…

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This tree was planted…

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And it is still alive today.

 

 

Stride by Stride…

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“‘Never look back…’ runs the adage. But it is sometimes good to revisit. I mean, we missed some pretty heavy clues¬† which may have saved us some time, last time we were in Dorset. St James with his pilgrim’s hat and staff, for one…”

“One thing I have worked out.”

“Oh, yes?”

“The name of the giant who wears the Seven League Boots.”

“But there are several in the Folk Record aren’t there?”

“Indeed, but I’m talking about the, one and only, truly original, giant.”

“Is that a clue?”

It’s a riddle, and you already have all the clues.”

“I have?”

“Yup, but you evidently need reminding, so…

a league is three miles,

seven threes are twenty one,

and twenty-one miles is

about as far as a man can comfortably walk in one day.”

“These are supposed to be clues to a name?”

“Don’t worry, you’ve still got plenty of time?”

“How long have I got?”

“Until we are next at Cadbury.” …