Lost Island
In response to Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt.
Lost Island – #writephoto
A first the waves moved, playfully, over his ankles.
Then they became more insistent, as his body resisted their pressure. “No,” his body spoke for him. “This can’t be happening!”
He strode deeper into the sea that had turned on him, tightening the muscles of his thighs and buttocks as he fought against the waves that engulfed; the currents that bore, the warm liquid of love turned purposeful and resistant…
“Nooooo!”
And then he was swimming, taking sobbing breaths to reach her, drowning out there, somewhere… “Help me!” he screamed at the sky, wet with his frothing, salty spit and the drenching of the high waves that forced him back, relentless, denyers of habitual will. Something bigger, his mind moaned, coming face to face with the reality of depths he had never envisaged in the shallows.
And then there was no horizon, as even the vision of her was taken away by the rising waves, whose single song was, “Back, back…”
At the end of it all he lay, sobbing and half covered with wet sand, as the last of the waves left him, unharmed if broken, stripped of elegance, of will, of might; leaving only his given right to be, which contrast would have been a thought of great depth, had he not been so angry.
But strength was gone, and so useless sobbing was the only vent by which the outraged lava of emotion reached the surface of his wet skin on the wet sand on the wet beach.
And the soft breeze blew and caressed his skin, but he did not know it.
And then he saw it on the horizon – his horizon. The dark line of the rising distant island at the limit of watered vision. And with an implacability that froze his soul and made what he had been shiver, he realised that he was, forever, overdressed for where she had gone…
Whispers in the West – part one
It was early on Friday afternoon. Lizzy, one of our Companions in the Silent Eye, had assembled us for the start of three days of delightful discovery on the western fringes of Pembrokeshire, centred on the lovely town of St David’s, home of one of the most remote cathedrals in Britain.
As promised, we met, on the car park above Whitesands Beach, for coffee and…ice cream. The weather was hot, the air clear and the sky blue – perfect conditions for the opening walk on what was to prove an adventurous and wonderful weekend.
The ice-cream reluctantly finished, we resisted the quite reasonable demands for another and set off along the cliff path that leads to the distant vista of St David’s Head.
The town of St David’s gets its name from the patron saint of Wales, who was a Welsh bishop of Myryw (now renamed St David’s) during the 6th century. He is believed to have been the son of a high-born nun–Saint Non, and the grandson of Ceredig ap Cunneda, King of the ancient land of Ceridigion – now part of Pembrokeshire. Other, more dramatic tales say that the lady who became St Non was raped by a local prince and bore the resulting child as her own, bringing him up to take his place in history, despite the trauma of his conception.
We will return, in the final post, to the Chapel of St Non, in its idyllic setting close to the ocean beyond the present town of St David’s; and to the magnificent Cathedral of St David’s.
This part of the Welsh coast is one the the most beautiful places in Wales, and has that ‘other worldly’ feel about it which marks out secret gems of landscape that stay in the heart, forever. It is also the home of some of the most ancient stone structures in Europe.
We reached St David’s head after about an hour of walking. The cliffs are very steep and we were advised to ‘look the other way’ as we rounded curve after curve on the high path – with the dark blue of the ocean a long way below.
Arriving at the headland, we did what a group of Silent Eye folk often do – go very quiet… in the face of the beauty of what lay below, and its ancientness.
Much of the rock in this part of Wales is volcanic in origin, and is over 500 million years old. In the distance, off to the south-west, can be seen the rocky islands of Ramsey, Bishops and Clerks several miles out to sea.
On the section before the headland we had passed the remains of a stone-age settlement.
In a recent post, Stuart and Sue raise the very interesting question, “Why would anyone want to live here, in such an exposed place?”
Our historic research duo have carried out extensive work on such ancient sites and gained their own insights by being sensitive to the land’s own story. This journey to a deeper perception of natural surroundings is well-documented in their books.
After a suitable time for personal exploration and meditation, we picked our way, carefully, back over the rocks to take a slightly different path in the direction of a distant hill – Carn Llidi (which turned out to be closer than it looked). After a short way, we stopped in surprise at the sudden emergence of Coetan Arthur, a Neolithic burial chamber (A dolmen in this case) dating from about 4000BC. It has a huge capstone almost 20ft wide, which is supported by a side stone over 3ft tall. It was almost certainly built this way, with one end resting on the ground, as what is known as an ‘earthfast’ megalith.
This use of ‘Arthur’ is not related to the Arthurian tales, but linked to an ancient use of the world ‘Bear’.
Approaching these ancient sites, it is difficult not to feel an immense sense of respect and reverence for what the builders crafted. We know very little of their full purpose, though burial of the ‘long bones’ of key individuals seems to have been a common element.
Although they may look crude by today’s standards, the sheer ‘presence’ of these stone megaliths may be a result of the fact that they used rocks of certain size, shape and proportions that were ‘found’ naturally in the earth, thus giving a specialness to their placing. As Sue and Stuart explain, such stones were the very ‘bones’ of the ancient earth and revered as part of a living body that sustained all life.
We would struggle to recreate them, today. One of the smallest, the capstone of Coetan Arthur weighs 4.6 tons. It is believed that it was created to mirror the nearby peak of Carn Llidi, which was to be our next compass bearing for the final leg of the afternoon’s walk.
For my part, I am always taken by the importance of these structures as ‘keepers of time and place in the cosmos’. The were usually oriented east-west, though there are exceptions. They were placed in relation to other stones in the landscape which gave the positions of the sun at the four key points of summer and winter solstice (maximum and minimum days), and spring and autumn equinox (equal night and day).
The passing of the year would have been of great significance to our ancient forebears. The cycles of planting, fallow, growth and harvest were key to their survival and they had to know where they were in the year. There was, undoubtedly, a deeper aspect to it all; in that they felt an intensity of relationship with the sky above them, as well as the air they breathed, the water they drank, and the ground below, in which all foods, apart from meats, grew directly; and meat was dependent upon vegetation in the greater cycle.
Their connection to the natural world, and its cycles, was therefore part of their deepest experience – so much so that people like the Druids were a specially trained layer of their society whose role was to honour and deepen the understanding of this relationship of mankind (observer; man and woman) to that which was observed and whose deepest secrets (untouchable but capable of being seen) were painted in the geometry of the night sky.
It is here that proto-science and mysticism met, adding, nobly, to each other’s cause… in fact, in those times they were indivisible, and the spirit of mystery pervaded the sacred search for knowing…
The final leg of the walk (though not of the day) was to take the path over the hilltop of Carn Llidi and back to join the road to the lovely Whitesands beach.
One of our number sprinted off to gain the actual peak, but the rest of us were content to amble along the high road and take in the scenery.
The day had been perfect and what finer way to cool the feet than to take off the boots and paddle in Whitesands bay…
Then it was time to return to the hotel to change, and a gentle walk into St David’s to have a pub dinner at The Bishop. All in all, the perfect Day One of our Whispers in the West weekend.
More to follow…
The Silent Eye runs four such weekends per year; in April, June, September, and the start of December. Apart from the main April workshop, which combines mystical drama with teachings, they are very informal occasions, but a good way to meet some of the names and faces from the Silent Eye School of Consciousness. Everyone is welcome – we simply wander in a landscape and get to know each other.
The formal teaching programme of the Silent Eye School is a three-year correspondence course, studied at home and in the individual’s daily world, with personal supervision via email, and workshops. The teaching programme is based on a guided journey through the spiritual layers of a nine-pointed figure called the Enneagram (below). The Silent Eye is a not-for-profit organisation and charges as little as possible for its work.
You can find details of the forthcoming events for the year on our website.

I want to have a cold tonight
And if you think I’m mad,
I have a real good reason…
The alternative’s too bad.
*
My head is really aching
And my eyes are awful sore,
The box of tissue’s empty
And I haven’t any more.
*
I’ve taken antihistamines
Because I thought I should
But even double dosage
Hasn’t done a lot of good.
*
I’ve checked the first aid cupboard
And there’s nothing useful in it.
I’m feeling pretty miserable
And sneezing every minute.
*
My nose is sore and tickling
It drives me up the wall…
So why would anybody
Want to have a cold at all?
*
I’ve just moved to a rural place
Surrounded all in green
With fields and grass and wildflowers
As pretty as I’ve seen.
*
And, as my nose is just as damp
As that of a retriever…
If I don’t have…
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Just had to…
Well almost…quite loosely speaking.
Very loosely speaking.
And no, it’s not a new quiz show. And nor are there any prizes. A tumulus is an artificial mound.
And a natural mound is what?
One that isn’t man made.
Has it anything to do with tummies?
Possibly… Not.
Oh!
Six tombs in one week isn’t half bad though…
We’ll be getting a reputation for morbidity.
And on the seventh day…
On that day once, somebody quite famous said that if the ruins of Ancient Greece weren’t ruined no one would pay them much heed…
The notion of being ‘quite famous’ tickles me. It’s like bragging about having once seen the Pope in order to prove your spirituality.
…I sometimes feel exactly the same about our tombs.
A lot depends on whether or not they’ve been opened…
Ah, but the Gates of Pluto must never be unlocked, Little Grub.
Why ever not?
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Deep breath…
Not so cute now…
I leave you alone for a week, and what happens? It was all very well allowing the children to shake the box… such a nice rattle noise to keep them amused for a while, and all… but who on earth thought it was a good idea to open it for them? These three, overgrown toddlers really should not be allowed outside, never mind handing them matches…
I’ve kept a low profile. Having been through the whole Scottish independence debacle, the (almost) immediate switch to UK independence was WAY too much to bear. I have friends on both sides. Some things are not worth losing friends over. The machinations of an overfed elite, as they trip over each other to manipulate a system designed to ensure that they always win, being one of them…
To say that the result is disappointing, would be an understatement matched…
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A dear friend allows us to publish her paper given at our Leaf and Flame workshop.
The Patrician Lady is a much-loved and respected member of the esoteric community who, for the last two years, has shared her own perspective on the subject matter of the April workshops. She has kindly permitted us to reproduce the text of the talk that she gave at Leaf and Flame, where the central theme was the story of Gawain… a talk which, as one Companion stated, is “worthy of a workshop in itself.”

Faith, Belief or Gnosis – Did Gawain have Faith?
by The Patrician Lady for the Silent Eye workshop:Leaf and Flame: the Foliate Man, April 2016.
Today we’re going to look at the words Faith, Belief and Gnosis and to offer a perspective on Faith as used by Jesus in the gospels which has relevance to Christian Western Mysteries. After this we will look at the response of Gawain when tested by the Green Knight. Did…
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My thoughts on yesterday’s results, for what it’s worth.
We have been mauled by a team of wreckers, acting out of self interest, at a time when the political opposition is weak. Cameron gambled with the nation’s future and has lost; but we have lost far more than he. We now face the prospect of being seen as xenophobic and bitterly divided, which the result shows to be partly true.
But British people are, apart from the thugs, not like that, and somehow we must find a way through this, never forgetting how deadly it is to sleep when forces of purely self-Interest seek to change a value system cultured by caring people over half a century after the second of two European wars.
The economic effects on our trading and credit status will be catastrophic and the ‘myophobes’ are just waking up, startled, at what they have done.
Truly a hijacking of our former moral and political status.
The really sad thing it that the human fodder for the right wing coup that this is will suffer the most, but the wrecking crew knew that all along; and knew they only had to push the right banalities of race and ‘sovereignty’, hypnotising the unthinking mass with the hypnotic phrasing of ‘take back control’ to make happen the dreadful result of yesterday.
Sadly, we are now faced with the result, and the majority of British business stares at the disappearing back of David Cameron in disbelief.
I do not mean to imply that all those voting for Brexit were unthinking; many are very intelligent people who passionately believed that ‘independence’ could be right path. But this age is one of extreme connectedness, and we have signalled to the world that we are prepared to let a mainly older group of our population decide on an isolated future, closing all sorts of doors for our children.
This morning we see that our international credit ratings have been slashed and that many major banks and manufacturing operations are planning their moves away from Britain so that they can remain in an EU geography.
Pandora’s box has well and truly been opened…
































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