Let me expand because we were a village of misfits and outcasts, a tribe of off-grid outer reaches travellers with an open-door policy that attracted the lost and the lonely as much as the brilliant and brave. We were unruly, anarchic, we somehow governed each other and ourselves. Healers, musicians, mystics, those who made sure the shit pits were dug, others who prayed and cried. Bodgers and woofers got stuck in with fences and fires, party people decorated trees, foragers taught us what to eat. The traumatised and frail, turned out by psychiatric care, they came too and spoke in tongues and claimed to be Jesus, others channelled messages from Angels and Aztecs; my actual Angel man and I accepted them all. People got together, babies were born, the commune grew. There were children and dogs everywhere. Mud beneath our nails, the kettle always on. As word spread that we were building a stone circle by hand another layer of engineers and mystics was added, those who’d made it their life’s work to understand the majesty of how and why. More benders and yurts sprang up in the woods, the metal barn expanded, Shamanic Studies HQ was busy with the ringing of the phone while the seasoned road protester slept in a coffin on a shelf and ate oats and was as gentle as a branch waving. A stage was built, a trapeze hung, for each of the eight pagan festivals we held a party, druids everywhere, and on the last weekend of every month we raised another stone. Unlike Uri Geller who’d invited us to his house to admire his crystals and bent spoons, who’d showed us his car but when it came to it never showed up, hundreds of others did. Keepers of stone circles from all over Britain found their way to us. Ed Pryn with his flowing robes, white hair and bottle glasses, John and Elizabeth, keepers of Callanish in the Hebrides, John Michell, author of Sacred Geometry: How The World Is Made who quietly put his hand to a rope. When notices from the council arrived, challenging our right to build the circle, a man who I’d known as just another face around the fire, revealed himself to be Someone High Up in local politics. He showed us how to navigate our way through the attempts to stop us. He saved us. And somewhere in all of this I flew to Sedona in Arizona, that place of vortexes and portals, and trained to be a yoga teacher.
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Love it... so much of what went on in so few words. x
What an amazing story teller you are EB!!! xxx