It took a couple or three weeks to get back to normal, both in the mundane sense, and in terms of the energies which April’s event integrated within the subtler aspects of the Work. I remained unsettled, searching for something: something that neither made sense in the shamanic realm, nor in the conscious consideration of what it might be.
Water. Fire. Stone. Air.
I felt drawn back to a ritual of two years previous, held in a place where the veil is so thin that, to miss it, must require the individual to walk through the illusion with eyes so wide shut that there is no room in their lives for doubt to ever creep in. Long abandoned, and remote enough that the site never became Christianised, the power of the place remains open to all who should stumble upon it.
That ritual repaired a breach in the Water-Stone connection in the local area, caused, primarily, by Victorian quarry workings to the west. Such disrupted energies can repair themselves, given time, despite the common held belief among many modern lay-hunter types to the contrary. The recent reopening of the quarry had completely interrupted the process, hence the ritual requirement – completely selfish, I might add, on my part, as the energetic chaos was playing havoc with the ability of the cup mark in my garden to do its job! A quick check, however, indicated that everything was working fine on that front. I remained confused…
Fast forward to the Solstice.
The usual suspects are to be found in Eire, bumbling about the ancient forts and mounds scattered through the Boyne Valley. It shouldn’t have been a surprise when the Morrighan turned up on day one, in the form of her three crows intently observing us from the roof of the service station where we made our first stop. Thereafter, “the washer at the ford” appeared to follow our every move.
On the Solstice itself, we were blessed with a blistering hot day without a hint of a breeze. We headed for Loughcrew, but found ourselves stopped by a lovely lady of the Civil Defense Corps. With a smile, she happily informed us of a diversion.
If any of you have ever been to Ireland, you will appreciate how little welcome such a prospect can be. For those yet to visit, the Irish authorities appear to have forgotten to replace the road signs after the second world war, and those which remain have a tendency to point in completely the wrong direction, most effectively confusing the
enemy tourist. Heading off into the “well signposted” unknown, we were pretty much lost at the first junction.
The previous week, we had stumbled upon a sacred spring at the foot of an ancient mound, completely fouled by modern burials atop and around the mound. Turning a corner in the road, we were surprised to find another ancient mound, put to a similar use.
“STOP”. Huh? Okay…
The place had an incredibly peaceful feel about it, despite an underlying dis-ease in the energy that flowed through the area. Back currents and eddies swirled around the parking area. We sat for a while before getting out to investigate, and were surprised to find a sacred well across the road from the car park, complete with wishing tree which was still being used. Indeed, as we were leaving, a car pulled up and a woman proceeded to hang something in it.
A sign above, indicated it was St. Kevin’s Well. St who? You may well ask… Later investigation proved difficult to confirm the status of the well, or how it became to be associated with the Saint; though he is reputed to have visited Kells (just down the road) to have tea and biscuits with his good friend St Columba. Perhaps it was during this visit that Kevin had found time to sanctify the well, and turn the locals to the one true God… We did, however, discover that it was considered prehistoric, with a “possible” Druidic association as a “pool of contemplation”. This would certainly fit, as the water, incredibly clear, trickles to fill a bowl of darkest stone. The modern enclosure merely adds to the impression that this would be a perfect gazing pool.
Heading off to investigate the mound, we discovered a further gem, in the form of a large cup-marked rock at its head.
That’s when things started to get interesting, and the form of our Solstice ritual soon became apparent in these few moments walking around the graveyard. The details are unimportant. A couple of snips, a few stitches, a black feather cleansing and a laser quartz energising later, we found ourselves unexpectedly lashed by a strong gusting wind. A murder of crows, acting very strangely, made themselves known before settling in the adjacent field.
We just had enough time to clear away our ritual tools before the next lost tourist pulled up and joined us in a perfectly calm and peaceful graveyard; through which the energies, now cleared of whatever blockage had previously impeded them, flowed clear and straight, from the well, through the stone, and to the Boyne valley beyond. Now I understood why I’d been haunted by the quarry ritual these past months.
As to what is to become of the jug of St Kevin’s sacred water that got hauled back to this part of the Celtic world, only time will tell…
So… who IS St Kevin?
The association with blackbirds we found interesting – in the absence of blackbirds, we were presented with black birds… fanciful? Probably, but nonetheless amusing to us, and tied up neatly the Morrighan’s unwholesome interest in us through the week prior.
Edit: So who is the Morrighan?
http://www.pantheon.org/articles/m/morrigan.html Nice little article of introduction to the old “washer woman”…