At a recent meeting, one of our Companions, a woman of both Beauty and Grace, read us a short piece she had found, that she had written many years ago. We asked if we could transcribe it and share it here:

As life is more in touch with the Spirit now… as you begin to see the curves and twists of the Spiral Dance, the only reference you need is the ability to manoeuvre through the valleys of uncertainty that loom towards one in the unseen mists of repetitive uncertainty. The leap of faith is definitely needed then.

Traversing the many hills of weakness and temptation, eventually a plateau is reached from which the view is overwhelmingly in favour of Beauty of Being and the joyful acceptance of one’s inner state reflecting, like a mirror, that eternal landscape from which we draw our sustenance, life everlasting.

It is obvious…

We didn’t have to climb the whole height of the mountain; there is a makeshift car park about halfway up. I was glad of that, as my poor, much abused feet were not happy. I spend much of my life barefoot, the soles of my feet offer better protection than most of my shoes these days and anyway, I like to feel the earth beneath my feet. Left to my own devices, I would have walked in the flimsy lace slippers that allow them to breathe and expand, but common sense demanded the walking shoes be worn. It would be a long way to carry an idiot with a twisted ankle back down the mountain and we had been warned of a scramble over loose scree at the top.

Walking shoes come into their own in rain and winter weather…or when crossing the boggy stretches of moorland born of upland…

Our little convoy left the ancient site playing follow-the-leader on the narrow roads. The car in front of me had instructions, in case we lost the lead car, on how to get to the car park for a quick comfort break before the next stop of the weekend. What could possibly go wrong? Well, for a start there was the traffic that separated the party. Then a sign for a car park saved the day. Except, when we nearly got there, it didn’t seem to match the instructions. Off we all went looking for the right car park… to no avail. So we went back to the first one. Which was nice and had the necessary facilities, besides being right on the beach…

We tried calling, but there was no answer. We decided that the best course of action would be to stay put and wait for rescue. A decision…

This was the third dolmen we had visited in three days whose name tied it to the legendary King Arthur…and three times three is a magical number. It is certainly a magical site and quite unexpected as you walk between the gaily painted bungalows of the little coastal town of Newport.  A gate opens into a green oasis, bounded and shadowed by high hedges, cool in the midday sun, where you come face to face with the oddest little dolmen. My first thought was just as odd…that it reminded me of Ani, the way she sits with the front paws together, demure and expectant, yet somehow regal and ready to pounce in joyous abandon… there was that kind of ‘feel’ to the place.  Very much alive.

Like most of these sites that were once houses of the dead, the overriding impression is not one of melancholy, but of warmth and…

The jaws had dropped, the expletives had escaped and the cameras were out almost as soon as we exited the car. Even from a distance, Carreg Samson was spectacular, set against the backdrop of the coast… a smiling dragon resting his maw on folded wings as if he was casually looking over the cliff top at the approaching party. We should have expected dragons in Wales, but we could never have expected this.

Even at close quarters, the resemblance remained. We had dutifully noted that, from the correct approach, the contours of the great head seemed to shadow the shape of the headland beyond. The location alone is stunning and the stones are simply enormous. The capstone is over fifteen feet long, nearly nine feet wide and over three feet thick. There is plenty of headroom to stand beneath it. When you consider that the legends say that St Samson…