(being a brief account of a visit to a mountainous hill on the Welsh borderlands)

Although of no particular known historical significance, this nameless rocky highland near the English/Welsh border had once been populous with the ancient Britons. Nearby on lower ground there still stand their sacred standing stone enclosures, caves and burial mounds. If anything had been raised on the heights, it had long ago been destroyed by quarrying activities of later peoples. Further to the North-West is Anglesey, once a stronghold of the Albionic druids, and to the South, the Black Mountains.

There is much evidence that natural springs were considered sacred by these Britons (and by other Europeans of course). Carved wooden figures representative of deities or perhaps ancestral spirits were erected at these and other locations associated with fresh water. Human sacrifices were made, as well as offerings of war gear and other items. It was at one such natural spring, somewhere close to halfway up the hillside, that we spent the duration of a night in late Summer.

Unlike the majority of like places in a more heavily populated England, here was genuine silence, or at least an ambience entirely free of manmade mechanical sounds. An indefinable presence made itself felt, somewhat feminine in nature, a feeling of careless and amoral joy seemed to permeate the air. An unspoken communion of interconnectedness, of knowing, passed between us.

From our lofty vantage point, we could see far below in the valley a stream, the source of which we were sat by, and which finds its way underground and overground for many miles, carving valleys and cave systems, waterfalls and pools as it goes. As the moon rose, we began a series of appropriate vibrations, focusing this upon a large piece of crystal quartz before us. Having continued this for an hour, we then buried the crystal deep by the spring, shedding some of our blood into the water also. The remainder of the night was spent in silent contemplation and visualisations of pre-prepared bindrunes.

Just before the break of day, we rather stiffly climbed again to the highest point and greeted the new sun. Below us in the valley, the stream suddenly sparkled silver as the sun rose, the water clattering over the rocks mingled now with our voices, and the voices of those who perhaps came before.

/Brother Wánung

TBO England, 130yf