By Liz O'Neill
Cordelia called me, yelling into the phone so loudly, I had to turn the volume down. I must have lowered it too much. I missed everything she had said.
Raising the volume, I was able to catch her last few words.
"So Madeline, can you go? Huh? Huh? Please. Please. You're the only one I would want to take. And get your Juju going and find all the energy places there, so on my days off or hours off, we can be tourists."
Totally confused, not having all the details, I was hesitant to commit myself to something I'd regret. She just kept going. I had no chance to get in even one question, especially the chief one, 'What did you say?'. Maybe a second question, 'What are you talking about?'.
To heighten the level of mystery, she continued with information about some place yet to be revealed.
"All of us who are going to be taking the harp therapy class, have been planning out a cool ceremony. We want to play our harps in a procession around a giant labyrinth on the Tor. You'll love it." She sang in an octave higher than her talking voice.
Whatever 'the Tor' was, I nodded, and aloud said with expression, "Hmmm.". Hopefully, I would get a chance to fill in all the blanks being formatted in my mind.
"It'll be quite a hike. The Tor evidently is formed with, what appears to be the path of a very old labyrinth spiraling around the hill seven times and ending at the top."
I still had no idea what she was talking about. It did sound like a project that would leave us huffing and puffing. How could they play a harp while drudging in circles around a steep hill? I imagined it to be like the Guggenheim Museum in Manhattan, New York City, although the rate of incline, didn't strike me as gradual or as user-friendly.
When she took a moment to catch her breath, I knew it might be my only chance to ask those two questions and to apologize for not having heard a thing she'd said before the words 'So Madeline, can you go? Huh? Huh?'
She tsked a few times, huffed and whined. "I don't think I can get as fired up as I was. That moment's gone. That ship has sailed."
When she summarized what she had originally said, it was my turn to break the Richter Scale. "Whaaat? Are you for real? You want me to go with you? Really? Really? Me?"
"Yes, you. As I said, you're my top choice to accompany me."
"I heard it is always rainy there. On every show I've seen on TV, it's raining. You need to pack your pink and purple umbrella with your heavy harp. When do we leave anyway?"
"Two weeks should give us time to plan our packing, for me to make the flight reservations, and for you to research the energy places."
" Let me stroll over to my bookcase. Ah, here it is, the travel guide book. I'll drop it off later."
My dear friend designated me, to look up some strong energy spots. I am a dowser who deals with energies in the earth and above. Cordelia is what we call an 'inner dowser'; she doesn't need to use a pendulum. She just knows.
I think my mother had that same inner sensing. I remember, when I was three years old, my grandfather taught me to dowse with a willow Y-branch. I couldn't believe the pull of the stick I was grasping in the manner, directed by my Grampa.
As I attempted to hold it steady, it gradually pointed downward toward what he said was an underground stream of water leading to a pond. My mother always spoke of wishing to learn more about dowsing. Sadly, she passed before there was a newspaper notice of a new dowsing group being formed.
I announced to her spirit, "Ma, we'll be taking these classes together. We're finally going to get to learn about dowsing."
My dowsing teacher, Bob, taught us about energy channels called ley lines. These are straight lines of magnetic, luminous energy, traveling through rocks below the surface, crossing locations, circling the entire earth. They have been found to connect many sites holding churches and monasteries, named from derivatives of Mary or Michael.
It is quite telling to discover these churches were erected where pagan sites existed. Someone, way back then, knew how to detect powerful spaces and the churches were probably built there to purify or Christianize specific spots.
Just as we have energy waves throughout the atmosphere, buzzing around our head, so too, do we have them within the earth's makeup. The energy below the surface affects the outcomes above. 'As above, so below.'
Two of these lines of energy are each named the St. Michael line and the Mary line. The Michael line has a harsh dark feeling to it. The Mary line that reaches out around bodies of water gives a sensation of fluffy energy. The church names coordinate with the line that runs through that area.
When we travel from one ley line region to the other, we can sense a noticeable variance, as they radiate dimensions of light, bright or dimmed. If we are going from the Mary line to the Michael line we are apt to perceive a change on several levels, physical, emotional, psychological, and spiritual.
As this story unfurls, you will see how these elements all dysfunctionally unfolded for us.
Author Notes |
This is the beginning of a new book called The Tor.
The main character and narrator, Madeline can�??�?�¢??t give the reader much information. She is in the dark as much as the reader. Madeline is the narrator who has been invited to accompany Cordelia somewhere unknown Cordelia is a harp therapist who play chords to help people heal on all levels |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously: With Madeline as the narrator we are following her and her harpist friend, Cordelia. Cordelia has invited Madeline to accompany her to where she is having her harp therapist course.
*************
The day arrived. Shuttling back and forth, the previous night, we had loaded most packs and suitcases, and umbrellas into the car. There were only the harp and our day packs remaining. The trip to the airport was simple and unusually conflict-free. We quickly checked in using our fancy high-tech licenses.
It was a new thing in Vermont. They must have wanted for us to be able to prove we weren't terrorists. We had to bring papers to prove who we were, along with our social security cards. I saw many turned away because they couldn't present the fancy papers, like a light bill from their local electric company.
Remember, in school, when you questioned whether you'd ever need algebra? Well, that was the same rampant doubts that surged, about all the fol-de-rol to get our license renewed. Just as we found out we used the algebra in its most primitive form, we discovered there was a function for the fancy license. It could substitute for a lot of complicated paperwork.
We flew right through the check-in process and were soon riding on the conveyor belt to the assigned gate. We found seats and did not have to wait long for our flight to be announced.
*******
We knew it was a long trip to travel 'across the pond', however, we had no idea the smoothness of how things were going would soon change. The next events that happened could have been a foreshadowing of the goings-on to come.
We were scheduled to have a substantial meal. That was good since we weren't going to have any other meal except the proverbial nuts and coke. About halfway into the flight, the 'fasten your seatbelts' lights blinked above every seat. This was another red flag or in this case, a red light.
The pilot came on to announce that the ride would be getting rough. I'll say. It felt like we were going over bumps on a dirt road. I swear we went over some ramped jumps you might find on a dirt bike path. Back to the topic of our meal. There was only one burning issue, one complication.
Our steward and stewardesses had to remain in their seats, belted in, for safety for nearly the entirety of the last stretch of the flight. As we were bounced and jounced around, our meals were cooking and cooking and cooking.
You know how a meal gets to the point where you can smell the delectable odor wafting your way? Our meals reached that point, then surpassed it, 'til we began to smell burning starch. Our frozen baked potatoes were morphing to carbon. I'm sure our chicken was shrinking as it shriveled in the intense heat.
When the 'fasten your seats' lights went off, the steward and stewardesses quickly busied themselves cleaning up, only to return to their seats preparing for our descent. The meager plastic cup of coke and tiny bag of nuts were going to have to sustain us until we found food the next day.
*******
After exiting the plane and retrieving our belongings, we walked next door to pick up our prearranged rental. We were actually in England, we'd made it. It was really happening.
For some reason, neither Cordelia nor I anticipated what we were going to be challenged with. We just stood there staring at the steering wheel.
Not the wheel itself, but where it was located. Ooof. Neither of us had ever driven a vehicle with the steering wheel on the right side, our passenger's side of the car. What we would soon realize is, that was not the worst discovery.
We were going to have to drive in the opposite lane we were accustomed to. What would have been an act of self-preservation on our highways was shear self-destruction on these roads. To raise the proverbial bar even higher, darkness was chasing us.
It was raining or drizzling, as we will end up terming it. I do not like driving in the rain. I got terribly lost driving by myself in New York, headed for Brooklyn. My friend Marty said I was in an area where I could have gotten my face ripped off.
I've since realized I was asking them where some foreign street was located, clearly, not a part of their world. That situation could be paralleled with a lost tourist asking us where a street was, in another town.
Cordelia would be the navigator. Upon leaving the airport, we were faced with too many choices of roads. It probably wouldn't have mattered which one I turned onto.
Just as I began to feel more confident, Cordelia let out a yelp. "No.... What? ...How could that be?"
Once again, I had no idea what was going on. I had to get to the bottom of this and fast. "What? What's going on?" I felt like I do when I was trying to understand why my cat was yowling. She just sat there mewling, looking back and then forward and then back from where we had just come.
"I just saw a sign saying '15 kilometers to London'. We're supposed to be leaving London, not driving toward it."
I put my head back with a gasp of exasperation, covering my tiny terror. She put her little map reading flashlight on as I continued in the direction we were headed...London airport.
Author Notes |
Madeline is the narrator and a friend of Cordelia.
Cordelia is a harp therapist and is a friend of Madeline A harp therapist goes into hospitals and plays certain chords to help patients heal |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
"I just saw a sign saying '15 kilometers to London'. We're supposed to be leaving London, not driving toward it."
I put my head back with a gasp of exasperation, covering my tiny terror. She put her little map reading flashlight on as I continued in the direction we were headed...London airport.
*********
Cordelia murmured, more to herself than to me. "I've got it. We were originally on A36 and somehow got onto A34. So, we're up here and need to be down there."
Raising her volume for my benefit, she said in a short breath,"Okay, so you need to take a sharp right onto A339. It's right up here." She waited 'til she was certain I had complied. "Good. Now follow this back, 'til we get to A36 again."
This happened so many times, I felt like I was in the movie 'Ground Hog Day'. It is in situations like this, I know why I hate that movie. I was getting ready to cry. As my tears swelled up, I became aware Cordelia was feeling responsible, as she was the navigator. We comforted and reassured each other.
I must have finally eliminated all of wrong routes. It was like when I have tried to get out of Boston, Massachusetts, along Storrow Drive. I can't tell you how many times I realized the exit in my rearview mirror was the one I needed to take. Around and around, until I finally nabbed it.
As unreal as it seemed, we were headed west, a short distance from Torquay, our temporary destination. From there, we would proceed to the town where Cordelia's harp therapy course would be taking place.
*********
Rain was still pounding our heads as we lugged the last of our luggage and packs into the Inn in Torquay, named Inn Torquay. We were way beyond our Eastern Standard bedtime and exhausted from well over an hour of frustration. On nearly forgotten empty stomachs, we went right to sleep.
The morning was a more relaxed routine. For breakfast, we had coffee and donuts, provided by the Inn. We causally inspected the map to get to the cottages where we would be staying for the duration. We wanted to avoid any repeat performances from the previous night's ordeal.
The trip to Truro was quite simple. We just headed onto A30 West, then dipped south on the same route. In no time, we saw signs directing us there. We were so confident, we were able to quickly stop at a little 'mom & pop' type store. We got a few things to cook up for supper and to take care of us for a few days.
That was some difference from the previous strangling trip out of London. We never would have dared stop anywhere. I don't even remember seeing anything except confusing route numbers. What route name has three digits to it with a letter in front of it, anyway?
That is a lot to remember, and quickly read and process all instantaneously in the dark, in the rain, in a foreign car, on foreign roads in a foreign country. A few of the contributing factors to our victorious arrival were the timing and weather. It was daylight and no longer raining, for the moment.
Cordelia explained one of the demonstrations I would get to see. "The way they work it, everyone will be able to experience how certain chords affected them. I know you will be fascinated with observing yourself and others, expressing how they were impacted on physical, emotional, and spiritual levels. I loved it when I took part in part one, of my harp therapy course. It is actually the basis of our participation, in promoting healing in individuals."
She said part one of the course, was in the central section of the United States, a year or so ago. I can't remember where, exactly. She had recently been notified, the second part of the course would be held some place in England, about which we were soon to learn more.
Our ride up the inclining driveway, revealed a panorama of small cottages appearing like something out of the old world. I'd seen similar ones on some of my British TV shows. I thought they might be props staged there, to create an ambiance.
It occurred to me, at that moment, we, in the United States, live in a very young nation. We had no idea how many layers of history there were in that country, currently introducing itself to us. Those buildings of gray field stone, with wooden shingles for roofing, stood there, dispassionately housing tragic historical secrets.
Upon entering, the first thing we noticed, was not the lovely quaint furnishings, but the energy. Remember, I told you, both of us are dowsers. That, combined with the fact we are empaths, like lightning rods, attracting bolts of surging energy. Both of us are as impressive as a hot ball of wax recording impressions.
Attempting to resist our sense of deep sadness, we reminded each other, it was a time for joy. I told Cordelia, if this sense of darkness persisted, we would attend to its source.
It was time to mix with the other cottages and to find out which one was holding the classes.
Author Notes |
Madeline is the narrator and a friend of Cordelia.
Cordelia is a harp therapist and is a friend of Madeline A harp therapist goes into hospitals and plays certain chords to help patients heal A chord is when more than one note is sounded at the same time |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
Both Cordelia and Madeline sensed deep sadness when they first entered the cottage they would be staying in, for the duration of Cordelia's harp therapy course.
"Attempting to resist our sense of deep sadness, we reminded each other, it was a time for joy. I told Cordelia, if this sense of darkness persisted, we would attend to its source.
It was time to mix with the other cottages and to find out
which one was holding the classes."
**********
I was shown where guests would sit during the harp therapy classes, until invited in for any demonstrations. I had brought plenty to read, plus I still had more research to do on the energy places we were planning to visit.
I imagined there would be others joining me. It would be fun comparing notes, discovering where they came from. I would be intermittently journaling and gathering fodder for a fictitious book about our United Kingdom visit to various energy spots.
I was somewhere else in my thoughts when Cordelia sat down beside me. Knowing I sometimes went far away, without physically moving, she tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention.
"So, we're free 'til tomorrow at 7am, whatever that is in our time at home for our Circadian Rhythm."
I hadn't set my watch back, so I was even more disoriented. "I hope there is a clock in our cottage that is set to the right time. Otherwise, I will be having to do math to figure out the difference between our time and their time here.
I do know the time here, is five hours ahead of what it is back home in Vermont. My watch says '11:00', so it must be 3:00 in the afternoon here." Cordelia paused as if inputting and calculating my information.
Becoming animated, she began speaking."Let's go look around this place, we've got plenty of time before we eat. Our eating schedule is really messed up, anyway. I'm feeling drawn to a certain area. I don't know why, but I'm willing to bet we'll find out."
Remember, I told you Cordelia was an inner dowser? I was confident she was onto something. We hadn't thought to ask any others if they'd experienced any sadness in their cottages.
'It will feel good to get away from some of the heaviness. Something went on here, either inside some of these cottages or outside on the surround lands."
Cordelia was nodding in agreement the whole time I was talking. "I feel I can breathe better out here." She stopped midway in her stretch and her wide yawn. "Look, there's a little building up on that mound."
She indicated the slight hill. It was difficult to identify what sort of building was up there. It was the size of a shed. Maybe that's all it was, a place where people kept tools. But, Cordelia was seldom wrong.
There didn't seem to be any steps anywhere to get there. To help us with the steep challenge, I grabbed two walking sticks, which we gently dropped as we neared the building, sensing an intensity of energy. Tears were welling up in my eyes.
Cordelia hugged herself, "Climbing nearer this building, I've gotten the chills."
I nodded pensively. "Something's going on. My throat is all tightened up."
The perceptive one cautioned me, "Let's approach slowly."
We felt a need to take one wooden step after another, with reverence. We did not know why at that moment, but, we would discover the source of our despondency.
There was a part of me that didn't want to know what shocking, solemn secrets this building secured.
In front of us was a showcase window displaying several random items. There was a package of cigarettes, some loose, some partially smoked.
Letters were written in different languages with various scrawling handwriting styles. The most poignant items were small folded, faded photographs of family members or friends or significant others.
We were as puzzled as you may be. Our emotions deepened as we read the typed card identifying the origin of these items. I was immediately drained. We held hands to brace each other, holding our breath.
"Cordelia, no wonder we've sensed such overwhelming sadness. Now, I've got goose bumps. My dowsing teacher, Bob, told us he knew of one of his past lives, to have been in England. I think this is the place."
Cordelia immediately agreed, "Yes, there is some connection between him and this strange conglomerate of items. I can strongly sense it."
"After I tell you what he said happened, you will be bowled over. You'll see there were a number of reasons you were led up here, to this very spot. Ooof."
"So, tell me. I think I might have it figured out. I want to see if I'm right."
"Well, do you want to take a swipe at it? Go ahead. What do you think he said? How is he connected to all of this?"
"You really want me to say? What if I'm wrong? What if I'm way off? Will you think I'm being disrespectful? Will you be offended?"
"Cordelia, you are seldom wrong. Never, way off. Never, even very far off. So, now I'm curious. Think of it as kind of like a little test. So, come on, what do you think he said?"
Our reverential tone, and teariness, had dissipated. It was just as well. You can only carry such a revelation for so long. It just gets too heavy. The spirit is darkened. I turned toward Cordelia, who was staring into the window of the past.
She took a deep breath, put her head down and raised it with the answer. The 'right on the nose' answer. I was amazed, but not really. I don't think I would have guessed what Bob had told our group in all of this world. But she got it.
Author Notes |
Madeline is the narrator and a friend of Cordelia.
Cordelia is a harp therapist and is a friend of Madeline, whom she invited to go with her A harp therapist goes into hospitals and plays certain chords to help patients heal A chord is when more than one note is sounded at the same time Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Circadian Rhythm is a natural, internal process that regulates the sleep�?�¢??wake cycle The ambiguities you may experience are intentional |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
Cordelia believes she knows how Madeline's dowsing teacher is connected to the place they are staying for the Harp Therapy course.
"She took a deep breath, put her head down and raised it with the answer. The 'right on the nose' answer. I was amazed, but not really. I don't think I would have guessed what Bob had told our group in all of this world. But she got it."
*************
Cordelia didn't yet realize she's nailed the answer. Hopefully, my next statement would let her know. "It was not coincidental that you had to come to this country, this set of cottages, this miniature museum of mourning."
I couldn't wait to tell Bob what we'd discovered. As many say, and I believe it, 'there's no such things as coincidences'.
"You were right in your sensing. Bob, who also was an inner dowser, told us he had a vision that in one of his past lives he was a young boy in England. He, along with hundreds of other young boys, stayed in cottages before going off to war. Our dowsing teacher believed, he, like most of the boys in the cottages, never returned."
I would be telling her something she already knew, but I needed to say it. "That's what all those items on display are, Cordelia. They are pieces of reminders of loved ones, whose parents, siblings, cousins and dear friends waited for word of survival and safety and return.
"Or maybe, they heard nothing and died wondering what had ever happened to those precious little boys. Bob was held close to someone's heart in times of war, WWII and now we know, also during WWI."
Cordelia was silent. I stopped talking, and joined her in the place she had been transported. I knew she also was envisioning the goings-on around these cottages.
"The emotions that must have been swirling around, makes me catch my breath with a salty taste forming in the back of my tight throat. The terror those boys must have had."
We recognized the source of the deep sadness we'd experienced, upon entering our cottage. We realized we were being called to release some trapped spirits.
"Maybe Bob stayed in our cottage as a young boy." Over the years many boys had enjoyed one of their last cigarettes or written home, letters which would never be sent, nor received.
Reclaiming our walking sticks, we consciously shuffled down toward the cottages. It was time to cook something for supper. My stomach growled with emptiness when I smelled some form of grilled beef wafting from the rear of one of the cottages, a couple down.
While waiting for the chicken to bake, we planned to discuss our adventures for the weekend coming up.
"We just have tomorrow, Friday, for my class, which by the way, you and the other guests will be observing the part I told you about earlier. Then Saturday, we can hit a couple of the places you've got planned for us. Have you thought about a day-long activity for us yet?"
Just as I was readying to elaborate, there was rapid rapping on the door. "I'll get it. Coming." Cordelia raised her voice enough, so they could hear her.
She stood at the door for only a moment. "Okay, I'll be there."
Shutting the door, she turned toward an inquisitive me. "Well? What was that about?"
"They want to get together to discuss playing our harps around some labyrinth on some Tor. You got me. I have no idea. Hopefully, I can find out more tonight. Mm mm...I think our chicken is done."
As Cordelia lifted the chicken out from the hot oven, I swooped in behind her to get the crispy baked potatoes.
"Well here goes." Cordelia took a deep breath, shrugging. "Certainly is an odd looking chicken."
That was my very thought. I'm sure she was referring to these English walking farm birds with extended, thin necks. There were long skinny legs with the feet still on them, that we saw in the market...and purchased. We had reported to each other, it's what we seemed to eat most of the time. I usually had chicken this, and she might have had chicken that.
Whether it was our imagination working overtime, or it was a fact, the chicken tasted a bit strange. It's a good thing we were hungry and flavored it up good. Fortunately, the potatoes tasted like our American potatoes.
After we scraped the last of our meal from our plates, we sat down with a cup of coffee. I hope we weren't breaking any cottage mores by having coffee and cake rather than tea and crumpets.
"Oh, look at the time. I've got to get over to the meeting. We'll talk about our weekend plans when I get back."
I opened my mouth to say something. She was already out the door.
*******
When Cordelia returned, there was a choice of which to discuss, our weekend itinerary or to hear what exciting plans her group of harpists had orchestrated. She seemed a bit conflicted.
Not with which to discuss, but as to the tenuousness of the labyrinth walk. No one had even examined the labyrinth or knew where it was and if it even still or ever existed.
She said, "As our group continued discussing the history of this labyrinth, someone, who probably was not so hot on circling and at the same time climbing the hill, intimated the whole thing just might be a masterful myth. So we don't know, now. I guess we see as the time gets closer.
"Enough of that dredging. Tell me what you mapped out for us on Saturday?"
Author Notes |
Madeline is the narrator and a friend of Cordelia.
Cordelia is a harp therapist and is a friend of Madeline, whom she invited to go with her A harp therapist goes into hospitals and plays certain chords to help patients heal A chord is when more than one note is sounded at the same time Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits A labyrinth has a direct path into the center and a direct path out from the center, unlike a maze which is intended to create confusion. |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
Cordelia had left it up to Madeline to plot out the energy spots for their expedition, because she is a dowser and would be able to find the significant places.
Tell me what you mapped out for us on Saturday?"
*************
"Well, we'll see how the time goes, but I figured we could check out the famous Stonehenge. Imagine, being near those stones sensing the energy and being so close we can touch them and sense the ancient energies and stories. I can't wait."
"If we have more time, where to next?"
I told her we could head up to Avebury to the Stone Circle. "There's little known of where those stones came. The stones we are going to see are over 5000 years old.
"I bet that energy is very strong."
"There is another curiosity called Silbury Hill within walking distance. Now, that will probably give us the goose bumps. It is some prehistoric mound similar to the pyramids of Egypt. It is older than Stonehenge. It has an enormous water-filled ditch around it.
"I can't wait to see that."
"The coolest thing about it is, it is like a formation discovered on Mars called Cydonia."
Cordelia was getting excited."I've heard of that. Isn't that where they discovered a face too?"
I explained how the whole panorama included a pyramid and the mound. "If we were to do an overlay of the map on Mars and Avebury and Silbury Hill, they would line up."
"I guess we'll see how generous time is for us."
Cordelia reminded me that time is elastic and can be manipulated. "We'll have to work on it, so we'll have plenty of time."
I paused with a sigh. My therapist told me sighing, often meant, 'if only' so I guess I was headed there. "I'm hoping we can catch a crop circle to walk through on the way. We'll have to keep our eyes peeled for grain crops. That's where I noticed they seem more apt to appear."
"This sounds great." Cordelia looked at the clock on the wall that I had seen for the first time. We still have tomorrow to experience, so we should get some good sleep. "Curiously, what's your watch say, anyway? It's 11 here." She made a wide gesture toward the clock up on the floral designed wall.
I did the usual counting on my fingers. "I'd say, 7. My watch should say 7."
Cordelia had a strange look on her face. "Okay, let's see what your watch says."
I looked at my watch, It says '6:00', wait, that can't be right."
Cordelia laughed and said, "It is, if you count right. 11, count back 5 hours. I watched you count from 11 back including the number 11. Do it using the next number to begin counting with. You actually start with 10. Try it."
I didn't exactly understand why, but I did as instructed and I came out with 6. I counted from 6 using the new way. I looked up at the clock, yup 11 right now.
"Ooof, math."
After the flurry of our Saturday itinerary settled down, the heaviness of spirit returned. But this time, I knew its source. I went to sleep, promising the spirits of the boys, we would release those who wished for it.
**********
I felt a hand on my shoulder. Cordelia tapped me. "Rise and shine. We've got an exciting day ahead of us and you, are going to be a big part of it."
I am usually groggy when first waking, but the anticipation of learning something entirely new, excited me. The early morning light peeking through the blinds spurred me on.
Not wanting to be late, we quickly downed some coffee and a warm, sweet cinnamon roll for breakfast.
We were ushered into our waiting area, until they were ready for us. In our enthusiastic chatting, we realized we'd each been provided the same skinny degree of information.
Our level of excitement grew when they invited us into the instruction area. Everyone was standing in a circle, leaning on a railing. We had entered, in the middle of the lesson. There was one person standing in the center.
I couldn't tell who the teacher was until I heard a voice from the side. "Welcome guests, we're glad you are able to join us." She explained what theories they'd been working on.
"We're all going to see the effects certain chords, when sounded, have on humans, either, emotionally, physically, or spiritually."
The woman in the center was instructed to make herself comfortable on the carpeted floor, lying face up. This was so we could observe her facial and physical responses as chords were played upon the harp.
The harpists were signaled to strike a specific chord. We were to notice the change, that chord had on us and at the same time to watch the subject on the floor.
I was noting I felt quite animated. I felt good. The subject sat up and reported she'd become agitated, soon after the chord was played. Several others in our circled agreed.
When there was an opening, one of the participants spoke up. "I felt elated, happy." I joined in with others who agreed, and was pleased we were of the same mind or spirit.
As the demonstration continued, it became obvious people's reactions were consistent with one group or the other. When the one in the center appeared to be relaxing, and reported feeling and the first group felt relaxed, the other of us felt depressed.
That helped me understand why some songs I listen to, feel very heavy, while other listeners find those chords peaceful.
The exposure to the chord soundings, really had an effect on people.
I began to comprehend the principle of harp therapy. How fascinating. So the harpist must play some chords around the patient and observe and ask them how they were affected. If the harpist is privy to the needs of the patient, they can play the appropriate chords.
When we were invited to return to our original room, we were so excited about discussing what we had just experienced, one of our group 'shushed' us, reminding us we were just a little bit too loud and might be disturbing our hostess in her ability to focus on her instructions.
As in the larger group, a few of us reacted differently than the others. We were like a microcosm of the larger group. I was anxious to discuss this with Cordelia to see which way certain chords stirred her.
Author Notes |
Madeline is the narrator and a friend of Cordelia.
Cordelia is a harp therapist and is a friend of Madeline, whom she invited to go with her A harp therapist goes into hospitals and plays certain chords to help patients heal A chord is when more than one note is sounded at the same time Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Dowsing with a device, means the dowser needs a pendulum or other device to read the energy We don't know why dowsing works, that is not important. But it is important that we know how, when and why we use it. We use it with respect for others�¢?? privacy and to bring about good. It is a way of measuring, moving, or neutralizing energies. I have a FB page called: Dowsing for Beginners, if anyone is interested |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
When we were invited to return to our original room, we were so excited about discussing what we had just experienced, one of our group ‘shushed’ us, reminding us we were just a little bit too loud and might be disturbing our hostess in her ability to focus on her instructions.
As in the larger group, a few of us reacted differently than the others. We were like a microcosm of the larger group. I was anxious to discuss this with Cordelia to see which way certain chords stirred her.
********
I couldn’t sit still after that. I had to get outside. And it was a beautiful day, perfect for a stroll. I went back to the cottage to leave my book and write a note, telling Cordelia I’d gone for a short walk.
Out of habit, I looked at the watch on my right wrist. It was 10 in the morning in Vermont. Without troubling my head with math, I looked at the green clock on the cottage’s wall of pale yellow-designed wallpaper, 3 in the afternoon. Classes went ‘til 4. I had an hour to do some research.
As I was about to leave, with my hand on the knob, I was surrounded, almost smothered with sadness. I knew what had to be done. I had to talk with them, to get their permission. Then, when Cordelia came back from her class, we could relieve them, finally, give them peace.
No, wait. It is only fair to Cordelia, to have her here when I do it. She should be coming soon. I decided to walk outside to see if anyone else was out there, to take up some of the time ‘til she got out of her classes.
A couple of ‘ladies in waiting’ had changed into jeans and tee shirts. I wondered if they’d preplanned their contrasting colors. Caren had a pink shirt and blue jeans and Karin, a blue sleeveless shirt and pink jeans. They were each sitting in, appropriately painted colored wooden lawn chairs.
The bright colors were a cheerful contrast to the monotonous gray of the overcast English sky. The colors seemed to raise the energies outside. Besides, it was away from the reminder of the sadness that gnawed away at the foundation of these cottages.
They appeared to be chatting in a casual manner, to kill time. When they noticed my approach, they signaled me to join them. I walked over to them, in my purple striped shirt accompanied by army green cargo pants. I chose the forest green chair for fun.
I took a deep breath, saying, “Have either of you or anyone you know sensed any heaviness of feeling in these cottages?” I made a sweeping gesture.
Caren sprang forward, her red hair swishing. “We thought it was our imagination. Oh, my gosh. Yes, we couldn’t put our finger on it, but there is such a strong atmosphere of, uh, what can I call it? Defeat, that’s it, defeat.”
We didn’t even have to turn in Karin’s direction and pause before she said, “I am relieved to hear both of you talk about this. Cyndy and I were so preoccupied with what could possibly be causing the sense of hopelessness, we had difficulty getting to sleep.”
I had no other choice but to tell them of the little building Cordelia had been drawn to. The original pain and tears welled up as I recounted our heart-wrenching discovery. The only sound that could be heard were some cute chickadees scavenging seeds in the carpet of green grass.
They looked at each other as I explained how I was a spiritual dowser. “I’m going to check with all of the spirits, a little later, to avail them the opportunity to be freed. I have to get their permission first. We can never make choices for others. It is not our business. We must respect others at all times. I would not attempt to move them toward the light without their permission.”
“Please do something for them, if you can, please.” It was clear Caren had been deeply affected by their spirits.
“Yes, please do something. I’m afraid the feelings of defeat will sabotage Cyndy’s success.”
The cadence of my words was a slow staccato. “Dark energy can enter us.” I wasn’t sure if I were intending to warn or comfort them. “I will, with all of your permissions, put a shield of protection on all levels for you.”
“What do you mean by a shield of protection on all levels?”
Karin didn’t even let Caren finish her question, because it was, naturally, hers too. “Yuh, what do you mean, on all levels? What levels? What’s on these levels?”
I did my best to explain. “ We’re talking about the levels where we are either healed or harmed. The most obvious, of course, is physical. The next, which slowly becomes known, is psychological, emotional or one’s perception of life. The third, however, only certain people can relate to.
“It is the invisible. It’s similar to how the chords of the harp affect us. We don’t know. We don’t understand why it works or even how it works, but it works. This is the spiritual dimension we are delving into. All of it is cloaked in mystery.”
‘Wow, I’m speechless, which is odd for me. I’m usually a chatterbox.” Her hoop earrings made little tings as she slowly shook her head.
Caren was better able to express herself. “ I’ve never heard of harp therapy, seen it work, nor can I begin to understand how it works. I guess if you believe you can do good by this, then go ahead. We’ll have to go check that little building out.”
“Just be ready to experience strong emotions, as Cordelia and I did.”
Our interactions were interrupted by distracting, animated yakking pouring from the cottage where the classes took place. We hiked ourselves from our chairs, moseying toward our respective harp therapists.
“Hi.”
Cordelia shifted the hand carrying her harp. “Hi, ready to go rest and talk a while?”
“Definitely. We can put some coffee on and snack on the tea biscuits. I hope we’ll be okay having tea biscuits with coffee.”
As we entered the cottage, I got out two metal cans, yellow and blue. The scoop sunk in, stirring the wonderful aroma of coffee grounds, pouring out, enough to make a full pot. “I got information about how the sadness we felt permeates the other cottages.”
“I got information about the chicken we purchased and attempted to eat. Which do we want to discuss first?”
The coffee pot began to gurgle in the background.
Author Notes |
Madeline is the narrator and a friend of Cordelia.
Cordelia is a harp therapist and is a friend of Madeline, whom she invited to go with her A harp therapist goes into hospitals and plays certain chords to help patients heal A chord is when more than one note is sounded at the same time Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Dowsing with a device means the dowser needs a pendulum or other devive to read the energy We don't know why dowsing works, that is not important. But it is important that we know how, when and why we use it. We use it with respect for others privacy and to bring about good. It is a way of measuring, moving or neutralizing energies. I have a FB page, Dowsing for Beginners if anyone is interested A labyrinth has a direct path into the center and a direct path out from the center, unlike a maze which is intended to create confusion. |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
As we entered the cottage, I got out the two metal cans, yellow and blue. The scoop sunk in, stirring the wonderful aroma of coffee grounds, pouring out, enough to make a full pot. “I got information about how the sadness we felt permeates the other cottages.”
“I got information about the chicken we purchased and attempted to eat. Which do we want to discuss first?”
The coffee pot began to gurgle in the background.
************
Cordelia grabbed the yellow tin and using her strong fingernails, pried off the silver lid losing her grip, sending it spinning, with cat-like sounds ‘waal, waal, waal’, ‘til it landed with a thunk. I was distracted with the musical lid, but Cordelia was already grabbing and gorging herself with one of the tea biscuits.
I guess we didn’t have to worry about apologizing to the tea gods for breaking the ritual of tea biscuits with tea. “Boy, you must be hungry.”
“Concentroiting mates me hungwy.”
Is this why we were told as children not to talk with our mouths full? Since the chicken conversation wasn’t going to be as serious as my plans for after supper, I said, “So what did you learn about the strange chicken we purchased and attempted to eat?”
Cordelia announced the coffee was ready and poured a fresh steaming cup for each of us. I’ve heard research has shown, just smelling the aroma of coffee will change a person’s disposition and level of energy. Even though it was from a tea cup, that first sip made me a believer in research.
Deciding to be more formal, Cordelia placed some biscuits on a blue patterned saucer. As we ate one biscuit after another, the image of a cathedral began to peek out. We had no idea this was a colorful foreshadowing of things to come.
“Back to my question, what did you learn about why that chicken looked so different from any we’d ever seen or eaten?”
The coffee had a softening effect on the biscuits, especially when dunked. Cordelia was able to chew more quickly and efficiently, thus being more coherent.
“First of all, some of the others laughed when I asked about the chicken. As I described what we observed, they glanced back and forth nodding their heads. I wasn’t sure what that meant.”
“Well, what information did you finally get out of them?”
“They said it was probably a chicken called the Malay Chicken, the tallest or nearly tallest chicken ever. It was introduced to England around 1830.”
“Ooof. So that’s why the legs were so skinny and long. I wonder if it tasted different because we’ve never had that kind. Wow, been around since 1830.”
“Yuh, they said the taste would be affected by the foods they were fed. I guess there are special recipes with spices for this chicken.”
“Maybe we should have looked around in these cupboards and dug up some spices to bury that 1830s taste?”
Cordelia glanced at the row of cupboards and nodded, rolling her eyes.“Some said it is very tasty with the right spices. So maybe it could have been more palatable. Oh well, now we know.”
We had kind of mindlessly eaten from the plate full of biscuits. Another point of foreshadowing was uncovered. We both stared at the images on the plate, then at each other. “I just had this weird wave of chill come over me.”
I was stunned she’d sense something too. “M..me too,” I mumbled.
Now that only crumbs remained, there was another building resembling the cathedral but, not really. We would discover the identity and function of that building, in a startling reveal.
“That plate gives me the heebie-jeebies. Let’s go over to the couches, so we can discuss what I learned about the sadness here, and little building we discovered.”
Vibrating her lips, and hugging herself, “bwooa haw huh haw”, Cordelia's whole being shook.
Remember, I said Cordelia is an inner dowser, so she was unfamiliar with device dowsing, so I needed to educate her. She had told me she was looking forward to learning as much about it as she could. Messages just seem to come to inner dowsers. They just have a way of knowing.
I didn’t totally trust my inner dowsing. Most of the time I have to double-check with my dowsing device, a pendulum. A pendulum is anything that swings. Some people think they have to have a special crystal, a specific type or color.
I have gently swung my fanny pack when in the grocery store to determine whether to buy a particular product. I want to state a disclaimer here. I did not dowse about the chicken.
An uneasy Cordelia made her way to the couches as if she couldn’t put enough distance between that plate and herself, soon enough. She plunked down into the cushions of the worn navy blue couch facing me in the brown plaid overstuffed one.
“So what’s going on, why so serious all of a sudden?” She had a curious, concerned look.
“I wanted to share with you what I got from the ladies I was sitting with while we waited for you guys to get out.”“I saw two of them sitting outside and was curious, as to whether any others had experienced the heaviness we have felt. They had specific descriptions for how the energy came across for them. ”
Author Notes |
Madeline is the narrator and a friend of Cordelia.
Cordelia is a harp therapist and is a friend of Madeline, whom she invited to go with her A harp therapist goes into hospitals and plays certain chords to help patients heal A chord is when more than one note is sounded at the same time Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Dowsing with a device means the dowser needs a pendulum or other devive to read the energy We don't know why dowsing works, that is not important. But it is important that we know how, when and why we use it. We use it with respect for others privacy and to bring about good. It is a way of measuring, moving or neutralizing energies. I have a FB page, Dowsing for Beginners if anyone is interested A labyrinth has a direct path into the center and a direct path out from the center, unlike a maze which is intended to create confusion. Foreshadowing is a foreboding foretelling of an event to come Heebie-jeebies is the term for feeling unease and creepiness |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
An uneasy Cordelia made her way to the couches as if she couldn’t put enough distance between that plate and herself, soon enough. She plunked down into cushions of the worn navy blue couch facing me.
“So what’s going on, why so serious all of a sudden?” She had a curious, concerned look.
***********
“I wanted to share with you what I got from the ladies I was sitting with while we waited for you guys to get out.”
“Great, go ahead. I’m anxious to hear what’s going on with the others.”
“I saw two of them sitting outside and was curious as to whether any others had experienced the heaviness we have felt. They had specific descriptions for how the energy came across for them. One said she and Cyndy, who in your class, were so preoccupied with what could possibly be causing the sense of hopelessness, they had difficulty getting to sleep.
“The other termed it a feeling of defeat. So I told them about the discovery of the little building and what was there. I told them we don’t totally understand its implications, but we were going to work on it.”
Cordelia posed a question that was gnawing at me. “I do wonder who placed those artifacts there, why, and how long ago.”
“We’ll probably never know. I do feel they were placed there for us…you, to be led toward. We never would have made the connection about Bob having been here.”
‘What I want to do is invite their spirits to go toward the light, to be free. Some may be hesitant, depending upon how long they’ve been here.”
“Whoa, how do you do that? That’s great.”
“First, I have to get their permission. We do not have the right to move energy around without permission. We may have what we think is a good agenda, but must ask permission.
“I will use my pendulum.” I removed the chain holding my pendant from around my neck.
“Wow, that is beautiful. What is it? It’s got several stones in it.”
Handing it to her to point out each element, I said, “This is a yoga goddess with a moonstone for the face and an amethyst for the center.”
“Is that important to be able to set the spirits free? Are those stones the best ones to use?”
I explained how a pendulum is anything that swings. That pendant had become a nice convenience since, I often wear it.
I instructed her to watch how the pendulum swings, so she would know the answer of yes or no. “‘Yes’ is indicated in the direction we shake our head for a ‘yes’ to and from our body. And ‘no’ is shown with a movement from left to right and right to left.”
I told her I was going to ask them if they want to be set free.
Cordelia wiggled her legs. “Cool.”
“But we need calm, focused moods.” She sat back, bracing herself.
“We need to have a shield of protection around us, because we may open up channels to unwanted energies which could bring about confusion and imbalance.” I spent a moment getting into a reflective state. Cordelia followed suit.
I spun my pendulum in a clockwise motion, my healing technique. I asked for protection for us as we opened pathways for the spirit of these boys to be set free. I moved on to our mission at hand.
Slightly moving my pendulum back and forth, I began. “We are aware of your sadness, terror, and all you lost.” Nodding toward Cordelia, I said, “We want to give you the opportunity to be set free, to go toward the light.”
Tears accumulated, readying to spill over onto my warm smile. “Would you like to move on?”
We both watched my pendulum as it moved away from and toward me. “That means, ‘yes’ you do want us to proceed?” The pendulum signaled another ‘yes’.
I began swinging my pendulum in an expansive clockwise circle, which was my healing action for them. “You said you all want to be set free. Go toward the light.” As my pendulum continued to swing in the healing direction, I repeated my words. “Go toward the light, you will be happier and at peace.”
The size of the spinning circle grew smaller until my pendulum slowed to a stop. There was an intense pause in energy, everything was still. We both had our heads bowed in contemplation.
At the exact moment I felt a powerful ‘woosh’, Cordelia said, “Did you feel that?”
I looked at her in astonishment, “Yes. You felt it too?”
Cordelia described her experience. “I felt spirit energy zoom from the tips of my toes, up, up, and out through the spiritual opening in my head.”
“I felt something move from my gut, out through the center, top of my head.”
I rotated my head as if I were sniffing the environment of the room. “I don’t feel that sadness now.” I got up to check the feeling in the kitchen and looked upstairs. “Nope, nothing.”
Cordelia joined me in the stairway. “So are they gone?”
“It feels like they are.” With a desire for confirmation, I said, “We’ll have to check with the others. Hopefully, they’ll have noticed a difference.”
Cordelia named some people she’d ask.
“Well, you’ve got to be up bright and early tomorrow for your last class of the week.” I couldn’t help but break into song for the next three words. “Then comes Saturday.” I twirled around, bowing at the word ‘Saturday’.
*****
Morning wafted a clue up to my room, of fresh made coffee. The air was light and cheery, in contrast to the day before. The sun was shining for a change, casting beautiful shadows through the pale green drapes. I rose to invite the warmth of a new day.
While we nonparticipants spent time in our familiar busyness room, I took advantage of a ripe opportunity to see if anyone had noticed a difference in the darkness and depression, they may have sensed before the lost, trapped spirits were set free.
I chose to approach Karin and Caren, they would know immediately why I was asking the question.
“Caren and Karin, remember our conversation from yesterday and the descriptions of what you’ve been feeling throughout your cottages? I was wondering if you noticed anything different when you woke this morning?”
Author Notes |
Most of the events in this book are based on my personal experience. I will let you know if I deviate.
These chapters all fold into each other. Bob was my dowsing teacher who had a past life recognition he was one of many boys who stayed in cottages before going off to die in war Madeline is the narrator and a friend of Cordelia. Cordelia is a harp therapist and is a friend of Madeline, whom she invited to go with her A harp therapist goes into hospitals and plays certain chords to help patients heal A chord is when more than one note is sounded at the same time Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Dowsing with a device means the dowser needs a pendulum or other device to read the energy We don't know why dowsing works, that is not important. But it is important that we know how, when and why we use it. We use it with respect for others' privacy and to bring about good. It is a way of measuring, moving, or neutralizing energies. I have a FB page, Dowsing for Beginners if anyone is interested A labyrinth has a direct path into the center and a direct path out from the center, unlike a maze which is intended to create confusion. Foreshadowing is a foreboding foretelling of an event to come |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
While we nonparticipants spent time in our familiar busyness room, I took advantage of a ripe opportunity to see if anyone had noticed a difference in the darkness and depression, they may have sensed before the lost, trapped spirits were set free.
I chose to approach Karin and Caren, they would know immediately why I was asking the question.“Caren and Karin, remember our conversation from yesterday and the descriptions of what you’ve been feeling throughout your cottages? I was wondering if you noticed anything different when you woke this morning?”
*****************
“Here’s how it usually happens. As I sit in the evening quiet, I frequently sense a presence to my right. When I ask if someone’s there, I often feel a positive answer. Asking them if they want to be set free, I dowse, that they do. I instruct them to go toward the light. In a short time, they leave.”
“Do others, where you work, sense them too?” Caren was asking for both of them.The two ley lines of which I speak, are referred to as the St. Michael line and the Mary line. The Michael line has a harsh dark feeling to it. The Mary line, skirting around bodies of water, has a fluffy energy sensation.
The Michael line is a rigidly directed line whereas the Mary line forms more of a weaving pattern across England. These two opposing energies do cross each other in several places.
“It turns out, what I discovered is the Michael ley line begins a few miles from us right here. Doesn’t that makes sense, now?”
Cordelia sat forward, with her eyes wide open. “I guess it certainly does make a lot of sense. That Michael line must carry massive mean energy.” Pursing her lips while nodding her head from side to side. “Okay… tell me where else will we meet…ole Michael.”
“One thing I read in my research is, since at least before the 20th-century, many believed the churches were built on power plots which were previous Pagan gathering places. So it seems these energies were perceived long before churches were built.”
Cordelia shuddered as she said, “I suspect we’ll be seeing many churches or cathedrals on our venturing. I don’t know why that thought makes me want to scrinch up, but it does.”
Author Notes |
Cordelia is a harp therapist and is a friend of Madeline, whom she invited to go with her.
A harp therapist goes into hospitals and plays certain chords to help patients heal. A chord is when more than one note is sounded at the same time. Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits. Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits. Dowsing with a device means the dowser needs a pendulum or other device to read the energy. We don't know why dowsing works, that is not important. But it is important that we know how, when and why we use it. We use it with respect for others' privacy and to bring about good. It is a way of measuring, moving, or neutralizing energies. I have a FB page, Dowsing for Beginners if anyone is interested. A labyrinth has a direct path into the center and a direct path out from the center, unlike a maze which is intended to create confusion. Foreshadowing is a foreboding foretelling of an event to come A wonderful ley line map. The Michael Line is red and the Mary line is green https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/viewer?mid=1EfTggFzl0UQ1W_Ls45K2Cl_H6eE&hl=en_US&ll=51.34404330404662%2C-2.1097562803420087&z=7 |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
“One thing I read in my research is, since at least before the 20th-century, many believed the churches were built on power plots which were previous Pagan gathering places. So it seems these energies were perceived long before churches were built.”
Cordelia shuddered as she said, “I suspect we’ll be seeing many churches or cathedrals on our venturing. I don’t know why that thought makes me want to scrinch up, but it does.”
*************
Tipping my head to one side, I nodded, signaling my understanding. After all, she was the inner dowser. “After we leave Stonehenge, also on the Michael line, we’ll head up to Avebury to experience the Standing Stones.”
“Oh, cool, that sounds like a nice change.”
“Well…”
“Well, what? What now? Ole Michael doesn’t reach way up there too?”
“Maybe, more significant, it’s where the Mary line crashes into the Michael line. So, it should be very interesting energy there. When we travel from one ley line to the area influenced by the other, we will sense a noticeable difference.
“Also, I may have originally told you, within walking distance from there is Silbury Hill. Now that excites me, because it is…well actually that whole area…has been identified as a similar model on Mars.”
“Whoopee. So cool. Now, you mentioned seeing a Crop Circle. What’s that about? Is there a model Crop Circle somewhere there, like a museum?”
“No, I just know we will find one. It’s like inner dowsing backed up with my pendulum. I asked if we will have seen a Crop Circle before arriving at Avebury. I got a ‘yes’ so we shall see. You should be driving around that time, so I can search the grain fields.”
*********
We got started off very early. Even in the breaking of dawn with a shy, skinny, shard of light showing through dark clouds, Route 39a was simple to follow. Cordelia, remembering my cautionary tale from when we were planning the logistics back home, packed our umbrellas.
“I believe the Michael line will greet us soon.” I had no more than spoken when the surrounding clouds grew heavy and opaque. Cordelia’s inner dowsing was going to keep us dry.
A steady downpour accompanied us into the parking lot. Cordelia reached toward the rear seat to joyfully grab our umbrellas. We were to line up behind umbrellas appearing to be the tips of a giant box of crayons.
As we bought our tickets, we were offered a handheld tape recorder. When I looked over to see if Cordelia was taking one, someone was blocking my vision. I accepted one, thinking it would be similar to those handed out at our Alcatraz tour.
The reassuring voice in my gray cassette recorder guided us through the tour with lifelike auditory scenarios, such as the outbreak in the kitchen where a knife was reported to be missing. The narrator, over the riotous racket, directed us to notice the tracings around the knives used to identify which knife was no longer in its place.
Most striking, was my sensing the spirits who seemed to have remained in the diminutive, dark, denigrating space where they endured years of their giant timeout known as the ‘shu’.
********
There was no such spiritual experience for me, as we circled the history-laden stones, restricted by a rope restraint. Untouched monoliths felt miles away, definitely measured to be a little under five hundred feet.
There was no sensing energies, commentaries, or answers about this aloof structure. In addition to my useless recorder clamoring on about totally unrelated matters, I had to grip my umbrella handle with the hammering rain.
At the same time, I was snapping iconic photos with my point and shoot camera, the best ‘take-away’ from this tourist tryst. What an ordeal. I wondered if Cordelia had had any similar agitations. I would soon find out. We were nearing our path of entrance on the left and would be pointed to the exit on our right.
After returning the still chattering recorder, I headed for our rental. “Oooof, do you remember what our car looked like?” I was yelling over the staccato tap, tapping of the significant raindrops on my sopped umbrella.
Cordelia rotated her body, umbrella and all. It didn’t take her any time to inner dowse where our car was. Seeing the futility of yelling anything, she raised her arm, pointed in the direction we were to walk, and began puddle-jumping. I followed suit.
Soon, she had the car door open, unlocking my side. I sat slightly on the edge of the seat, closing, opening, and closing my umbrella to shake off the pooling wetness. Cordelia had already figured out how to turn the heater on. That girl is definitely a ‘keeper’.
“Brrrr. I thought the heater would add a warm touch to this totally cold experience. What a disappointment. It’s too commercialized.” She grabbed the steering wheel and growled.
There was comfort in that car. In addition to being warmed by the heat, My perceptions were being validated by a psychic friend. “So it was a bust for you, too? It is overly commercialized. I hope you didn’t grab one of those non-productive black wands.”
“I shut off that freckless piece of plastic the minute the male voice commenced to drone. It wasn’t insulting, it was just extremely annoying.”
“I wish I’d turned mine off sooner. I might have been more receptive to the energies before me. I hopefully would have felt honored, but instead felt ornery. Oh, well the next event, the crop circle will make up for this crushing occurrence.”
Cordelia was still an unbeliever. “If you say so, then it is probably so.” She raised both arms.
“I dowsed the question a long time ago, ‘Will we have seen and walked in a real crop circle?’ And I got the answer, ‘yes’”.
“How can you know the future by dowsing with a pendulum? I sometimes just know something’s going to come about. How can you know from asking a pendulum?”
“Well, first of all, I’m not asking the pendulum. When I ask the question for my high or spiritual self to receive the proper energies, I phrase it in a future-past tense question, ‘will we have seen?’. That’s the best I can explain it.”
It was evident Cordelia was listening to my every word, attempting to absorb the new concepts. She hadn’t yet put the gear shift into drive. “We’ll follow the yellow car to make certain we merge into the correct lane.”
After maneuvering with the mental gymnastics of English driving, we were on our way. Though both of us were in deep thought, I kept an ever-vigilant eye out for the crop circle I had called forward before we’d deplaned, days ago.
I saw an old crop circle up on a hill to my right. The stalks were already beginning to grow back as our favorite haircut does, no longer resembling its original style. With heightened hopes, I knew it wouldn’t be long.
Author Notes |
Cordelia is a harp therapist and is a friend of Madeline, whom she invited to go with her
A harp therapist goes into hospitals and plays certain chords to help patients heal A chord is when more than one note is sounded at the same time Alcatraz is an island located in San Franciso Bay, is a prison with much history, now used for tours. Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Dowsing with a device means the dowser needs a pendulum or other device to read the energy We don't know why dowsing works, that is not important. But it is important that we know how, when and why we use it. We use it with respect for others privacy and to bring about good. It is a way of measuring, moving, or neutralizing energies. I have a FB page, Dowsing for Beginners if anyone is interested The shu was a security housing unit where prisoners, deemed violent to others, were kept in isolation from any human contact. Grain stalks are different In real crop circles the stalks are not broken but are bent at a 90�??�?�° angle about 2 cm off the ground. A wonderful ley line map. The Michael Line is red and the Mary line is green https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/viewer?mid=1EfTggFzl0UQ1W_Ls45K2Cl_H6eE&hl=en_US&ll=51.34404330404662%2C-2.1097562803420087&z=7 |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
I saw an old crop circle up on a hill to my right. The crops were already beginning to grow back as our favorite haircut does, no longer resembling its original style. It raised my hopes. I knew it wouldn’t be long.
***************
We drove onward. With the sight of one undisturbed grain field after another, my enthusiasm began to wilt, just like that worn crop circle back aways.
Nearly speechless, I croaked, for Cordelia to slow. “There, up there, to our left, look. We’ve got to find a place to turn off or do something.” I couldn’t contain myself.
“I’ll pull in on the left, right over there. It’ll be a bit of a challenge, but we can do it.” Cordelia waggled her pointer finger a little ahead of us. She couldn’t get through the tractor path opening in the fence, soon enough.
There in front of us were nine consecutive circles increasing in circumference as they climbed the hill. Fetching my camera, it occurred to me the insipid rain had ceased and the energy felt different.
“Do you suppose this is the Mary line we’re in?” Cordelia was dancing around, her words joggling as she spoke. “I feel that fluffy energy you’ve mentioned.”
“Yes, I think we’ve left the Michael line behind for a while anyway. It does feel so good, doesn’t it?”
“Back there at Stonehenge felt like a painful deep muscle massage and this area feels a warmed rock massage. Oooooh. Yum.”
“You’ve stated it perfectly, Cordelia.”
As we progressed from one circle to another, we stood with arms outstretched wide to take in the invigorating energy. This was clearly not some hoax fabricated by nocturnal persons in a grain field creating art. This was the real thing. I thanked whomever it was, for bringing one of my dreams to fruition.
There were only a few people around, accentuating the amiable environment. One smiled and said, “Pretty fantastic, isn’t it? Good luck taking pictures, my daughter’s camera jammed. I guess she wasn’t supposed to have pictures of these.”
I swallowed hard as I aimed my lens at the strangely bent unbroken thin barley stalks. I couldn’t imagine what I’d do if my camera froze at a sacred moment like this.
‘Click.’ ‘Click.’ ‘Click’. Success. I expelled so much tension, I hoped it wouldn’t mix toxically with the surrounding energies. I was so consumed with exhilaration, Cordelia had to tap me on the shoulder to get my attention.
She was having someone take our picture. “Hand this lovely lady your camera so she can take our picture. With gallant smiles, we once again corkscrewed our hands and arms, receiving the adrenalizing crop circle energy with pictures to memorialize that moment.
As John Wayne said in one of his movies, ‘we were burnin’ daylight’, we still had two more stops.
I was heavy-hearted to leave. Cordelia claimed to be feeling dismal. As I put my right foot inside the car, bending toward the seat, I saw it by my shoe. It was a piece of the crop circle.
That, with the fossilized trilobite stone found in the ninth circle at the top of the hill, would allow me to bring the energy of the crop circle home. I dowsed to ask permission to pocket the stone and bag the piece of barley.
I wanted something to be able to keep real, one of my most incredible memories. Little did we know, there would be, in the future, some things we would be fighting to forget forever.
My pendulum indicated ‘yes’ just before we backed out onto the A361 highway, headed for Avebury. Our hearts and spirits were full. We were quiet for much of the remainder of our trip ‘til we reached signs telling us we were nearing Avebury.
*********
Some sort of distant pyramid-shaped hill with the top hacked-off, caught my attention on the left, but to the right were rows and circles of standing stones. There was no one around taking money, tearing off tickets, and best of all no worthless tape recorders being doled out.
This was also where the Mary line influenced the Michael line, or visa versa. We would see. The light and airy sensation remained. What pressing force of ‘ole Michael’ did Mary have to work to neutralize on these grounds?
It hadn’t occurred to me ‘til just then, we would not need umbrellas. We didn’t use them at the crop circle either. Maybe, it was just a little gift from Mary combined with her soft positive energy.
In jubilance, I forgot to close my door. Cordelia, familiar with my ADD behaviors shut and locked the doors and caught up with me. We had discussed our planned approach, to stand at each stone and read the energy.
At the outset, we discerned the energy of those stones to be female. We wondered if each would have her own story. As we stood with the first one, we smiled, sensing a contended warm joy.
Cordelia expressed my sentiments with a gesture accompanied by a soft nearly inaudible whisper. I read her lips and her hand motions to mean ‘wait, not yet, let’s stay right here’. I could hear and feel her serene sigh. We just wanted to bask in the secure feeling, one we had not felt in a very long time.
It was good we had that shot of resiliency. I felt as if I’d been struck right in the gut as I neared the next stone. I witnessed Cordelia grab her ribs. This stone was holding great pain for the multitudes. I was picturing throngs of women running for their lives.
“What could possibly have happened to the bearers of this torment?” Cordelia continued with her vision. “At least fifty women hiding filled with terror for fear of being captured and restrained.”
“Phew, powerful. I wonder where the next one will transport us.”
Cordelia chuckled. I looked at her quizzically. “Funny you should mention being transported. This clearly has the energy of a vortex.” She waggled her hands from the middle of the stone upward.
I had a strange sense of panic as if I were going to be trajected somewhere to another space, in another lifetime.
Author Notes |
Most of the events are based on personal experience
These chapters all fold into each other. Madeline, the narrator and a dowser is a friend of Cordelia. Cordelia, an inner dowser, invited to go with her to England Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Dowsing with a device means the dowser needs a pendulum or other device to read the energy We don't know why dowsing works, that is not important. But it is important that we know how, when and why we use it. We use it with respect for others' privacy and to bring about good. It is a way of measuring, moving or neutralizing energies. I have a FB page, Dowsing for Beginners if anyone is interested Foreshadowing is a foreboding foretelling of an event to come Ley lines are addressed in detail in chapter 10 A wonderful ley line map. The Michael Line is red and the Mary line is green https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/viewer?mid=1EfTggFzl0UQ1W_Ls45K2Cl_H6eE&hl=en_US&ll=51.34404330404662%2C-2.1097562803420087&z=7 Grain stalks are different In real crop circles the stalks are not broken but are bent at a 90�?�° angle about 2 cm off the ground. Crop circles: Some of these are obviously made by humans, but many are not. They�¢??ve been appearing since 1678. They were thought to be possibly caused by "cyclonic wind action" Many have been accompanied by UFO reports. Crop circle links https://www.dogpile.com/serp?q=crop+circles&page=3&sc=9DXbRjLKV4L010 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BndVb1ucKOA |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
Cordelia chuckled. I looked at her quizzically. “Funny you should mention being transported. This clearly has the energy of a vortex.” She waggled her hands from the middle of the stone upward.
I had a strange sense of panic as if I were going to be trajected somewhere to another space, in another lifetime.
*********
My strength was severely sapped, sensing a weighted-down energy. This was a forlorn spirit, devoid of any hope.
As we neared the last stone, Cordelia said, "Hey, we never checked in the rear of these stones. I wonder if there is a difference." She led us down the slight decline to approach the opposite sides of each stone.
“Just as I thought, totally different.” I had to agree. The mood was darker, pushing us away from the stone. “It’s as if this side is protecting the spirits of the front.”
“Or trying to isolate them. It’s the Michael line.” I could feel just what she was talking about. After dowsing a respectful request, I was granted permission to take a panorama shot of them.
There was so much more to explore. As with Stonehenge, no one is certain why or who put those stones there, or where they came from, or how they got there. It was all too fascinating, and the energy there was definitely a result of the fluffy Mary line.
I hadn’t told Cordelia the connections. “ When I was reading about this region, it said
there is thought to be a connection between this place and Silbury Hill which is right over there.” I pointed with my thumb in the direction behind us. “I think I spotted it as we were nearing this area. And I guess the other connected site is Glastonbury.” I felt a familiar chill as I told her that.
“Oh, that will be in a few days when we’re supposed to play our harps as we walk the labyrinth. We’ll see. We haven’t firmed up that performance yet.
I’m leaning toward the speculation that we won’t. It might be too cumbersome. I think it was a group member’s idea to reenact the historical ceremonies they used to have there. The energy produced would be exhilarating, though.”
We moved on to the next section. There seemed to be sheep pastures we were passing through. Cordelia wanted to measure the aura energy of the first stone we saw in the distance.
“Let’s measure the aura of that stone over there. We’ll keep walking ‘til we can feel the energy. We’ll see if we stop at the same measured distance.”
I had to remove my pendant, used for dowsing. She, of course, was just going to ‘inner dowse’. “Oh, you’re wearing that beautiful yoga goddess pendant. And those are opals on the feet and is the face a moonstone? Is that a ruby in the center?”
“Yes, I wear this all of the time. It is very special to me." I swung my pendulum in a ‘no’ motion until it switched to a side to side direction, indicating I had reached the energy field of that stone. I looked to my left.
There was Cordelia, feet solid on the ground, across from me. She curtsied. “Wasn’t that cool? We both stopped at the same distance from that stone. I knew we would. Wow, that’s still quite far away from us. It must have some powerful energy. Let’s go nearer.”
It felt almost like the energy of a generator of some kind. We remained close to it, feeling rejuvenated.
Cordelia turned her head and began singing, “Oh, that rock wants me to dance with it.” And off she went. She was twirling and skipping and continued as she entered the energy field of that stone.
I just stood, enjoying the whole scene. It was their dance. As I watched, there appeared to be three figures within the stone. My camera bizarrely picked up those three figures dancing in a haze.
My attention was drawn to a stone that was a bit of an optical illusion. It reminded me of those puzzles or games where we are supposed to see how many faces we can identify in trees and clouds. Here, far away from home, it was a giant stone.
The first aspect that drew me to the stone was its resemblance to a giant monkey head sitting in the short grass. But upon pausing, I could see a wolf head and several faces. It was thrilling to know I’d have more optics to play around with later, as I snapped one angle after another, as in a photo-shoot.
Time was waning, and we still had Silbury Hill to walk to. It wasn’t far, but I was glad I was clad in purple Asics running shoes, not that I was going to be running anywhere, but they were lighter than other sneakers.
We weren’t certain what we were going to see or feel. Only the scuffing of extremely tired feet attached to two extremely weary beings could be heard as we pensively walked the dirt road toward our final experience of the day.
The air was devoid of any sound as this phenomenon stood unyielding before us. What an honor to witness this result of many buckets of dirt, as it is reported to have been built. There would be no way to get closer, but we didn’t feel the need.
This was definitely where the Michael line was crossing. Yet there was a fluffiness in the air. Mary was there too. We felt humbled, eyes fixed on a stalwart, which had endured for centuries. There was a feeling of balance. No matter how rough things might get, I knew I would be okay.
I finally broke the silence, still in a respectful low voice. “The thing that’s so cool about this, is its reported similarity to the one on Mars. From the pictures I’ve seen, I would have to agree.”
Cordelia said in an excited whisper, “And look, it even has a ditch around it like the one on Mars. So cool.” She sighed pleasantly. “I’m so glad I asked you, to find the energy places. You have done a great job. I wonder what more power spots we will encounter.”
A chill made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.
“Well, we should head back to the car. The sun is going to set soon. I want to be able to find our way back as easily as we had, getting here.”
“It’s so nice you’re driving, Cordelia. I’m not sure how I’d do finding our way back. Maybe I can drive when we strike out for Glastonbury.” Another chill wriggled up my back.
Author Notes |
Most of the events are based on personal experience
These chapters all fold into each other. Madeline, the narrator and a dowser is a friend of Cordelia. Cordelia, an inner dowser, invited to go with her to England Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Dowsing with a device means the dowser needs a pendulum or other device to read the energy We don't know why dowsing works, that is not important. But it is important that we know how, when and why we use it. We use it with respect for others�?�¢?? privacy and to bring about good. It is a way of measuring, moving or neutralizing energies. I have a FB page, Dowsing for Beginners if anyone is interested Foreshadowing is a foreboding foretelling of an event to come Ley lines are addressed in detail in chapter 10 A wonderful ley line map. The Michael Line is red and the Mary line is green https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/viewer?mid=1EfTggFzl0UQ1W_Ls45K2Cl_H6eE&hl=en_US&ll=51.34404330404662%2C-2.1097562803420087&z=7 Stone Circle https://www.tonyhowell.co.uk/new/Avebury-Stone-Circle-4277.jpg http://www.badwitch.co.uk/2011/12/photos-of-avebury-stone-circle.html http://petergolding.net/images/Report%20images/avebury-stones.jpg Silbury Hill https://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/creepypasta/images/4/49/IMG_6335silburyHill.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20140527163826&path-prefix=de |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
“Well, we should head back to the car. The sun is going to set soon. I want to be able to find our way back as easily as we had, getting here.”
“It’s so nice you’re driving, Cordelia. I’m not sure how I’d do finding our way back. Maybe I can drive when we strike out for Glastonbury.” Another chill wriggled up my back.
************
We woke well-rested. I think the activities from the previous day had tuckered us out so much it overtook the high level of adrenaline we put to bed for the night.
As we were sitting with cups of coffee, we put our sweet rolls on paper towels. We’d had to flip a coin to see who was going to wash the creepy plate we’d used to put our biscuits on the other day. I wasn’t sure if I could touch the shiny images of the church or cathedral and whatever the other building was, if I lost the toss.
Cordelia stepped away for a few minutes. She returned, slipping her wallet from her maroon leather pocketbook. Snapping open her lovely purple patterned wallet, she hunted in the coin compartment to find an American quarter. I wished she’d taken longer. The die was cast, we soon know who would take the dive and do that dish.
“Heads or tails?”
I was slowly drifting away. “Madeline, you call it. Heads or tails?”
Oh, great, I was the determiner of my own fate. “Heads.”
As she rested the foreboding coin upon her bent forefinger and thumbnail I was so preoccupied with how I would summon strength enough to conquer my new phobia I missed the head, flipping over the tail, over the head, and landing in her dancing palm.
I clearly went somewhere else. She had to tap me on the shoulder to get my attention.
“Well, guess which it came up for.”
A salty taste gathered in my mouth as my throat closed just a little tighter. Try as I could, I did not discern any clues from her voice tone. She was intentionally flat in her presentation. “I don’t know, I give up.” We were in an uncomfortable guessing game. I was ready. My role model was Sue from Life Below Zero, who gritted her teeth and managed to do unpleasant and difficult tasks.
Once again, Cordelia surprised me, heading for the kitchen sink. “Well, I’d better put a shield of protection around myself and get that plate washed." More chills. The whole time she was touching that plate she made horse-like whinnyings.
When she came back into the sitting-room she sang in a high-pitched tone. “Please brush my aura, please.” I used to get that request from staff members when working in the psych hospital. Another term, is to comb the aura.
Beginning at her head, I ‘raked’ the energy all the way to her feet, shook any negative energy off my fingers, then began at another side at the top, repeating the motion until all sides were combed or brushed. She was giddy. “Oh, that feels delicious. Thank you, thank you.”
That was the end of that. Never was a word spoken about that dish, its images, or the effects it had on us. Nor did we need to use any of those plates. We managed fine, without them. We did not know, as yet, why we were affected by certain words, thoughts, or images, but we knew it wasn’t good and that the day of reckoning was nearing.
*******
Soon I got to the gathering of new friends, who were like me, with someone learning how to use their harps for, not just entertaining, but for healing. Many were local, meaning from England. As with most of us, they admitted they had not visited the areas sought after by tourists.
That is a strange fact. I would never have gone up on a gondola and certainly not a chair lift in our skiing locations, unless we had to think of a fun place to bring our friends to show them our local attractions.
I guess that was true with this group, who had never been to Stonehege, the Standing Stones or seen Silbury Hill. A few had seen crop circles but more had witnessed strange lights in the sky.
In the middle of the whole discussion, Caren said, “I saw them making your crop circle, late last evening.” Everyone stared at her, eyes begging for more details. “I saw their lights in the sky just north of here.”
One fellow, with whom I was unfamiliar, challenged, not so playfully. “So were you sitting out here with a compass? How did you know it was north of here?”
I loved her answer. “The big dipper was out, and I spotted it with the North star.” She was matter of fact, not one hint of smugness. That was the end of his questions.
Karin mentioned that she’d read there is a great deal of UFO activity around Stonehenge and Avebury where the Standing Stones are. “These are often coordinated with crop circle appearances.”
It was time for the ‘devil’s advocate’ to rear his ugly head. “So, how do we know some humans didn’t make your nine circles in that grain field? You have no real proof and there were some guys who proved they made them.”
A believer chimed in. “ Oh, like they are hopping on a private jet with their little flat boards and rope and making them all over the world. Did you know they are sighted all over the world? And they are becoming more complicated, something scientists have to use a computer for to figure out the equations they indicate.”
“Well, maybe there’s a club of them.” When he wouldn’t let up, I knew it was time to change the topic, to drip a drop of nitroglycerin into the mix.
Author Notes |
Most of the events are based on personal experience
These chapters all fold into each other. Madeline, the narrator and a dowser is a friend of Cordelia. Cordelia, an inner dowser, invited to go with her to England The named characters other than Cordelia and Madeline are part of the group of companions to those students taking lessons in harp therapy Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Dowsing with a device means the dowser needs a pendulum or other device to read the energy We don't know why dowsing works, that is not important. But it is important that we know how, when and why we use it. We use it with respect for others' privacy and to bring about good. It is a way of measuring, moving or neutralizing energies. I have a FB page, Dowsing for Beginners if anyone is interested Foreshadowing is a foreboding foretelling of an event to come Ley lines are addressed in detail in chapter 10 A wonderful ley line map. The Michael Line is red and the Mary line is green https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/viewer?mid=1EfTggFzl0UQ1W_Ls45K2Cl_H6eE&hl=en_US&ll=51.34404330404662%2C-2.1097562803420087&z=7 Stone Circle https://www.tonyhowell.co.uk/new/Avebury-Stone-Circle-4277.jpg http://www.badwitch.co.uk/2011/12/photos-of-avebury-stone-circle.html http://petergolding.net/images/Report%20images/avebury-stones.jpg Silbury Hill https://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/creepypasta/images/4/49/IMG_6335silburyHill.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20140527163826&path-prefix=de |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
It was time for the 'devil’s advocate' to rear his ugly head. “So, how do we know some humans didn't make your nine circles in that grain field? You have no real proof, and there were some guys who proved they made them.”
A believer chimed in. “Oh, like they are hopping on a private jet with their little flat boards and rope and making them all over the world. Did you know they are sighted all over the world? And they are becoming more complicated, something scientists have to use a computer for to figure out the equations they indicate.”
“Well, maybe there's a club of them.” When he wouldn't let up, I knew it was time to change the topic, to drip a drop of nitroglycerin into the mix. ************
“On another subject, are any of you making plans to go with your harpist friend to the G…Glastonbury T..Tor?” I had suddenly developed a stutter? What was that about?”
There were almost as many different reactions as there were people sitting there. There could be quite a discussion if all nine of us participated. I watched the facial expressions and body movements to spot any reactions similar to Cordelia and mine. Right off, I noticed five were fidgeting in their chairs.
They would be my intended targets. Not surprising, two of them were actually Karin and Caren. I had sensed a connection, the first I met them. I had had an odd reaction, as we were sitting calmly reflecting upon this whole experience when Caren said, “I feel like we are in a monastery here, it is so peaceful.”
I was immediately agitated and anxious. I tried to regain the calm, but kept hearing her word 'monastery'...'monastery'...'monastery'. Here we were facing each other with questions of things unknown and yet somehow eminent.
I decided to remind Caren what she had said, to find out if any others were in agreement. She stumbled in her answer. “I…I guess…I guess I've had different thoughts about that as we get nearer our trip to Glastonbury. I don't know why, but it has put me on edge.”
Three others simultaneously agreed, “Yes, me too.” “What’s that all about?” Karin was twirling a lock of her hair.
“I don't know. Maybe it's the hike up that steep hill the harpists want to take with their harps.” I wasn't certain if they even knew that possible plan.
“What a hike, to schlep their precious harps all the way up there.” A new participant, Evelyn, volunteered extra information. “Has anyone seen pictures of the millions of steps to get to the top of that hill they call the Tor?”
Liz chimed in saying, “Eeek, I get creeped out just seeing that Tor looming in the background when I watched some concerts from England. I don't want to research any part of it.”
I was noting Liz expressed repulsion, as Jill agreed. “I get a heavy feeling when I think of that place, and I haven’t even been there yet.”
“Well, this should be interesting. We’ll have to have 'each other's six', as they say during fighter pilot action on TV shows or movies. I used to try spelling six-letter words that might fit in the six blanks. Most words were too short. I've got your back, your butt, your life. Too few letters.
“Then I figured it out. It wasn't about words. It was about numbers on a clock. It means directly 'behind you', where six is on a clock, that is, if everyone knows what a face clock is. The meaning of that phrase is a very important commitment. So let's have each other's back.”
The others, who remained neutral, including the blowhard, Bob, listened with interest. As a show of support, they entered their fists into our circle and joined in our chant to each other as we raised our arms. “I've got your six.”
For some strange reason, I was comforted with that brief ritual. The tension in the group had decreased exceedingly. With perfect timing, the class was letting out. As we separated, there were more enthusiastic, “We'll see you tomorrow's than usual.
We were bonding. Maybe more feedback would come out tomorrow. I was getting some kind of picture, but it was still slickly blurred.
“Hey.” Cordelia greeted me with such enthusiasm, I knew we were going somewhere for supper.
I thought it would be fun to surprise her with my surmise. “So, where are we going tonight?”
“Did your group talk about it already, bummer. I wanted the pleasure of springing it on you. It's going to be so fun, don't you think?”
I was having a déjà vu moment from when I was in total darkness. I had struggled with similar questions on the phone with Cordelia, back home. Where were we going? What would we be doing? And why was she so animated? As with the last time, when I turned down the phone volume too low, and now when I acted like I knew everything, I had to make an admonition.
“Cordelia, slow down, I have no idea what you're talking about. I was just trying to second-guess you, and it backfired badly.”
“Oh, I figured someone in your group had heard our group's plans. We want to go to a restaurant where they do Karaoke. Wouldn't that be cool?”
“Don't you and your harpist friends get enough music every day? Wouldn't this be over-kill?”
Cordelia began her explanation pensively. “Our harp playing is spiritual and reflective. It's about healing.” Then she ramped it up. “But Karaoke is jammin' man, pure outright rockin'.”
She had me there. I absolutely love Karaoke. I had a favorite song I sang that took the house down. It is by Four Non-Blonds called 'What's Up?' It mentions several struggles I've had, leading to my 'feeling a little peculiar' but there is an even more meaningful part. I really ham it up when I get to the questioning of 'what's going on?' I shake my pleading hand and look upward and sing with authority 'hey, hey, hey, what’s going on?' as if I am demanding an answer. Little did I know I would be doing this very thing within a couple of days.
Cordelia tapped me on the shoulder. “So, what do you think? Huh? Should we go? Shall we join them.” By now, she was dancing around, clinging to my arm.
When she heard my 'yes' she broke into 'Mustang Sally', possibly her Karaoke choice. That was going to be good. I couldn't wait.
Author Notes |
Most of the events are based on personal experience, but this is not
These chapters all fold into each other. Karin is a new friend who is in England with Cyndy Cyndy, like Cordelia, is a harp therapist taking the classes Madeline, the narrator and a dowser is a friend of Cordelia. Cordelia, an inner dowser and harp therapist, invited Madeline to accompany her to England Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Dowsing with a device means the dowser needs a pendulum or other device to read the energy We don't know why dowsing works, that is not important. But it is important that we know how, when and why we use it. We use it with respect for others' privacy and to bring about good. It is a way of measuring, moving or neutralizing energies. I have a FB page, Dowsing for Beginners if anyone is interested A harp therapist goes into hospitals and nursing homes and plays certain chords to help patients heal A chord is when more than one note is sounded at the same time Crop circles: Some of these are obviously made by humans, but many are not. They've been appearing since 1678. They were thought to be possibly caused by "cyclonic wind action" Many have been accompanied by UFO reports. Crop circle links https://www.dogpile.com/serp?q=crop+circles&page=3&sc=9DXbRjLKV4L010 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BndVb1ucKOA |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
Cordelia tapped me on the shoulder. “So, what do you think? Huh? Should we go? Shall we join them.” By now, she was dancing around, clinging to my arm.When she heard my ‘yes’ she broke into Mustang Sally, possibly her Karaoke choice. This was going to be good. We were going to have a fun time. I couldn’t wait.
********
“Thank the universe the Karaoke bar is in the same place as when we went out to eat a week ago. It will be easy to find,” said Cordelia reassuringly.
“Remember, we just walk out of here, down Lemon Street. It’s called the Longstore, across from Fairmantle Street." Cordelia has a good memory. I guess she’d have to, to be able to memorize all those, notes, chords and songs for the purpose of healing.
Cordelia was overwhelmed when we walked through the doorway. “Whoa, there’s a lot more people here than the last time. We’re going to have to sing in front of all of these people?”
“We’re not going to be singing at all if we don’t hurry and sign up for our song. Are you going to do the one you were singing earlier? What was it called?”
“I was going to sing ‘Mustang Sally’ but now I’m not so sure. There are a lot of people here.”
“Well, let’s sign up and after seeing how others do, we can confirm it between ourselves. I’m also hungry. I’ve been looking around for food and haven’t seen any. That’s not going to be good.”
Ever, the sharped-eyed one, Cordelia said above the din, “I saw more people in the other room standing in a line with plates and napkin-wrapped silverware. We should go check that out.”
I put the proverbial 'stick in the spokes'. “But first, we’re going to find the place we sign up.”
She groaned. “Okay."
We located the person to secure our position and song. I smiled when I heard Cordelia request ‘Mustang Sally’. The lady looked at me curiously when I proudly announced I would be doing ‘What’s Up’.
“Okay, Cordelia, lead the way.”
I followed her, weaving through the crowds, this way and that ‘til we saw the end of the line, where we could arm ourselves with plates and eating implements.
I’m always conflicted in buffet lines. I’m left-handed, so I need to serve myself from the right of the steam table. Doing a study, it might be interesting to discover, the right-handed servers are opposite of the left-handed diners.
As usual, we had to wait for more of the meatball, and more of the potatoes, and more of the stuffed mushrooms. There were plenty of green beans.
We knew we had about one-half hour before the karaoke began, but we were signed up so could take our time eating. As I was looking around, I spotted Karin.
Cordelia noticed me waving to someone, "Oh, there is Cyndy, cool.
I remembered Karin speaking of Cyndy's reaction to the sad energy. When she reported it gave them a sense of hopelessness, I recalled thinking the boys who were going off to war with little hope of returning, must have exuded that kind of energy.
As Cyndy and Karin were lining up to fill their plates, and we were ready to find a table, Cordelia shouldered her way to their place in line. "We'll save a seat for you at our table."
Cyndy, smiled, nodding her head to acknowledge she'd heard Cordelia.
“Now to find a place after I invited them to sit with us. We've got to find an empty four-chair table. Do you see any?"
"Over there." I tilted my head in the direction I was indicating. I think those people at that table are getting ready to leave. They've finished their dessert. It would be really rude for them to think they could sit back and just visit."
Cordelia laughed. "Your gift of people-watching may be paying off for us, here. Oh, look, you were right, they're leaving. Let's get right over there."
We swiftly shuffled over to grab the table. "Ah, good to sit." I sighed a breath of relief.
Cordelia stood, waving for our new friends to see where we had lighted.
*********
As they neared, we made room on our table. "Hi, have a seat. Karin, this is Cordelia. Cordelia, this is Karin."
When proper introductions were completed, we began attacking our savory selections. Silence ensued.
Cordelia was the first to speak, a beat before Cyndy. "So, do you think we'll be playing our harps on the labyrinth?"
Cyndy laughed. "I was just going to ask you the same thing. I've got a sketchy feeling about the whole thing, the whole trip."
I couldn't help interjecting. "I agee. Whenever I think of it, I get terrible inner tremors."
"You too?" Karin leaned forward. "What could it be that's causing pauses in my head?"
Cordelia saw that moment to change the conversation to an equally tenuous topic. "So, are either of you signed up to sing?"
Ironically, someone was belting out Elton John's 'Bennie and the Jets'. It sounded pretty good, too. I was wondering if Cordelia was looking for support to not have to perform. But she would find none.
Cyndy answered for both of them. Looking at an excited Karin, she said, "I think Karin is doing 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' by Cindi Lauper."
There were a lot of 'oohs and 'ahhhs' from our side of the table.
Cyndy continued with hesitation. "But, I'm not sure about me singing."
Author Notes |
Although most of the events are based on personal experience, none in this chapter are.
These chapters all fold into each other. Madeline, the narrator, and a dowser, is a friend of Cordelia. Cordelia, an inner dowser and harp therapist, invited Madeline to go with her to England Karin is a new friend for Madeline, who is in England with Cyndy Cyndy, like Cordelia, is a harp therapist taking the classes A harp therapist goes into hospitals and nursing homes and plays certain chords to help patients heal A chord is when more than one note is sounded at the same time Dowsing with a device means the dowser needs a pendulum or other device to read the energy We don't know why dowsing works, that is not important. But it is important that we know how, when and why we use it. We use it with respect for others' privacy and to bring about good. It is a way of measuring, moving or neutralizing energies. I have a FB page, Dowsing for Beginners if anyone is interested This link contains images of the Glastonbury Tor with its labyrinth. https://www.dogpile.com/serp?q=glastonbury+tor+england&page=5&sc=TZ787mT5sLSQ10 |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
There’s been an animated discussion at the restaurant regarding who’s going to perform at Karaoke. We find out how it went and if anyone chickened out.
********
Cordelia smiled, directing her words toward me. "See, she doesn't want to do it either."
Both Karin and I simultaneously wailed. "Come on."
Karin was so strong in her protesting and what followed it, I was surprised. "Cordelia, not you too. Cyndy and I have been through this already. I did get her to agree to sign up, though." The next part was in staccato. "You two are not going to let us be the only ones going up there.
"You will have to play your harps in front of strangers in a hospital or nursing home. You might as well get over your stage fright tonight, in this place with your dear friends." She was really pouring it on.
Cordelia sheepishly laughed. "But we will never be playing in front of two jam-packed rooms."
I looked toward Cyndy. "So, what did you have in mind? I'm doing 'What's Up' by Four Non Blondes." I was hoping her having to announce the song name, would persuade her to join us.
“I signed up for Cher's 'Gypsys, Tramps and Thieves', but I don't know."
I continued with more encouragement. "Oh, I love that one. It will be good to hear it with a new rendition."
I was wearing her down. "Oh, alright. But...only if Cordelia will commit."
The pressure was too much. Cordelia buckled under. "Okay, the non-harpists win." The two of them grabbed each other's arm. "We'll do it."
******
We tore the house down. When Cordelia got up to sing, her shakiness could not be perceived, because the room was standing, swinging, and swaying to ‘Mustang Sally’.
They had just sat down to reconvene their chatting and drinking when I appeared on the little stage. All motion ceased, ice cubes rattled into place to settle, where the drinks were set down. It was as if they’d never seen ‘What’s Up’ performed before, at least not my style.
They cracked up when I lowered to one knee with the verses, ‘And I pray, oh I pray to the saints all day for a revolution’. They raised one or both arms in the pleading tone of my singing, ‘Hey, hey, what’s going on?’ and with encouragement, even joined in.
Next came Cyndy who had them standing. Her ‘Gypsys, Tramps, and Thieves’ had couples twirling arm-in-arm on their dancin’ feet. And lastly, it was the women who joined with Karin singing,’girls just wanna have fun’. It became a bit riotous when they continued the singing chant even after the music stopped.
They toned it down when the next ‘Karaokist’ got up on stage. They must have been thinking, ‘what an act or acts to follow’ but the guy persevered and did not disappoint with ‘Rockin’ Robin’ by Bobby Day. As the song suggests, we were a’rockin’ plenty.
What a great night. Tomorrow would hold the answer to the quandary of whether they bring their harps. It would reveal the answer to why there were chills when anticipating the Glastonbury trip. And yet the images seemed light-years away.
*****
A nice switch was that we had invited Karin and Cyndy to ride with us. Karin had jumped at the opportunity to let someone else do the driving. I had said I might drive this jaunt, but that wasn’t happening.
I felt for some reason I needed to steady myself for something unanticipated, although, I’d anticipated something, just didn’t know what. The object of anxiety was always cloaked in some cold darkness.
When I saw Karin and Cordelia were empty-handed, I deduced they had decided to forgo the harp ceremony. “So, no go on the harp?”
Cordelia explained further. “The alleged labyrinth is at the top of Glastonbury Tor and reportedly makes its way down the decline in a labyrinthine manner. This place is the source of several myths, with stories of ceremonies carried on during King Arthur’s time.”
Cyndy jumped in. “We have no idea, if the labyrinth really does exist, if it has been maintained or groomed to make it easy to follow. None of us wanted to get our hopes up, to be disappointed. So, our harps will remain here.”
“Well, let’s fasten our seatbelts and get this show on the road.” Cordelia sounded anxious. Four snaps and we were off. The extended presence of the fluffy Mary energy seemed to calm us all.
Everyone was reflective, but it was a comfy quiet. The ride through the Mary ley line was delicious, as we floated on a fluffy, refreshing, renewing energy. We had been told there was quite a difference in the feel of the Mary line as opposed to the Michael line. The Mary line did not disappoint.
I swiveled my torso and head slightly to be able to connect with our friends. “The sweet feeling you are experiencing is from the energy of the Mary ley line that runs alongside another harsher energy called the Michael line. We’ll know when we hit that one.
Fortunately, they’d heard of ley lines, so I didn’t have to worry about explaining what they are. They admitted they’d never knowingly experienced the energy of either the Mary or Michael line. They did agree they were enjoying the soft sensation Mary showered them with. For me, the feeling was helping my mental anguish melt.
Just as the energy felt light, our conversation was light. Then ‘Bam!’ Bam!’, Michael hit us and hit us hard.
Author Notes |
Most of the events are based on personal experience, including our reaction to the Mary vs Michael line
They become personified as Mary and Michael These chapters all fold into each other. Karin is a new friend who is in England with Cyndy Cyndy, like Cordelia, is a harp therapist taking the classes Madeline, the narrator and a dowser is a friend of Cordelia. Cordelia, an inner dowser and harp therapist, invited Madeline to accompany her to England Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Dowsing with a device means the dowser needs a pendulum or other device to read the energy We don't know why dowsing works, that is not important. But it is important that we know how, when and why we use it. We use it with respect for others' privacy and to bring about good. It is a way of measuring, moving or neutralizing energies. I have a FB page, Dowsing for Beginners if anyone is interested A harp therapist goes into hospitals and nursing homes and plays certain chords to help patients heal A chord is when more than one note is sounded at the same time Ley lines are addressed in detail in chapter 10 A wonderful ley line map. The Michael Line is red and the Mary line is green https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/viewer?mid=1EfTggFzl0UQ1W_Ls45K2Cl_H6eE&hl=en_US&ll=51.34404330404662%2C-2.1097562803420087&z=7 This link contains images of the Glastonbury Tor with its labyrinth. The reader may see what the ladies saw and viscerally experience nervousness https://www.dogpile.com/serp?qc=images&q=glastonbury+tor+england&sc=yWIR8LZCL1b210 |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
On the way to Glastonbury, the group is discussing the labyrinth on the Tor. This leads to discussions about the ley lines, with which Cyndy and Karin are familiar, but had never personally experienced.
*****
“Oof, my head is feeling funny. Oh, my goodness, the pressure is almost unbearable. I’m getting a severe headache. Madeline, would you dowse to see if I have entities?”
I explained to Cyndy and Karin that entities are spirit beings, not of deceased humans or animals, but something else altogether. Something we don’t understand, but we do know when our soul is being interfered with.
They cause confusion and lack of focus, tampering with our physical, emotional, psychological, mental, or spiritual levels. “Right now, Cordelia believes herself to have been affected physically. I will dowse to see if she does have entities and if she does, I will clear those entities and negative energies, which means I will neutralize or remove them.”
“Oh, no, I wonder if I have those things too. My head feels like it’s in a vice.”
“Cyndy, neither you nor Cordelia have entities. I wonder…” Looking up through the windshield or ‘windscreen’ as it is called in England, I fixed my eyes on one of the causes for our massive discomfort.
Karin followed my eyes. “What is that?”
With everyone staring upward, it menacingly reared its ugly head over the entire landscape. To create more drama in our car, large raindrops were splatting our view, distorting its shape. Windshield wipers repeated a word or phrase or story in the gray gloom.
“That, my ladies, is the famous Glastonbury Tor, around five hundred-plus feet high. As it overshadows all thoughts we may have, it warns us we are nearing the village of Glastonbury.
Karin spoke up. “Now, I have a crampy gut. What is going on?”
Just as I was about to smugly announce I hadn’t been affected by either the Michael ley line or the the vision of the Glastonbury Tor, I felt like I’d been clubbed in the back of my head and that it was being held down.
We discussed, how we were pretty sure we’d left the Mary line and were now drudging through the Michael line.
I had been thinking about why this was happening and decided to throw it out to the group. “I’m wondering if this is like the movie ‘Close Encounters’ where people, who were somehow connected, were pulled to the same location to experience the energies summoning them there.”
All eyes were glued to the impending figure, as they intently considered my words. “This is a stretch, but maybe, we were in a past life together and that’s why we are here, maybe even why we are in this car together.”
We didn’t understand why we perceived it through a dark emotional lense. But we would get our answer. I shared some of my previous research.“The books said ‘The Tor’ was dedicated to St. Michael, the Archangel, a warrior against powers of darkness.” Wow, the Michael line equals darkness. We were unaware how much we were going to need St. Michael on or at our side.
I didn’t know if the term ‘torus’ was related to what we were experiencing, but there seemed to be a close connection. A torus flows in infinite directions, both up, down, and all around, simultaneously.
The whole area of the torus is an electromagnetic field. The Glastonbury Tor, a giant hill, consumed our attention as we drove toward it.
We were compelled to question the object jutting from the top central point. This area we were heading toward has been called ‘Land of the Dead’. I declined the opportunity to enlighten the already frazzled companions.
It may have been the effects of overexposure or my dowsing, but eventually, those sensations dissipated. That was a good thing, because we could not have endured such harsh energy for very long. We had no idea we’d be plunged into the roils of this energy soon.
To change the topic, I decided to explore people’s reaction or awareness to the harp chord demonstration. “I never got to ask people how they were affected by the various harp chords which were played for us as we observed the lady lying on the floor.”
Karin immediately chimed in. “Oh yuh, that was so cool wasn’t it? It was helpful so I could have some level of understanding of what Cyndy is learning.” She patted her harpist friend on the arm.
“Oh, that's right, Madeline, you and I were going to exchange a summary of our responses, but we never found the time or opportunity.”
Cyndy said, “Madeline, since no one is directly answering your question. I found myself having the opposite reaction to Janet, lying on the floor.”
“It was weird, when she claimed she felt relaxed, I was depressed. When she was agitated, I felt energized.”
“To add to what Cordelia just said, I noticed I was feeling very peaceful when…what’s was her name?”
Cyndy helped Karin out with the name as she muttered, “Janet.”
Karin continued. “Oh yuh, so, as I was saying, I experienced peace when Janet reported feeling depressed.”
I tied it all together with a cheerful note. That’s cool, we all had the same reaction. I did notice many had similar responses to the chords sounded as Janet did. It must be something in the brain.
It was Cordelia, our chauffeur’s turn, to pose a question. “Well, we’re nearing the town of Glastonbury. Should we just go straight to the Tor or down into town?”
******
We voted to go for it and head up to the Tor. Then the comments began. It was as if a floodgate had been let open.
Cyndy was the first to emote. “Ugh, I’ve got the chills. Does anyone else see the darkness cloaking the individuals in this town? Every one one of them.”
“I know, I said, every face, and they are looking right at us, is distorted. There’s something icky about this place.”
Cordelia was extremely affected. “What is with this place? Everyone’s body is twisted, and they are moving in slow motion.”
Karin’s reaction was no different. “Everyone’s aura is pea green, a sign of great sickness. It’s either physical or spiritual or both or more levels. All I know is it is putrid.”
To find something redeeming to say, I pointed out there were many shops about healing.
“Oh, I see what you mean,” said Cyndy, pointing them out as we passed them.
Cordelia shared her ruminating thoughts. “It’s as if something unforgiving occurred in this town, and it has never quite come back from it. Oh no.”
When we looked at the sign on the sawhorse blocking our path, we understood why Cordelia had groaned.
Karin read the sign out loud. “‘Go no farther, turn around and catch the shuttle bus in town to return to the Tor’.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Whaaat? We have to go back down through that dark distortion of slimy sickness. I’m dowsing each of us a shield of protection.”
Author Notes |
Most of the events are based on personal experience, including our reaction to the Michael line and the image of the Tor and to the residents of the town of Glastonbury.
This experience has forever changed me. When I search the TV channels for a concert, I can immediately identify its location. Noticeable, in the background, is the Glastonbury Tor. You will be able to recognize it too after reading this intense account of our escapade. These chapters all fold into each other. Karin is a new friend who is in England with Cyndy Cyndy, like Cordelia, is a harp therapist taking the classes Madeline, the narrator, and a dowser, is a friend of Cordelia. Cordelia, an inner dowser and harp therapist, invited Madeline to accompany her to England Aura is energy given off by an individual from one of the five levels mentioned in the story, physical, emotional, psychological, mental, and spiritual. Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Dowsing with a device means the dowser needs a pendulum or other device to read the energy We don't know why dowsing works, that is not important. But it is important that we know how, when and why we use it. We use it with respect for others' privacy and to bring about good. It is a way of measuring, moving or neutralizing energies. I have a FB page, Dowsing for Beginners if anyone is interested A harp therapist goes into hospitals and nursing homes and plays certain chords to help patients heal A chord is when more than one note is sounded at the same time Ley lines are addressed in detail in chapter 10 A wonderful ley line map. The Michael Line is red and the Mary line is green https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/viewer?mid=1EfTggFzl0UQ1W_Ls45K2Cl_H6eE&hl=en_US&ll=51.34404330404662%2C-2.1097562803420087&z=7 The link below, contains images of the Glastonbury Tor with its labyrinth. The reader may see what the ladies saw and viscerally experience nervousness, or not�¢?�¦depending upon your past life story https://www.dogpile.com/serp?qc=images&q=glastonbury+tor+england&sc=yWIR8LZCL1b210 |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
The group got to the turn-off for the Tor after traveling through an emotionally disturbing town of residents.
“Oh no.”
When we looked at the sign on the sawhorse blocking our path, we understood why Cordelia had groaned.
Karin read the sign out loud. “Go no farther, turn around and catch the shuttle bus in town to return to the Tor.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Whaaat? We have to go back down through that dark distortion of slimy sickness? I’m dowsing each of us a shield of protection.”
*********
We made it through the spiritual gauntlet, basically unscathed. The myriad of cars parked diagonally distracted me from really seeing my surroundings. I saw a sign indicating we had arrived at the shuttle-waiting line.
I watched Cyndy and Karin vanish through some door, obscured by a line of people. There was a wall of expansive writing on the building that caught Cordelia’s and my curiosity.
When we got closer, we realized it was a written record of the history of the frail, rudimentary remnants of the Abbey or Monastery we were standing in front of. As Cordelia studied the message, she said, "We were here."
She continued on. “This is the location of the ancient ruins of the violent destruction of the Benedictine Abbey during the 15th century.”
My vision and hearing began to waver as she got to the words… "In 15 th century, the Abbots were taken to the Tor and hung to their death. The chief Abbot Richard, was buried at the top of the Tor.
As I took my last breath, standing there, I barely heard her voice as the words upon the wall blurred and swirled.
There was such a loud buzzing in my ears that I did not hear her announce the most important part for me. “‘With no leadership present, the monastery was attacked and every monk, beheaded’.”
Distracted with confusion, I nearly collided with a heavy-set gentleman attempting to slide by me, to access the same building Cyndy and Karin had entered. As I stepped aside, Cordelia’s words rang in my ears, ‘We were here.’ ‘We were here.’ And...
I stepped down into darkness.
*********
Had I been blinded by something or someone? Had we both been abducted and drugged? I could see nothing. The last I remember was we were standing outside some building waiting for the shuttle to take us up to the Glastonbury Tor in England.
Where ever I was, it was midnight-dark. There were neither windows nor skylights. It was, as my friend Marty used to say, ‘Darker than the inside of your pocket'.
I felt around to get some clue as to where I was. The walls were made of large stones. I could feel their rough texture and by the shape of them, I was quite certain they were mere fieldstone.
Swishing my hands around, I traced a rough stoned floor, perceiving nothing to have been polished or smoothed. I rubbed my eyes to see anything, maybe to cause this frightening world to disappear and the world I know, to reappear.
Toes, wiggling freely, my feet seemed different and sensitive to a draft coming from somewhere. While I was bent over testing the floor’s make-up, I blindly traced my feet.
Trembling fingers walked up the arch of my foot to a strap that had the consistency of leather. I timidly touched the other toes. The lavender Asics running shoes, I wore every day, were missing, my toes, bare, and cold to the touch.
In order to check out my feet, I had to slightly lift some thick weighty material. As I examined the fiber-type, I was shocked to discover it cloaked my entire body, right down to my foot-covering that had morphed into sandals. I had sandals on...and a long course material skirt that nearly reached the rock-formed floor.
I heard feet pounding like giants...or maybe it was just the thump, thump of my own heart. Deathly silence surrounded me, and I sensed I would find no source of noise outside that room. I heard no screams of pain. This encouraged me to think I was not in some kind of torture chamber.
As my eyes adjusted to the dark, it was of little help. I felt what must have been my necklace. But it was tied around my waist. I have no idea why it would be there, rather than gracing my neck. I must have had a rip-roarin' night wherever I was.
But I had no alcohol to drink at Karaoke. In fact, when some enthusiastic guy yelled, ‘I want what she’s drinking’, I wanted to yell, ‘It’s a glass of ice’. I said nothing and secretly enjoyed my ice cubes over ice.
Patting my pocket area, I dared plunge into the depths of some ‘gimundous’-sized pockets. Sometimes, like a lady's purse, one could find out a lot about someone by checking their pockets. Maybe I could discover more about the person whose clothes I was dressed in.
Hmm, no money. Hopefully, my fanny pack was somewhere in that room. Huh, the only thing I found was a bracelet of tiny beads.
As I was spinning around in the corner of this claustrophobic room, I stubbed my toe and slammed my shin into something sharp. The pain of injured toes is bad enough, but I’ve always considered my shin, my proverbial Achilles’ Heel. This seemed to be a striking foreshadowing. Not good.
I sidled along the injurious object. Using a pacing measurement, I judged the knee-high mass to be about six feet long. When testing the width, I speculated it was some sort of low table.
But there were no expected objects on it, such as a book or magazines, or in this case, a simple candle with matches or cigarette lighter. I altered my assessment. It may not have been a table, but a bed with a thin scratchy wool blanket.
Author Notes |
The following events, thankfully, did not happen. They are based on research.
These chapters all fold into each other. Karin is a new friend who is in England with Cyndy Cyndy, like Cordelia, is a harp therapist taking the classes Madeline, the narrator and a dowser is a friend of Cordelia. Cordelia, an inner dowser and harp therapist, invited Madeline to accompany her to England An Achilles' heel is a weakness in spite of overall strength, which can lead to downfall. While the mythological Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Dowsing with a device means the dowser needs a pendulum or other device to read the energy We don't know why dowsing works, that is not important. But it is important that we know how, when and why we use it. We use it with respect for others' privacy and to bring about good. It is a way of measuring, moving or neutralizing energies. I have a FB page, Dowsing for Beginners if anyone is interested A harp therapist goes into hospitals and nursing homes and plays certain chords to help patients heal A chord is when more than one note is sounded at the same time Ley lines are addressed in detail in chapter 10 A wonderful ley line map. The Michael Line is red and the Mary line is green https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/viewer?mid=1EfTggFzl0UQ1W_Ls45K2Cl_H6eE&hl=en_US&ll=51.34404330404662%2C-2.1097562803420087&z=7 The link below, contains images of the Glastonbury Tor with its labyrinth. The reader may see what the ladies saw and viscerally experience nervousness, or notâ?¦depending upon your past life story https://www.dogpile.com/serp?q=glastonbury+tor+england&page=5&sc=TZ787mT5sLSQ10 |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
Madeline found herself in darkness and had banged shin and toe into some piece of furniture
********
It was time to ‘bite the bullet’ and test it out. If this unidentifiable object was unable to support me, at least I didn’t have far to fall.
I tentatively lowered myself as one would employing a block and tackle pulley. As my heavily padded butt made contact with the surface, I didn't sense any ‘memory foam mattress top’ comfort. It was a board.
Resting my entire body upon this tentative support, with my shaky elbows on trembling knees, I knew I had to figure out what was going on and where I was, and even more importantly where Cordelia was being held.
Was my dear friend lying on a rough piece of plywood in another frigid room with no light, wondering where she was or where I had been swallowed up. It was my greatest hope, she was still outside in the light, worried someone had abducted me.
*******
I had to get out of that room to explore further. I’d groped around the walls and the air, hoping to detect a switch or pull-string. There was no evidence of light switches or lamps or candles.
I had estimated where the doorway would be and did the ‘Tim Conway shuffle’ ‘til I could feel a broadening of breathing space. Even the silence echoed through a long hallway. We must have been being kept underground. There was a weak glow of a wall lantern guiding me.
As I continued tracing more stone walls along a widening corridor, my detective-like instinct caused me to question, more intently, where I was and what this place was.
******
I was brought back to the present moment. At least I thought it was the present moment. A bell was clanging somewhere within one of the adjoining reverberating rooms.
As I headed out with determination, seeking its source, my reconnaissance mission was rudely interrupted by a male voice.
"Brother Samuel, you are late for prayer. See me after, for your penance."
Since his rebuking was directed toward me, I glanced down the corridor I’d just tip-toed up, with throbbing toe and shin. There was no one there in the shimmering shadows.
I had no idea who he was or who Brother Samuel was. He spoke with authority. I had the feeling I'd better find where the others were for this prayer I allegedly was tardy for.
I hoped, following the sound trail of the bell would lead me to where others were and where I was supposed to be.
Fortunately, for some reason, everyone was lying on their stomachs. Copying them, I situated myself in the same position on the grey cold stone floor. I immediately experienced great discomfort.
I did not have to struggle, as one might expect, with how to adjust my breasts to the icy stone. I would either need to tuck and tape as the drag queens do or find an athletic cup. I was no longer a woman.
This new way of life was just not going to work out. I planned to pull someone aside and ask them what they do. One of my friends who was a nun, had given me valuable information about their habits or dresses.
I can already hear Sr. Barbara who became 'just Barbara' correcting me about how everyone mistakenly uses the word ‘nun’ for someone who was in an active community. They were teachers and could leave their convent, unlike these Benedictine monks.
When my friends and I occasionally visited a group in Vermont, not more than an hour away, we observed they wore thick black robes, with the exception of ‘newbies’, called Novices; they wore white robes.
Barbara told me the cloth her habit was made of, was five yards of a thick heavy material called serge. I suspect that was what was insulating me from the chill below.
Where there was sufficient light, I looked at just what I was wearing. I don’t know if it were to my advantage or not, but I was wearing white.
Monks spoke only of necessity. Well, it was of necessity for me to find out what the other guys do with their bulky protrusion, I referred to as a ‘unit’.
Something was going to have to be done about this torture, on these rolling solid bubbles for a floor. My worst fear was that they would tell me, ‘It is part of the deal’. What if they say 'You'll get used to it'? What shall I ever do then?
I was fortunate to hear one of the other men address my punisher as Abbott Richard. He seemed to be the superior here. I think they are called ‘a Prior’.
I soon found what a penance was. Abbott Richard said, “Stand ready at the Chapel door for the day. Report one hour before the others, for each hour for prayer.”
I was told if I had to relieve myself, I was granted permission to do so and to immediately return to carry out my penance. I was reminded prayer times were three hours apart.
I counted myself fortunate because I didn't have to lie prostate, I mean prostrate on that cold floor all day. I hoped I would never commit any 'No… no's' to warrant that.
Later, I did see an occasional brother spending the entire day lying face-down in the discomfort of rough stone. I didn’t want my mind to go working, to figure out or begin to imagine what he must have done to warrant that penance, or even who it was, in case it was one of my present-day friends.
Author Notes |
The following events, thankfully, did not happen. They are based on research.
A block and tackle pulley is used to slowly lower large objects My present-day friends means someone from the 21st Century when this story took place Madeline, the narrator and a dowser is a friend of Cordelia. Cordelia, an inner dowser and harp therapist, invited Madeline to accompany her to England Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Dowsing with a device means the dowser needs a pendulum or other device to read the energy We don't know why dowsing works, that is not important. But it is important that we know how, when and why we use it. We use it with respect for others' privacy and to bring about good. It is a way of measuring, moving or neutralizing energies. I have a FB page, Dowsing for Beginners if anyone is interested A harp therapist goes into hospitals and nursing homes and plays certain chords to help patients heal A chord is when more than one note is sounded at the same time |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
Madeline, we will now refer to, as a male, known as Brother Samuel, had to serve a penance for being late for prayer.
**********
I didn't know much about the male anatomy, even though I was now the onus owner of said member. I couldn't help wondering if the prostate problems, I had heard of, could be brought on by lying prostrate on a cold floor.
There was too much similarity in the words, 'Prostrate, prostate'. I'd heard the warning that if you sit on a cold stone you could get piles, whatever those are.
Standing sounds like a breeze, but, not so. After a while, I had to cheat and touch the doorway frame so as not to topple over. I was clearly listing. I was fortunate no one was anywhere near to be able to see how weak I was.
One of the consolations was the delightful wafting of the incense that permeated the chapel. I would eventually come to realize the fragrance of myrrh served several functions, aid in prayer and ritual.
When the group did arrive, I straightened up to create the illusion that it was ‘No problem’ to have received this penance. No one seemed very interested in my standing there.
I was sure others had been dished out the same consequence; there couldn't be that many original means of torture. They knew why I was there and that I was posing, and with great effort, pulling myself up to stand as erect as I could muster.This guy, Benedict, made it nearly impossible for us to enjoy ourselves. Imagine me, the group comedian, having to refrain from jokes or laughter. How will I ever relate to these people?
Thus far, I’ve not uttered a word. I wonder if I speak in an English dialect and if so, what part of England? I’m at a slight disadvantage with my long-term amnesia.At times, we were to collect donations from prayer petitioners. We could, without consequence, converse briefly and politely with the parents of our brothers, but, never to our own parents.
What that must have done to tear their heart asunder, to be permitted to speak with any one of the brothers, but their own offspring.
Author Notes |
Cordelia was taking a workshop in England
Madeline, our narrator accompanied Cordelia, a friend to Glastonbury, England. As Cordelia was saying she knew they'd been there in a past life together, Madeline stepped into darkness through a vortex entering a Monastery of the 16th Century in Glastonbury, England. Abbot Richard is the chief leader there Abbot Benedict, now St. Benedict established this group with some strict rules. |
By Liz O'Neill
Read Author's Notes First
Previously:
At times, we were to collect donations from prayer petitioners. We could, without consequence, converse briefly and politely with the parents of our brothers, but, never to our own parents.
What that must have done to tear their heart asunder, to be permitted to speak with any one of the brothers, but their own offspring.
***********
I guess my Brothers are content to just chalk it up to more daily penance, whereas, our parents did not realize the yanking and pulling at their hearts, they would be called to merely volunteer for.
Our tormented dear ones, gain some ground, within these incidents, by being consoled in the belief, they are making our lives easier. A parent must often sense, just on the other side of the wall, the energy of the physical presence of their loved one, whom they surrendered to God for His work here on earth.
To endure this, they hold onto the hope to be rewarded with an honorary place, in what they believe to be the Kingdom of Heaven.
*******
Working outside, we had to quickly gobble up any gifted sweet biscuit or other delicacy. The ‘do-gooder’ knew flipping us a pence, or two, would neither be satisfying nor gratifying.
I think they often felt sorry for us. I certainly feel sorry for us. These men of the Medieval times didn’t have the knowledge of what they had to endure would, one day be highly discouraged and would harvest much less fortune.
I recently heard the completion of the saying, ‘Ignorance is bliss.’ They said, ‘Then knowledge is pain.’, thus my distaste for these times.
Money was useless to us. But by-passers desiring to express the gratefulness they feel for our doing penance for their prayer intentions will sometimes, put us in unsafe situations.
Our closet area and beds are randomly searched to see if we may have acquired something sweet from a passer-by as a little treat.
It would be to our greatest well-being that only our cowl, tunic, sandals, shoes, belt, knife, stylus, needle, handkerchief and writing tablets ever be found there.
If anything were found we are severely penanced. This would render a far worse consequence than my having to stand the near full twenty-four hours of one day, when first being shuttled back into this sample of Hell.
I was slowly memorizing some of the Brothers’ names. One, I especially felt concern for, was named Zachary. I was sensing a brittleness in his psyche as I observed his cheek muscles twitch. He was on my mind a lot. I sent him healing on all levels. I just felt he needed some kind of shield of protection.
Rather than yielding clarity to the cause of his morosity, the next incident only increased my bemusement. One morning at Matins, Brother Zachary’s prayer bench was empty. There was no lovely prayerful, contemplative chanting coming from his chapel corner.
As our group moved on, into the refectory or dining room, each taking our designated chair and place at the table, I was further befuddled. Not only was Zachary missing at the table, so was his place missing, at the table. It was as if he were never there, never existed.
There was no sign he'd ever been there. The two Novices who had flanked him now sat beside each other. No one ever spoke of it.
I don’t know if maybe he was consequenced so severely, for disobeying some Benedictine rule. What could any Brother do that is so non-negotiable, that his violation warranted expulsion?
Someone made an example of him to serve as a frightening deterrent against any similar breakage of the Rule. I will leave it there, enough said, except… He was not just an illusion. He isn’t a figment of my imagination. I will miss his comforting alto voice.
To continue the topic of accruing money for penance, I began to understand how the Vatican has become financially secure. It originated with us. As our Monastery ‘fan-base' grew greater, it became richer.
Some might think we would have more comfort, better food, actual metal forks and metal spoons and metal knives to cut into rich red meat or even chicken or pork.
It doesn’t change our way of life, though. It is our harsh schedule that makes the money. The more brutal, the more valuable and lucrative we are.
The monks benefit nothing, for to have better food, better eating utensils, better beds, would undo the reason the church monastery makes the money, which I'm sure, eventually ends up in Rome.
There is a Catch-22, here, because the church monastery made or still makes money as a result of us monks. There must always be hardships and penance.
If we had more comfortable beds, it would become a double-edged sword for those who benefit from the profits.
It is a bit like a teeter-totter with the Church Monastery on one end and the monks on the opposite end. The degree to which the Monks suffer, is in direct relationship to the measure of profits.
Abbot Richard ran a tight ship. I wonder if he was schooled by Benedict himself, the one who started all of this.
I do have to speak in his favor. He never asked or demanded us to do anything he did not practice, himself. There was even one act of daily penance he carried out, but left it up to our discrepancy. He said, to my relief, “The wearing a hair shirt is between you and your God.”
I am sure my God knows how freaked out I get when I am trimming my hair and some of the tiniest of hairs get on my neck and/or shirt. There seems no relief, no way to get those prickly little needles out of the material or separated from my skin.
I am certain, all things considered, my God would not ask me to wear a shirt of coarse material made of goats’ hair, that would continuously irritate and agitate my bare skin.
No, he would never ask that of me, especially since I did not knowingly sign up for this magical, mystery tour through this godforsaken 16th century. I have no idea how long before my ticket expires, before my stay here is terminated.
Author Notes |
None of this fortunately happened to me, although some aspects of this account resemble my first couple of years in the convent. Fortunately, things relaxed a few years after in the 1960's for everyone
Madeline, who we will now refer to, as a male, known as Brother Samuel, has portaled into a 16th Monastery where suffering is the rule ****** Abbott Richard is the head Monk of the Monastery Madeline our narrator has portaled into a 16th Monastery where suffering is the rule Catch-22 is a paradoxical situation from which an individual can't escape because of contradictory rules or limitations. Read Joseph Heller's novel. Double-edged sword means something can have both favorable and unfavorable consequences A hair shirt is worn for penance and deprivation of pleasure, a coarse material made of goats hair |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
Madeline, who is now Brother Samuel, after vortexing into the 16th century in Glastonbury, England, is telling us about some of the rituals the Monks observe.
******
The refectory, or dining room, is one of the places where those lay people requesting prayers, if allowed inside our hallowed stone walls, would be able to make an assumption that the height of our difficulty may, be, partaking of meals.
I see a wooden plate at my designated place at the table in the refectory, as I sit down for supper. Whaaat no coffee? There is hot water for some herbal tea, looking like wet seaweed in my wooden cup.
Only the crackle of the wood in the fireplace, wood scraping against wood and a monotoned reader could be heard. There is an occasional slurping.
No worry of criticism for bad manners as I grab a chunk of the loaf of acorn bread passed to me. I hesitate to eat it, acorns are so bitter tasting. But so is this life. Surprisingly, the bread tastes fine.
I never would have anticipated our eating equipment. I won’t call them utensils because that denotes metal. It was as if they only had the large kitchen cooking forks and spoons for us to use to consume our food.
I’ve read if we are attracted to, or repulsed by, something, such as a culture, artwork, music, stories, or movies about a particular era, event, or persons, we are possibly connecting to a past-life experience. I think I have found the reason for my aversion to wet wood.
It gives me the ‘heebie-jeebies’. As a child in the 1950’s, whenever I finished eating a popsicle or fudgesicle, I had to clean the wooden stick off with my teeth while avoiding any touch of the tongue.
I wonder about people who scrape their teeth across their metal, stainless steel forks as they eat, shaping ridges on their top teeth. Are they still practicing that same defense in this lifetime, giving me more chills?
What am I to do with giant wooden spoons and giant wooden forks as tools for eating vegetables, vegetable soups, yummy gruel, or eggs of every sort on slimy slippery wood?
All along, we are being droned at, by one of the senior brothers, reading, from none other than, ‘The Rule of St. Benedict’.
This is one of Benedict’s methods to dull the senses, never to have a private moment. The food isn’t anything we’d want to savor anyway, in case that was one of his aims.
I use the time to study who everyone is and who they might have been reincarnated as, in the 20th. century. I think I have figured a few out.
My speculating is startled into reality when I feel a familiar tapping on my shoulder. That’s the way Cordelia always brings me back from my mental wanderings. It made me miss her more.
It is Brother Stephen on his knees. When I look into his bright alert eyes, I know, through my inner dowsing, recognizing his soul, he would eventually be reborn into the 19th century in the United States as a girl named Cordelia, who would become my dear friend.
I miss her so much.
I know I’ll soon be going from brother to brother, just as he is, in a most humiliating posture, kneeling, whispering, ‘Please Brother, may I have some food?’.
A weird feeling washes over, surging through me, embarrassed for Stephen and extremely humiliated and irritated, being asked for food. I guess this is just one more act of penance.
I’m obviously not supposed to be enjoying my meal anyway. Heaven forbid that happen. I guess we were to take sustenance, those nights, from ‘shame soup’.
When the reading of the section of The Rule of Benedict is completed, there is absolute silence, except for the knocking of wooden forks or wooden spoons against wooden plates or bowls. Ewww. Wet wood.
When I, in the past, or should I say, ‘in the future’ have offered to wash friends’ dishes, I didn’t realize there was a surprise waiting for me.
Dipping into the dishpan, my unanticipating fingers made contact with several cooking spoons made of wood.
My teeth would grind together with the similar reaction people have to fingernails on a chalkboard.
Although, I’m uncertain about how many are able to relate to that analogy. I hope I never have to do dishes in this here and now, monastery. It just might put me over the edge.
*******
After an anticipated truly disgusting supper, I was spared from wet- wood-handling duty. Still, in penance, I had to high-tail it to stand in preparation for the evening prayer, Vespers.
As you can see, there weren’t any extras for a little sweet treat. This is why I earlier spoke of how we would have to sneak stuff without getting caught.
We just have to make sure, we draw no closer, than approximately five feet, from Brother Richard, lest he smell sweetness on our breath or detect crumbs on our rosy cheeks.
Vespers are to quiet us down for the night. I don’t know how much quieter we can be without becoming comatose. We chant some psalms from a prayer book. The material does not seem to have any substance.
It’s just more about the fighting among the Babylonians and whomever they are battling in said psalm. Barring the subject matter, the chanting is beautiful.
I’m not sure when we’ll hit the sack…er…board. I will need to be at the entrance to the chapel for the 3 am Lauds. This is not showing much sleep in my future.
It turns out, the darkened room you witnessed me ‘landing in’, must have been a guest room of some sort, which explains why there was no candle. None of us sleep in a single room like that.
Rather, we all sleep in one large room, where each of us is doled out, a woolen blanket, some lighter-weight cover, and a pillow on a mat-covered board, identical to the one I banged into, while searching the original room.
In an effort to prevent temptations, we must each sleep in our own bed, with a senior monk between any of us, from the same set.
Furthermore, there is someone who supervises our sleeping, as we lie there clothed, girded with belts or chords. If any have swords, they leave them at the door.
I guess the powers-that-be are afraid there might be fights. ‘No swords or knives in bed’, might save some of us from accidentally running ourselves through with our own sword or knife. That would be a cutting irony.
A lamp burns the entire night ‘til morning’s light. We are to be at the ready for any need to get up for the prayer hours I’ve told you about.
I’m uncertain if we will be allowed to return to our bed after 3 am Lauds. I suspect we will just meditate, which is believed to be more restful than R.E.M. sleep.
Another hop-skip-and a jump and I will be expected to be an informal undesignated greeter at Prime at 6 am.
Lastly, I am to arrive one hour early for 9 am prayer, serving my penance, will be nearing its completion. Just a few hours away. I can almost taste freedom.
I promise, I will never be late for prayer, ever.
Author Notes |
None of this fortunately happened to me, although some aspects of this account resemble my first couple of years in the convent. Fortunately, things relaxed a few years after in the 1960's for everyone
Madeline has vortexed into the 16th century as Brother Samuel Cordelia, Madeline's friend is now Brother Stephen Brother Richard aka Prior Richard is the head Brother in the monastery Lay people are people not in a Monastery or Convent Set was the name used to designate the guys who entered or joined or came in the same year. R.E.M. sleep is the rapid eye movement stage or deepest sleep state where dreams occur Meditation instead of sleep? https://www.qhhtofficial.com/healing/meditation-instead-of-sleep/ |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
Madeline, now Brother Samuel, is telling about his continued penance for being late for prayer:
When it is time for my one-hour early arrival, at 9 am, serving my penance, will be nearing its completion by a few hours. I promise I will never be late for prayer, never, even though I didn’t know I was late for anything. Remember, I had just arrived on this 15th century scene.
*******
We will be praying Terce at 9 am. I’m hoping some breakfast time is scheduled here. Eating didn’t seem to be too important to Benedict. At Noon, there’s food for the soul, with a prayer called Sect.
Before that, we have to begin work outside. This is not showing much sleep in my future.
One of the monks, Patrick, disappears from the group during the time we are working outside. I can’t figure it out. I’ve looked all around outside to spot him, anywhere. There is no sign of him.
When I get outside, it is still warm, still Summer, so nothing funky has happened to the seasons in this major change of centuries. Stephen, Abraham, Francis, and I, are to be cutting sheaths of grain. The land is marshy but there’s been work done to drain it before I arrived.
I need to skip over to the little barn with Abraham to teach him how to milk the cows. He, fortunately, is a good student. It could have been a challenge, but, having learned as a kid at my grandparents in the 1950’s, I could easily teach my brothers.
Abraham draws the few of us aside, one at a time to secretly listen to our problems and frustrations about living with the older brothers.
Some are courteous, but others act as if they believe we don’t know what we are doing. The problem is, we can only be friends with those who came into the monastery at the same time as we did.
Because they are not from our set, we never get to know anything about them, nor they, us; it doesn’t make for the best working arrangements or environment.
When I had a rare moment, I scanned the area, with still no sign of the mystery man. I was quite sure it wasn’t a ‘Zachary’ situation, because Patrick usually shows up a little early for all prayer times.
I’ve long ago abandoned the idea of asking anyone what to do for comfort while lying on the cold stone floor. I’ve resigned myself to discomfort. I see no sense in any of it, but I am here, so I will make the best of it, whatever that might look like.
I’m beginning to put together these Monks’ names and who they became as my friends. Many of them are here. I’ve just got to find some private time. That may be when we are supposed to sleep.
I want to know who’s here with me, I’m strangely comforted with the reassurance that I am not alone. Peering into their eyes, my desperate isolation grows darker. I know it is their soul I recognize, but they have no idea who I am.
Having gone full circle, my penance will be fulfilled. I will finally be able to arrive for prayer at the regular hours. This will avail me more thinking time. I’ve got to quickly jot notes of my observations and speculations before they escape me.
I was figuring I’d have to meet with our Prior. Sure enough, Brother Richard caught me in the same spot he originally confronted me, the day this 15th century nightmare began.
Just outside, in the 21st century, there is a large wall sign recording the cause and effect of the ruination of the Glastonbury Monastery. Ruins? What could have happened to turn this massive building into fallen, crumbled stone?
********
“Brother Samuel, your period of penance is complete. I will see you after None, in my office.”
Being dutiful, as soon as 3 pm prayers were completed, I headed down the corridor toward Prior Richard’s sanctuary. I am reassured when Robert appears at prayer. There is no ‘Zachary disappearing’ situation to cause concern.
I have only been down in this section where Richard has his office, one other time. It was when I went to hear my penance for being late for prayer. I’m kind of nervous, worrying he will give me more penances.
As I dare raise my head, I catch a glimpse of who I think is Brother Sylvester. What would he be doing down here? I do not recall ever seeing him working outside with us, though.
When he walks in my direction, I confirm it is Sylvester, and he is carrying a leather-bound book that looks very much like a ledger.
My attention to what Sylvester is about, is yanked away by that same male voice that startled me only a day past, that seems like weeks ago. I might have thought months had passed if it weren’t still summer.
Maybe in vortexes, time does bumps and jumps, because I’ve lost track of how much time I’ve been away from my 21st century present-day friends. I wonder what they are doing.
Has the shuttle for the Tor arrived? Have they gone along anyway? Are they missing me? Have they found some authorities to begin to search for me?
“Brother Samuel, come into my office and have a seat.” As he motions for me to enter, it all comes back to me, roiling and rearing desperate waves of panic. I can’t move.
Prior Richard gives me an unnerving stare, not soft, but hard, drilling right into my soul. I know if I do not move soon, it will appear as a refusal, to obey.
He is gearing up to quietly bark, that I am to kneel on the spot and get a penance.
My sandals are glued to the floor.
Author Notes |
None of this fortunately happened to me, although some aspects of this account resemble my first couple of years in the convent. Fortunately, things relaxed a few years after in the 1960's for everyone
Madeline has vortexed into the 16th century as Brother Samuel Sylvester is Somara, a new friend Madeline made in the 21st century, Patrick unidentified so far Francis unidentified so far Stephen is Cordelia Abraham unidentified so far Brother Richard aka Prior Richard, also Abbot, is the head brother in the monastery Set was the name used to designate the guys who entered or joined or came in the same year. Terce, and Sect, and was one of the prayer times according to Benedict's Rules, designed to create constant discomfort. Abbot Benedict, now St. Benedict established this group with some strict rules. |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
When Samuel is ordered to see the Prior he panics. ‘I can’t move. Though I might be told to kneel on the spot and get a penance, my sandals feel glued to the floor.’
Could this be the root of my phobia of authority figures? Every time an employer says, ‘Can I see you?’ Or ‘We need to talk.’ I freeze up, expecting the worst.
And ofttimes, it indeed, has been something to grip my pounding chaotic heart. I’ve been ‘let-go’ or told I should consider moving on. Is that what will happen here?
Is it self-prophesy or fallout from my penance days? It makes sense. The horridly unfair sentence or the canonical, monastic word, penance, paralyzes me.
Has some sticky substance like honey been previously spilled upon the stones below where I walk? Just a few steps farther and I will make it to the rough wood bench I have been directed to. What will I do if I can’t mentally unfasten my feet?
It’s as if Sylvester somehow senses my terror. He passes conveniently near me, dropping his prayer beads. Without a word, but a look, I snap out of my fugue, give an assist, to retrieve them.
As our eyes meet, I know what his are saying. There’s a quirking at the corners of his mouth, strangling a smile. Sylvester is an inner dowser like Cordelia.
It dawned on me, he would eventually be reborn into the 19th Century in the United States as a girl named Somara. She would become a new dear friend in the little time I was in England. I miss her laugh and her voice.
“Well, Brother Samuel, I do not have all day. Aren’t you here because you just served a penance for dallying? Do you need a further one? Have you learned nothing, Brother?” He rubbed the back of his neck.
I carry myself to the indicated bench as fast as my now, freed feet are able to follow each other. Seated, I am silent. So is Prior Richard. I am sure I can see smoke seeping from orifices in his smoldering skull.
If I am dismissed, kicked out, where will I go in the 16th century? I know no one, nor am I remotely acquainted with these times. I don’t think I even studied it in school.
I had uncomfortably taught this era to sixth graders, yet remember none of it. Here, I am finding many answers to questions I always had, regarding the inner dialogue surfacing during those classroom discussions. As I stood in front of my students, unearthing that subject, must have felt all too familiar.
I expel a sigh of resignation.
“Brother Samuel, because you wear a white robe, indicating you have a novice brain and soul, I will overlook what just happened. But you have been warned. When I address you, you are to kneel on the spot, with your head lowered, until given permission to raise it. Is that clear?”
I don’t know if that was a rhetorical question and I‘m expected to remain silent, or on the other hand, should I speak with words of acknowledgement?
I choose the latter, but I am slammed with the realization I do not know the appropriate way to respond. What do I call him?
I don’t think ‘Sir, yes, Sir.’ would be correct, although the situation is very similar to the Army, or maybe more like the Marines.
“Yes, Prior Richard.”
“You may leave.” As I raise myself from the bench, he is not finished. “And Brother Samuel, I do not want to have to see you here again. Is that clear?”
With every inner organ trembling, I shakily bow my head and say, “Yes, Prior Richard.”
He gestures for me to scoot and scoot I do, not without signaling Brother Sylvester a ‘thank you’ one more time. I put as many stones as I can as quickly as I can between me and that ominous ordeal.
When I have distanced myself enough from the trauma, my mind returns to wondering what it must be like for Sylvester to have to examine and add to all those figures in that book.
Hopefully, he is able to see them as just numbers and not as dollars and wealth as he returns to his board bed, and boorish meals. I feel a special sadness for him and affinity toward him.
I’m consoled to know he will fare much better, as my new friend Somara, in the 21st Century as she works with someone else’s accounts and concerns, and happily returns to a warm welcoming home, with good cuisine, comfortable furniture, and a fine cushy bed.
When did man’s thoughts become so hardened? It is all dependent upon balance, and Sylvester replaced that in my soul today in this 16th century. But Somara has already done that many times for me, in the 21st century.
********
When I put my hand in my pockets, I am reintroduced to a ‘little friend’ I met on the first day in this Monastery. Remember, I had thought it was a bracelet with a cross on it.
I am supposed to be using it many times a day; I think about eight times? We were told to daily, say some prayers, asking for indulgences.
Indulgences are something necessary as a way to reduce the amount of punishment we have to go through to pay for our sins.
It seems as though someone would have to invent sins in this place. We actually check with each other for ideas for sins to confess.
There is another session called Chapter of Faults where we are told of some infraction someone or someones may have committed. We are to kneel to acknowledge the offense.
If no one kneels because they are unaware they have done any such thing, about five of us from our set will ‘hit the floor’ to ‘bail’ the ‘guilty’ brother out.
The other thing I have been unable to grasp, is why all this punishment and penance, if God has already allegedly forgiven us? Didn’t He have His Son die for our sins?
Author Notes |
None of this fortunately happened to me, although some aspects of this account resemble my first couple of years in the convent. Fortunately, things relaxed a few years after in the 1960's for everyone
Madeline has vortexed into the 16th century as Brother Samuel Sylvester is Somara, a new friend Madeline made in the 21st century Brother Richard aka Prior Richard, also Abbot, is the head brother in the monastery Set was the name used to designate the guys who entered or joined or came in the same year. |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
Madeline, who has portaled into the 16th century is now a monk called Samuel. She is slowly identifying her new friends from the 21st century as they spend time in cottages with others who are taking harp therapy lessons.
*******
The other useful information I have received is the beads I thought were a necklace around my waist are the large version of the rosary.
For me, they served as a notification for who was walking toward me. I’ve gotten so I am able to identify a brother by how his beads rattle.
Everyone has a different stride, some lanky, some hurrying, and others more graceful. This causes the Rosary beads to click together differently for each brother.
It’s nice to know who the brother is, I just want to know who some of these brothers will be. I have two solved, Stephen who was begging for food is Cordelia and Sylvester is Somara.
I’ve got a hunch, Robert is Karin who becomes a psychiatrist. Even back in the 15th century, he is showing kindness beyond the call of duty.
He risks getting severely penanced to help many who find they can trust him. I miss seeing Karin’s smile. We’ve become quite close while she has been taking harp lessons in the 21st century.
I am getting confused about how to phrase things. Karin isn’t here in the 16th century, Robert is. Neither Caren, nor Cyndy, nor Cordelia, nor Mary Jo, nor Somara, are taking harp lessons in this lifetime. They may not even know how to play the harp, yet.
You’d think the longer I remain here, the less confused I’d be, but it seems to have only worsened matters. My head is like a closet with things just thoughtlessly thrown into it.
*******
Working with the cows gives me time to ruminate over vital facts. My most comforting ole girl is Alfalfa, who reminds me of a beloved calf on my grandparents’ farm, in my 20th century childhood.
I need to find out where Patrick disappears to everyday. Is his activity legal? Does he leave the Monastery grounds, risking expulsion? Does his closeted behavior have Prior Richard’s blessing? Is he safe?
Not that I can do anything about it. I just have to know. I care about him and I might know him from the 21st century. I hope I’ve timed things right today.
When I’m finished here, I’ll rush the milk bucket to the kitchen bench, where I have been requested to leave it. Then, I’ll slip back outside to watch for his return and track his route.
I used to love to shovel manure, as a child at my grandparents. I take a big inhale and am lifted away for a short time, reminiscing about those days. It occurs to me this might be where I acquired a taste…er…attraction… affinity, for the ‘o’de perfume de manure.’
As I toss the last bit of manure onto the pile, I spot Patrick exiting a small mysterious stone building, kiddie corner to where I am standing.
My bemused eyes follow him ‘til he disappears into the monastery. Following my previous clandestine plan, I am back outside, playing hide and seek until I am safely back with my girls, the Jerseys.
If I could get to the back of that building, I could jimmy the door with a slab of wood, undetected. I have to get inside that building to see what he’s been doing every day. There seems to be only one or two other senior-level brothers working with him.
I can conveniently dart to a hedge, lining the side closest to me, then quickly get the answers to my many questions. Continuing to carry out my project, I encounter one damned deterrent.
There is no rear entrance. There is one long stretch of stonework, no planked door. I have to risk entering through the front, exposed to everyone.
It occurs to me that there is little chance of anyone spying on my attempting to gain access to a forbidden area, gambling with the security of the longevity of my residence here, risking expulsion.
Any windows in there are too high up from the floor for anyone to have the opportunity to peer out to see even a blue sky. This was one more of Benedict’s monastic methods to ensure further denial of the senses.
This time, one of his torturous inventions is going to favor me. My wooden wedge works well. The heavy door scrapes and creaks on its leather hinges. I am beside myself when I stick my head through to the interior.
Throughout the time we have been at the cottages, she gifted us with a different, lovely bowl. Each was a piece of pottery Caren had fashioned for the occasion, much like these lined up on shelves, I am staring at, in the 16th century room.
I now am convinced Patrick will eventually be reborn into the 20th century in the United States as a girl named Caren, to become a renowned potter. Joyously, I refasten the door and dance down the steps.
I catch myself in mid-air, returning to reality. How much time have I used? Being outside, I would miss the call for Vespers. They may have already begun.
I cannot, cannot be late. We are not doing this again. I beg under my breath, ‘Please, please don’t let me be late, don’t let them have already started.
Though running through the halls and corridors is forbidden, I hurriedly sashay toward the chapel. I almost faint on rubbery legs when I realize what I’m seeing.
There are at least five of my brothers entering the chapel. Either I’m saved or we are all doomed. I assume the usual prostrate position on the floor hoping to create an impression of normalcy.
We return to our prayer benches and begin to chant the psalms. More ‘bashing Babylonian babies against the rocks’ in Psalm 137:9.
“ Blessed is he who seizes your infants and dashes them against the rocks. Happy is the one who seizes your infants and dashes them against the rocks.”
During our short time preceding supper, I hurriedly jot down my findings regarding Patrick. Oh, I’m excited now. I’m slowly finding everyone who is attending or accompanying participants in the harp therapy course of the 21st century.
Author Notes |
Madeline who has vortexed into the 16th century as Brother Samuel is trying to find out who Patrick is
None of this, fortunately, happened to me, although some aspects of this account resemble my first couple of years in the convent. Fortunately, things relaxed a few years after in the 1960's for everyone The brothers in the 16th century die, go into other lifetimes, and are eventually born into the 20th century. They then become friends with Madeline in various circumstances |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously: Madeline, who has portaled into the 16th century is now a monk called Samuel. She is slowly identifying her new friends from the 21st century as they spend time in cottages with others who are taking harp therapy lessons.
*********
People might be wondering why I care who’s who in the 16th century. I sometimes wonder, too. I think at one time I knew why it matters, but it is all too quickly fading.
As I said earlier when we were in the car, I’m wondering if some of this is like the movie ‘Close Encounters’ where people, who were somehow connected, were pulled to the same location, in this case, the harp therapy course, to experience the energies summoning them there.
The common reactions to the Town of Glastonbury are a red flag for me. I had earlier, thought it was a stretch, that maybe, we were in a past life together.
The problem is, I am the only one of us who has been to the future, and has unwillingly returned to the past. I know I can’t start talking with them about the future as if I’ve been there, like the talk heard on some science fiction show on television.
People do talk of a recognition of someone they are sure was with them in a past life, but rarely speak of meeting them again in the future. I best not broach any such topic.
So here I am, forming strange friendships, in the 15th century with people, whom I have grown quite close to, in a surprisingly short time, in the 21st century.
*****
This day, I am working with Justin, a senior brother, yet again. We are developing a nice relationship, even though we aren’t supposed to. Everyone else is tending to some other task.
John is minding our five sheep. We’ll eventually have to help him shear them for wool before he teaches us how to prepare clumps of their coats, to be made into yarn.
With his skill using whale bones, shaped like quills, there will be knitted cowls and capes and pairs of Coptic socks – a roughly shaped garment to fit the foot for thongs or sandals for us. After that, he will gift us with yummy warm mittens.
He’s in good company. Several paintings were done that portray Mary, the mother of Jesus, while she was knitting. It was called The Knitting Madonnas.
It’s something John must have learned here in the 16th century before entering the monastery. Funny, I don’t think about each brother’s past in this lifetime, having no idea of who they were, only their future lifetime.
I remember Cyndy in the 21st century telling me of heritage stories about sheep herding, on her mother’s side of the family. The maternal grandparents were from Isle of Sheppey. I think it was also named Sheep Island. Sounds like sheep herding runs in her blood.
Cyndy brought her knitting with her in the 21st century to knit mittens for her grandchildren. Those were easier to pack than the knitted blankets she’s working on for them. She said it relaxed her to knit. She was needing to keep those harp fingers limber.
I believe John will eventually be reborn into the 21st Century in the United States as a girl named Cyndy.
Of course, Sylvester is inside working on the books. Joseph is in decorating the chapel and Francis is tending the flowers for Joseph to place in specific areas in the chapel on Sundays and holy days. Now I know why Patrick isn’t ever in our work crew.
Abraham is off to the side ‘counseling’ another brother, whom I do not know well. I can’t help but notice, watching the other brother’s arms flailing, they are having a spirited exchange.
There must have been some issue that stirred him up. It’s a good thing Abraham is around for us. We have someone we know who can be trusted, who makes no judgment.
I can’t imagine how many rumbles there might be if he weren’t here. Maybe this is why there are no swords or knives allowed near the beds. If pressure built up too much…
They would definitely need James to attend to them. He seems to have a knowledge of medicine, injuries, and healthy behaviors. I think Prior Richard has him stay inside in case any of us get injured or sick.
Abraham is not going anywhere, as long as he doesn’t get caught or reported. It is okay for brothers in the same set to talk in moderation, but I’m afraid this counseling everyday, while others cover for him would not be looked upon favorably.
That could mean a mass penance for all involved. Hmmm. That would be everyone in our set. I shudder to imagine what that might amount to or look like.
I, too, am in denial about the risks I’m running. I am just supposed to be silently working, basically disregarding the risk I’m taking deepening my friendship with Justin, who is in the set a year ahead of me.
I feel it is a setup, to assign guys from different sets to work together for a week and not expect them to develop a strong friendship.
It would be called a Particular Friendship, which I think is rooted in homophobia. When men are forbidden to be with each other for simple social exchanges, it can be perceived as a challenge to see how much they can get away with.
This is human nature expressing itself, however, anyone caught fraternizing, is subject to severe penance or even expulsion.
Contrary to the Abbot Richard’s fear, it is not a gay relationship, and try as he may, he cannot deter the ones that might develop into something more. It is just a hungering for a friend, for some personal connection. But it is forbidden, like the proverbial ‘forbidden fruit’.
*****
It is the two of us digging potatoes, providing plenty of time to get to know each other. No one will report us. Justin tells me a little about himself. He’d been cast out of his family because they caught him with another man alone in a bedroom and dumped him in this Monastery.
I, of course, don’t have anything to say about why I’m here. It must appear strange to Justin when I present myself as a mystery man.
Author Notes |
'Close Encounters' is referring to the 1977 movie called
'Close Encounters of the Third Kind' https://www.amazon.com/Close-Encounters-Third-Original-Version/dp/B009QK4CZE A set is the name for the group that came into the monastery the same year Justin a monk from a previous set, to Samuel, forbidden to talk with anyone out of his set. Reactions to the Town of Glastonbury, Madeline refers to are addressed in Ch. 18 John is Cyndy Sylvester is Somara Joseph is Mary Jo Francis is Jill Patrick is Caren Alexander is Karin James is unidentified as yet Patrick is Caren Abbot Richard is also titled Brother, or Prior as head monk of the monastery A Particular Friendship is a friendship forbidden between two monks from different sets |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously: Madeline who is now Samuel has been illicitly developing an intense friendship with a monk named Justin, from another set.
******
When I spot Justin, I ease my way down the corridor. I’m just about to wave when Prior Richard comes walking with intent, rosary clicking in staccato cadence.
My throat tightening, I tiptoe into the shadows.
“Brother Justin, on your knees.”
I am horrified.
“See me after Vespers.”
I want to follow Justin when he leaves chapel and darts toward Prior Richard’s area, but think better of it.
I shorten my time, out at work, and get myself back inside, hoping I haven’t missed Justin’s trip back from Prior Richard’s, wondering and worrying about what penance he has received.
It can be assumed if you are called to the Prior’s office, you walk out or drag out with a hunched back and head, carrying a heavy penance.
I’ve made it in time, he’s walking toward me with his head down. When he sees me, he has a pained look on his face. As I make my approach, he puts his arms and hands up, signaling me to refrain from advancing one step farther.
I’m confused as I ask him how things went for him, he puts a trembling pointer finger of his right hand up to his lips, while pressing his left hand toward the floor.
His beautiful blue eyes are swimming in tears.
I can’t begin to imagine what had occurred in the hellhole of that office. I dread to believe Prior Richard could have struck him with his holy hand or stick, as it has been rumored of him, in some cases.
Something is terribly wrong. I open my mouth to speak, but close it. I don’t know what to say. He’s acting so private. I figure I can get him to talk about it the next time we are working together, which will probably be tomorrow.
I’ve enjoyed our free time together. It’s made our work fun. Eeek, I know we aren’t supposed to have fun. And we’re not supposed to be friends.
‘No pf’s, no pf’s’. Doesn’t Prior Richard know, that continuously storms through our heads.
Justin takes a tenuous step closer to me, to drop the bomb, blowing up my heart.
He let his breath out sharply. “I can’t talk to you anymore, we can’t be seen together ever again. I won’t be working with you ever again. You are not to approach me ever again.”
I am unable to respond, even if I had something to say. ‘Why’s’ are senseless. It is final. The one person I feel some special connection with is shutting us out of my life.
With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I nod in acknowledgment, turn and walk far away from my lifeline as my world spins out of control.
I worry about Justin, checking every night that he is in bed. No one can forbid me from caring for, and, about him from afar, albeit with a dark sense of dread.
******
I am not certain if I am dreaming or seeing something real. Through my bleary sleepy eyes, I’m seeing a specter-like figure that appears to be Justin, walking toward the door. When I realize I’m not dreaming, I squint through the wavering flame of lantern light, as it casts ghostly shadows on the lumpy walls.
Tears distort my vision even further. I place the back of my hand against my eyes to restrain the flood of silent screaming inner pain, etching lines down my face.
When I lower my quavering hands, no one is there. The doorway is empty. Truth will out itself tomorrow. Before I have time to process what I am seeing, I fall back to sleep.
I awake in a stupor as if from a nightmare. It will soon be time to rise for the 3 am Lauds. When I get to chapel, I have no chance to check Justin’s bench to see if he is there. It is way too dark in here. We are expected to chant by rote memory.
We go back to our beds, to rest a little more before returning for Prime at 6 am, where we receive instructions of the day and head out to work for a while.
Francis is working with me to harvest garlic, onions, and carrots. It is back-breaking work. But soon we will be back lying on the floor for Terce, and seated on our uncomfortable benches for High Mass.
Our set is expected to rush out of the chapel to get on our knees to ask for prayers. There are no knee pads either. You just position your knees, so each one is on a fairly flat stone.
“Please, brother, have the charity to pray for me.” can be heard patterned like a song sung in a campfire round, as each of us requests prayers of the brother, swishing by us.
Swinging around the non-existent clock at noon for Sext, we finally get to sit for the midday meal. This is when I get to see if Justin is still here.
As I take my place on my bench at the table, we have a repeat of the Zachary scenario, no sign, a Brother Justin, ever existed. Those brothers who used to flank him at the table are now side-by-side.
We are expected to just go on as if there never was such a person here.
The universe is held together by balance. All things exist in a relationship of balance: then and now, comfort and discomfort, friends and strangers, play and work, the known and unknown, togetherness and isolation.
I feel as if my universe has been shaken like pairs of dice landing on: discomfort, strangers, work, unknown, and isolation. I think I’m due a session with Abraham.
I am driven to make real, a scheme I’ve been toying with in mind. I have enough time to look out front. Maybe Cordelia is out there looking for me. Maybe she’s been there all along.
I rush toward the back door. I don’t care if anyone sees me, I am out of here. I’ve had it. For some reason, I’ve never checked out front.
I slide with my body against the stones under the tall windows to get back to where this all began. Back to the 21st century.
Cordelia, wait for me, I’m coming.
Author Notes |
Madeline, now Bro. Samuel, finds there is no pf's allowed
Cordelia is Madeline's friend from the 21st century Pf is the short term for a particular friendship which is a friendship forbidden between two monks from different sets A set is the name for the group that came into the monastery the same year This all began in Ch 16 when Madeline from a group of women attending a harp course is vortexed into the 16th century. Justin is a monk from a previous set, to Samuel, forbidden to talk with anyone out of his set. Abraham is Karin A Zachary senerio is related to a brother, who after being called to Abbott Richard's office turned up missing at the table, and was never spoken of again. Abbot Richard is also titled Brother, or Prior as head monk of the monastery |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously: Madeline/Samuel became fed up with this monastery life and all of the rules and is driven to find her way back to the 21st century. She knows her friends must be waiting out front of the monastery. That’s where all of this began. We left Samuel as he was veering toward the front of the building. When he returns, he continues to narrate for us.
*********
Nobody cares. The stars don’t even care. The gray clouds suit my mood. Francis is back outside, working with me. I suggest Abraham work close by us, so I can vent to him. I know I can trust Francis, we’ve become good buddies.
There are just the carrots left to pull, so Abraham and I can move on to gathering ferns, good for soups and stews.
Francis said, “I’m happy to work alone, today. The sooner I get finished here, the sooner I can get to my chickens. Those girls have been laying extra eggs. That means the cook will have more watery scrambled eggs to go around.”
How metaphorical, mud is sucking my feet down. I’m stopping every few yards, kicking my boots free of the allegedly drained swamp, which is more like a bog. As I remove a dry clot of mud-like cakes of dried cow flops, the last of the colors swirl off the nearly leafless branches. We are surrounded by a vast swampland of muck.
The wind is kicking up, causing bushes and tree limbs to writhe & shake. A storm is brewing. I hope this isn’t another foreshadowing. All others, I have tuned into, were pretty accurate. Look where I am.
I can’t help but notice the blood-tinged sunset. What is going on in this world of mine? Why am I getting this creepy inner dowser experience?
The low carpet of sky is growing progressively darker and angrier. There is evidence of a gathering storm. Is it just nature, or is it more than that?
Rain is beginning to lash the muck. Ferns do love wetlands, otherwise, they turn brown quickly. I’m sure this is why Abbot Richard wants them harvested by tonight.
I have to admit, in the 21st century, I do not care for fiddlehead ferns and I guess maybe, this is one of the reasons why. I can’t imagine what fern tastes like after having delicious kale, and rhubarb swiss chard.
********
Here I am with the coveted opportunity to be listened to by Abraham. I can’t tell him much, though. I can’t reveal to him, how I flipped out, desperate to get out of here, escaping the 16th century; that I snuck outside through the back door where we are allowed to access our designated work section. But, I went farther, into forbidden areas.
The front is where the offices are, where Prior Richard looms. I've been too afraid to go out front. We’re not even allowed anywhere outside of our designated working area. I needed to sneak around to the front. That is where we were standing waiting for the shuttle to take us to the Tor.
I can’t admit I believed I could actually find my way back to the 21st century, by just running to the front of the building. I can’t talk to Abraham about that.
I can’t tell him anything about how I was sure the others from the harp therapy course would still be there waiting for me and wouldn’t have left, yet.
When I’d made my way to the other side of the building and out to the front, my friends were not there. The road was sparkling with water.
Between the shimmering of diamond-like drops and my swirly tears, all I could see were the soldiers with swords on muted clopping horses, escorting wagons, on sloshing wheels.
There was some medieval dressed stranger knocking on the monastery front door, probably bringing money to ensure and enforce our penitence.
I returned to the rear entrance, and discreetly deserted and resigned my efforts to get back to the 21st century. I will practice, Eckhart Tolle’s advice and stop resisting this Twilight Zone reality.
To avoid this sense of failure, trapped and held hostage by the past, my obsessive thoughts returned. Had any other of my friends been portaled from out front?
As we stood waiting, in the 21st century, for the shuttle to take us to the top of the Tor, there was only the shell of this building remaining, with a broad wall supporting a large printed board recording the history of this place.
A man tried to pass by me, causing me to step into darkness. The darkness was lighted by 16th century lanterns. And here I am to stay.
I can’t help but wonder if any others are here experiencing what I’m going through; if they’re working as hard as me to figure out who is who in the 16th century. I will never know, and they will never know about my trauma. What a place to be.
********
While at the evening meal, I happen to catch a shocking sight. It is the condition of one of the very senior monk’s hands. Actually, it is his fingers, more precisely his fingertips. They are black. I am quite certain it isn’t as a result of the penance of having them struck with a stick.
I promise myself I’m going to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t get sick. Day after day, I’m relieved to see he is at his place at the table. I wonder how long it will take before there is a fatal impact on him.
Rivulets begin to bead on my forehead. It can’t be. It can’t be. He’s missing, Brother Harold, the black-ink finger-tipped monk, is sick, maybe even dying. It’s just like in the movie 'The Name of the Rose'. What a horribly dark movie, and it’s happening here.
Author Notes |
I usually preface this section with, thankfully, nothing like this happened to me, but
I totally blocked out to announce the fact I experienced a Justin situation while in the convent, which evolved into a Zachary scenario. It was very traumatizing, which is why I included it in my story. We lived under the monastic rule, even in the middle 60's. The others referred to are the 21st century friends Madeline was relating Madeline has been vortexed into the 16th century and is now Brother Samuel Abraham is a bit of a counselor for all of the brothers in Samuel's set Brother Harold has the task of copying books with ink and a quill A quill is a feather used to dip ink to be able to write on parchment Parchment is a writing material made from specially prepared untanned skins of animals, primarily sheep, calves, and goats. 'The Name of the Rose' is about monks with black ink on their fingertips. It turned out there was someone trying to kill the monks. The assailant had poisoned the ink they unknowingly dipped their quill tip into. Echart Tolle is an author of self-help books, such as The Power of Now The Twilight Zone is a science fiction TV series of 150+ episodes from 1959 on Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits A Justin situation is when Samuel was told by Justin who was from a different set, that they could not be friends nor even speak nor be seen with each other A Zachary scenario is related to a brother, who after being called to Abbott Richard's office turned up missing at the table, and was never spoken of again. Abbott Richard, the head Monk, can be called Brother Richard, or Prior Richard A set is the name for the group that came into the monastery the same year |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously: Samuel is Madeline, vortexed into the 16th century, and is so stressed, he is envisioning each of the brothers, slowly being victims of murder. He is reacting to having witnessed a monk with black-inked fingers. It reminds him of the movie 'The Name of the Rose'.
*********
I haven’t seen any other poisoned fingertips. Hopefully, it’s only him. I don’t know what I will say if I am ordered under the Vow of Obedience to copy a book with a quill dipped in poisoned ink.
I don’t want to be touching poisoned ink. I don’t want to die. I don’t want this to be the way I move from one lifetime to the other.
Just as I am mentally, irrationally lining up a major job for James, who works with the sick, there is a disruption at the end of the table. A few monks stand to make room, allowing another monk to shuffle to his place on the bench.
I can’t see who it is at first, then my sweating face, changes to beet red, accompanied by a sick sinking sensation. I have fabricated all of this drama in my starved imagination.
The monk just situating himself at table is Harold, the main character in my illusionary movie. He paralleled, so well, the setting and plot of the horrible movie, 'The Name of the Rose'.
The plot of the movie I was weaving into my already dramatic life is about monks with black ink on their fingertips. It turned out there was someone trying to kill the monks. The assailant had poisoned the ink they unknowingly dipped their quill tip into.
Whenever they touched the page they were writing upon, getting ink on their fingertips, poison was slowly seeping into their bloodstream.
Slowly, the monks were being wiped out. As one copier of books mysteriously died, another took his place, to soon meet the holy coffin and the after world.
My 15th century lifetime is so bizarre, attempts on our lives could be happening in this monastery. I swear, we have so much money coming in each day, it would not be difficult for someone to justify taking us all out. And I don’t mean for a date.
*********
The harvesting is complete. When we were hacking long sheaves of grains in a large group, even though we were to refrain from conversation, I found it an opportunity to hear a phrase from brother Stephen, my dear Cordelia. It fed my starving heart.
Francis is busy getting things ready for his girls to be warm, without burning the place up. He wants them to be able to lay eggs safely. He is gathering the last of the hay for them, left from our wooden pitchforked piles for the Jersey girls.
Francis is thrilled, talking to his flowers and the egg-laying girls, has been extremely productive. Everyone has smiles when they see the occasional gruel-like serving of scrambled eggs. It is a nice change from the real gruel.
As the days grow more drear, the beautiful myriad of flowers he has heartfeltly tended, brighten the soul in the flickering lantern light. Joseph labors daily in the near darkness designing the gift of blossoms from Francis.
Together, they have raised my… hopefully…our… spirits, to know they care for each of us. It is vital in this harsh, cold, heartless, environment, to know we are valued, even if it be shown by flowers and how they are displayed. Thank you, Francis. Thank you, Joseph.
I do a lot of video chats with several friends who are here, er, I mean in the 21st century. I have begun to put more together who Joseph and Francis are. Mary Jo's labors for every holiday produce lovely decorations.
The entire interior of her home looks like a theme museum or something from a Home and Garden magazine. Hers more home and another friend, Jill would prefer more to be featured in the garden section.
Jill spends many of her peaceful moments taking pride in her fiery blooming flowers on her back deck and throughout her backyard. They are a breath of fresh air to behold.
I think it is quite clear. Joseph will be reborn into the 20th century as Mary Jo, my friend from Pennsylvania, who I will meet in a dowsing group. We will become very close, sharing in our understanding of energies and ley lines. She is also, like Cordelia, an inner dowser.
Francis is Jill, with whom I will work from time to time, over the years. We found a comforting commonality of our ADD. Attention Deficit disorder. We both tend to see ‘shiny objects’ when attempting to get something done or stay focused on a task. We laugh a lot about our behaviors. She has the gift of being able to laugh at herself.
Poor Cordelia, she’s always needing to tap me on the shoulder to draw my attention back to focus. She caught me when I was lost in thought about meeting with other participants and their companions in waiting, at the harp therapy course.
That was the way she gently woke me, hand on shoulder, then tap, tap. I miss someone putting their hand on my shoulder and tapping. There is no touching, no body contact here.
It is a wonder the ‘failure to thrive’ we see in babies who are never held, doesn’t occur here. Maybe it does, we will never know it. This is why the pf rule is often broken.
Author Notes |
The names of characters here may be double-named. The male name is the 16th century monk and the female name is the attended of the 21st century harp course.
The narrator is Madeline, who has become Brother Samuel through a vortex into the 21st century. Her dear friend is Cordelia, now Brother Stephen The others referred to are the 21st century friends Madeline was relating at a harp therapy Madeline has been vortexed into the 16th century and is now Brother Samuel Abraham is a bit of a counselor for all of the brothers in Samuel's set Brother Harold has the task of copying books with ink and a quill A quill is a feather used to dip ink to be able to write on parchment Parchment is a writing material made from specially prepared untanned skins of animals primarily sheep, calves, and goats. The 'Name of the Rose' is about monks with black ink on their fingertips. It turned out there was someone trying to kill the monks. The assailant had poisoned the ink they unknowingly dipped their quill tip into. Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits Jersey girls are cows A cow's udder is the part of its body that produces milk. When you milk a cow, you empty its udder by squeezing the milk into a bucket. Lowing is when Cattle will make noises if they are hungry or stressed. A set is the name for the group that came into the monastery the same year Inner dowsing is when someone has a gift of knowing things, of sensing and being drawn to various energies and spirits pf is the short term for a Particular Friendship which is a friendship forbidden between two monks |
By Liz O'Neill
Please refer to Author Notes to learn more about unfamiliar terms or concepts
*****
It seems we should still be back in the Fall, when we could freely be outside. Somehow we have jettisoned into Winter. How could that be?
It was summer when I was standing out front with the others from the harp therapy group waiting for the shuttle to take us up to the Tor. I was swelteringly warm, standing in line reading the sign about this place.
Oh, how I wish I had time to read the entire history of this Glastonbury Monastery. I’ve heard whisperings, it’s turning cold with snow falling frequently.
I have to go out to milk the cows and see my girl Alfalfa, who lets me warm my hands against her warm udder. I have to do that before I milk her because it is her udder that holds the warm milk. Any warmth goes with the milk into the wooden bucket.
I betcha, many a monk has dunked his freezing numb hands into that soothing warmth. It’s time to bite the bullet and put my big girl, er, big boy panties on to brave the chill. I best hurry.
We each have scheduled tasks. Mine is to milk the three cows. I am relieved to have my first task be something I already have knowledge of, as I used to help milk the cows at my grandparents, where, as I have mentioned, we spent a portion of our summers
As I shoulder into my light-weight dark cape, Brother James catches me in mid-motion on my way out the back door leading to my girls who are definitely lowing by now, waiting my attention.
James kindly advises me. “It is bitter cold out there and there’s deep snow on the ground. Please, wear your woolen mittens and boots with your Coptic socks and your woolen cowl.”
After dressing as directed, I am deeply affected by the caring way he instructed me. Unlike so many incidences of what is called blind obedience, such as watering a dead stick, he explained why I needed to bundle up, and used the word ‘please’.
Blind obedience is defined as obeying an authority figure without thought. This is done regardless of the consequences for the actions that are being carried out. They also obey whether or not, the task they are asked to carry out makes any sense.
I know it’s winter and I know how cold it is when the scent of wood-fire smoke stings my already nearly closed nostrils. The cold is cracking and splintering the air as I jostle through the snow to get to my Jerseys. I am doubly grateful to James for alerting me to these conditions.
I reluctantly remove my nicely knitted, yummy mittens gifted us by John. I was going to say, ‘gifted to me’, but nothing is mine, it is ours, given to us.
These community mittens could easily be taken from me for someone else, if the brother’s need presented itself to be more vital than mine. Although, I trust my current need would win out.
James so lovingly reminded me to put them on, for the first part of my venture. However, as wonderful as these mittens may be, they are no good for when I’m actually milking the cows. My fingers sting from the biting cold. I knot, release, and knot them again, trying to get feeling back into my appendages.
My excruciating dilemma, reminds me of the man in Jack London’s short story, ‘To Build a Fire’. I know it will be futile, but still, rap my lifeless fingered hands against my legs.
“Nothing. Just hurry, and get yourself back inside”. I’m muttering aloud to myself. Good thing no one’s here. I can’t tell, except by sight, if I have a sufficient grasp on the wooden pail.
To try to clutch it by its rope could be disastrous. I hug it, for the first time hugging anything, or anyone, in what seems like an eternity.
If I ever get back to the 21st century, I will hug everyone, holding on as if I’m never going to let them go again.
In the midst of my painful trauma, there it is, all frosted over, staring at me through the smokey fog. There is a legend that Dunstan, now St. Dunstan, who used to be Brother Dunstan was asked by the Devil to re-shoe the Devil’s horse.
Instead, Dunstan nailed a horseshoe to the Devil's hoof. It was painful for the Devil, but Dunstan told him it would be taken off if he promised to never enter a place where a horseshoe hangs over a door. As the story goes, the Devil has kept his promise to this day.
James meets under the doorway with the horseshoe hung upon it, to direct me to the warming fire. He told me what to do next.
In a nearly inaudible whisper he said, “Go into the kitchen, to warm your hands. It will sting and ache terribly. Put them close to the fire, but not too close.”
“Should I rub my hands together?” That’s what I’d seen as a child, on the Western TV shows.
My new dear friend cautioned me in gestures and in hushed words. “No, don't rub them, just turn your wrists back and forth. And when your hands are warm, I have a couple pairs of gloves, thick with warm cotton on the inside and outside.”
How he had squandered, or gained the privilege of having healing glove-like mittens I will not ask, just be grateful. They are probably more like our strange socks called Coptic socks.
My hands don’t even feel like they belong to me. Wool double-socks doesn’t sound so bad if it helps them to get better. With the twisted messages going to my brain, I’m sure this must be someone else’s pain, from someone else’s hands, I’m bearing.
Author Notes |
The narrator is Madeline, who has become Brother Samuel through a vortex into the 21st century.
James seems to have medical knowledge & skills. Madeline/Samuel has not yet figured out who he will be in the 21st century. Alalfa is Samuel's favorite Jersey cow. A cow's udder is the part of its body that produces milk. When you milk a cow, you empty its udder by squeezing the milk into a bucket. Lowing is when cattle will make noises if they are hungry or stressed. Coptic socks are a roughly shaped garment to fit the foot for thongs or sandals for us. https://www.dogpile.com/serp?qc=images&q=15th+century+Coptic+socks&sc=OfFaXjCH6NlW10 |
By Liz O'Neill
Please refer to Author Notes to learn more about unfamiliar terms or concepts.
Previously: Samuel is recuperating from being out in the freezing weather. He feels better because James caringly attended to his severe discomfort. Its placid mood is disrupted by some disturbing incident.
As I squat here in the warmest corner of the kitchen watching flames licking around the firewood, I am sweating for two reasons. One is obvious, the other is, I have the scorching realization I am going to be here indefinitely.
As I am wont to do, I quickly snuff that burning thought out, turning to my pastime, figuring out who is who in the 16th century. I am sure James is Evelyn, who will be reincarnated to become a nurse in the 21st Century.
Evelyn told me some interesting stuff to imagine with joy: “It's the 20th century and the Ball family welcomes their first child. They name her Evanjalene Margaret Ball. She is born into money, political influence, and good breeding.
She is born two weeks late and her mom is placed on bed rest in the hospital. When it was suggested she might stay longer, her mother said, ‘No, I feel completely comfortable at home and I want my own bed.’”
Evelyn radiated her big beautiful smile when she was finished with the lovely vignette. It was then, I knew how my dear friend had come by her strong sense of determination. I miss her smile. Although, looking into James’ eyes, I can see a beautiful soul shining through.
******
Spirits are renewed, as I jaunt toward our resting room. My reflection is disrupted, with great cacophony erupting, near Brother Richard’s office, or as I refer to it, his haunt.
I jostle my head, this way and that. There are too many blocking my clear vision. One of the robes moves aside for me to peer through those circling the poor brother, whomever he is.
It’s Abraham, on his knees with a feral gaze. Something is seriously amiss. I hope he hasn’t been found out for his pf behavior or his kind counseling of everyone in our set.
The yelling escalates as more higher-up’s gather. I cannot understand anything any one of them is barking about, to comprehend what is going on. Each angry word slices across the undulating walls of the cold, unfeeling stones.
There are several brothers or Abbots in black robes whom I have never seen before. Then, I spy something that completely befuddles me. This issue must be something out of the ordinary.
The one creating the most vibrations holding a thin stick in his shaking hand has to steady his scarlet hat. Being enrobed in full scarlet attire, indicates to me he is a Cardinal, an emissary to the Pope. Surely, no such behavior Abraham has engaged in, could possibly bring on such a frisson of frenzy.
I hope he employs the stick only for a cane and for no other purpose. I cannot see Abraham anymore. He has been edged behind the doorway. As the scolding voices endure, I worry Abraham won’t.
The din is silenced, so I assume Abraham is getting his chance to explain himself, to defend himself. I am sending a shield of protection and healing on all levels, accompanied by clarity, patience and compassion to the inquisitioners. It feels like the grand inquest is being reenacted, or maybe it hasn’t happened yet in our history, here in the 15th century.
If the Inquisition has already occurred, then the Catholic Church is already well practiced in its techniques; this is beginning to feel like it.
That certainly was a time of sheer horror. As a young adult in the 19th century, I used to repeatedly play the soundtrack for the 'Man of LaMancha', on my cassette player. My favorite was ‘Dulcinea’, it is such a sweet song.
Only recently, have I discovered the entire musical is based on someone coping during the Inquisition. It gives me nightmares to think of it. Don Quixote wasn’t crazy after all, tilting at windmills. He lived in insane times and found a harmless way to remain sane.
I fear to imagine how Abraham will fare. Although, I as yet, don’t have any idea what his crime is, or if I ever will.
I wonder where Joseph is during all of this imminent threat of violence, and if he is any closer to knowing what is going on. Or would Sylvester have a better perspective?
While everyone in charge is preoccupied, I will break silence and every other rule to see if I can figure anything out about this volatile situation and what could possibly be its catalyst.
I suspect we will see another Zachary situation. I don’t know, have there been more? I’ve lost track. Dear Abraham will no longer be at prayer, and his place at table will be nonexistent.
My heart is a kaleidoscope of emotions. The shapes reflected are all sharp, stabbing, cutting to the quick, maiming to the marrow.
********
A couple of days have passed since, as predicted, the wonderful companion for the group, Abraham, has vanished. Everyone will have to solve dilemmas for themselves. There will no longer be a kind, nonjudgmental, ever-available ear for them.
It’s ironic, how earlier, I was praising Abraham in my mind and wondering what people would ever do if he were no longer here. He was such a wonderful help for so many troubled brothers. I’m not sure how things will smooth out between them and some of the brothers from other sets.
I can sense a definite change in the morale. The unknown, like a god, has the most power to kill the spirit. I used to notice when the substance abuse patients were waiting for an opening, in their hoped-for recovery institution, the longer they waited for word, the thinner grew their confidence and hope. I fear to see that here.
Author Notes |
The narrator is Madeline, who has become Brother Samuel through a vortex into the 16th century.
Abraham who is Karin who becomes a psychiatrist in the 21st century. In the 16th century, he snuck around helping counsel the troubled brothers. He was very important to those in his own set. Pf is the short term for a Particular Friendship which is a friendship forbidden between two monks Higher-ups and Robes is an expression like our present day idiom, 'suits' which is someone of great importance Grand inquest is jury convened to determine if there is sufficient evidence to warrant the indictment of a suspected offender. 'Man of LaMancha' tells the story of the 'mad' knight, Don Quixote who has been thrown into a dungeon in Seville to await trial by the Inquisition for an offense against the Church. The duty of an Inquisitioner is to suppress heresy. They extract information Frisson can mean drama The cardinals are, as it were, 'the Pope's men,' his advisors, helpers, councillors, friends, his eyes and ears around the world, and, sometimes, his voice. They share in his mission because he has chosen them for that task, and only because he has chosen them. Joseph is Mary Jo decorating the chapel Sylvester is Somara doing finances Abraham is Karin doing counseling A Zachary situation is related to a brother, who after being called to Abbott Richard's office turned up missing at the table, and was never spoken of again. A kaleidoscope is an optical instrument with two or more reflecting surfaces tilted to each other at an angle, so that one or more objects on one end of these mirrors are shown as a regular symmetrical pattern when viewed from the other end, due to repeated reflection. A set is the name for the group that came into the monastery the same year Jersey cows are a breed who, as opposed to Holstein, give a higher quantity of cream |
By Liz O'Neill
Please refer to Author Notes to learn more about unfamiliar terms or concepts
Previously:
Abraham, one of the favored, helpful brothers, was, what some might say, ‘called on the carpet’. In this case, there was no carpet, only an uncomfortable uneven rolling rocks floor. This becomes the focus of this chapter.
******
Here I am, Madeline of the 21st century, sitting in the 16th century, as Brother Samuel, questioning my sanity. What is happening to me and to others? And now one of the heroes, Abraham, of this bizarre story of our life, is gone.
With no answers or explanation, the more days that pass with no Brother Abraham to give counsel, the wearier the brothers grow. I do my best to let them know I’m here for them, but they don’t know me, nor do they easily trust me.
Deception is a cruel player in the game of life. It masquerades as something it is not. It endears itself to us, and we reciprocate, playing into its cold clutches, aimed at our vulnerable hearts.
Our woundedness confuses, plunging us into the throes of denial. We search for reasons, for an unobtainable logic, a void in which to place the blame.
*******
There is an important break in protocol when we do not assemble for the purpose of receiving our daily tasks. Instead, we are told by Abbot Richard to reassemble in one hour, and to follow the directives of yesterday, in the meantime.
There are whispered murmurs, indicating a raised level of tension and stress, as we depart, attending to our designated areas. Will my question of ‘what is going on?’, ever be answered.
When we reconvene, goose bumps cover my arms, and the hairs on the back of my neck surely stand up.
In front of us, on guest benches, are the same men I had seen forming a vigilante mob, circling Abraham near Abbot Richard’s office.
What are they doing here? Haven’t we had enough of this ‘rubbing salt into our fresh wounds’? We haven’t even had time to begin to mend, to grieve. Little did I know we were about to receive further slashes, to feel as if we’d been run-through with a double-edged dull sword.
The rigid silence was broken by Brother Richard. “He is an imposter and horrible heretic.” We, of course, know to whom he is referring, and will resistantly and defensively listen to every word.
Abbot Richard winced, pounding his thigh, as he continued. “We should have known something was askew. Abraham is a Jewish name. He has been expelled from this monastery and will be ex-communicated. The irony is, this is not Abraham’s first time being expelled from a monastery.
“He once was a member of a Russian monastery as a rabbi. For some reason, he was expelled from there. Instead, he and a rogue group of the Coptic religion gathered additional Jews to their cause."
As Abbot Richard pauses, I take time to mentally file this information. Coptic? Huh? That’s the same name as our strange knitted socks. I’ll have to look the origins up if I ever get back to the 21st century.
The disgusted Abbot continued on with his rant. “Abraham must have tired of that game and came to our door making false claims, he’d been abandoned by his Christian parents and sent to our monastery.
“We express horror to think he partook of the sacrament of Holy Communion and wasn’t even a member of the Catholic faith.
“There have been a growing number of heresies. That demands increased efforts to defend the Catholic faith. Usually, we do not comment on brothers who choose to leave, but this is our way of fighting heresies.
“With a reputation like this, our entire monastery holds the risk of becoming ex-communicated. What would we do? No communion nor any sacraments…not even confession? What would be our reason for existing? We might as well disband our whole group.
“Continue to follow the routine of tasks you have begun for the day. I remind you to be diligent in praying your rosary. Your mind should be on that rather than this matter.
“There should be no more discussion of this affair. It is being addressed and dealt with.”
********
That’s it, Abbot Richard and holy higher ups, just sweep this whole affair under the proverbial carpet, with your straw broom. I guess the Catholic Church doesn’t look at ex-communication as a punishment, per se, whatever that expression means. It’s like giving said heretic ‘time out’.
Is Abbot Richard intimating we’d all be considered heretics? We, as baptized members of the Roman Catholic Church, would look like we were refusing to acknowledge or accept the teachings of that church.
It occurs to me, there is an irony here. Since Abraham was never a baptized Roman Catholic, it is empty words, to say he is to be excommunicated. He won’t care if he can never receive Holy Communion or other sacraments.
I’m wondering what corner Abraham is curled up in, and what his next trick will be. I don’t know whether to be angry at him or hurt by his façade, or spend my time remembering the good he did.
*****
It reminds me of the story we’ve told from time to time about the mean man who was evicted and expelled from his town. He went to live a couple of towns away and wore a mask of kindness, so he would not be recognized.
Someone from his former town recognized him by the leather boat shoes he traditionally wore. The informer plotted to expose the masked imposter at a concert that night.
When he rushed up to the microphone to tell the whole town there was an extremely mean, and deceptive person in their midst, the volume of murmuring increased as the curious scanned the crowd.
At last, they all demanded to know the name of the accused. In response to their demanding to know the identity, the accuser pointed out the man they knew to be one of the kindest citizens in their town.
They yelled, “We do not believe you; you are mad.”
The man with the microphone retaliated. “He is a very mean man and has been pretending to be kind by wearing a mask that only looks like a kind façade.
Mob psychology was displaying itself as he demanded action. “Tear his mask from his face, and you will see I know from whence I speak. Under that mask lives a mean, mean man.”
Five individuals stormed toward the person of interest, dragging him to the grandstand, in full sight of those gathered. Though he offered no resistance, he was treated with the rough restraint due a criminal.
There were great gasps from men, women, and even children when the mask was ripped from his face.
Author Notes |
The narrator is Madeline, who has become Brother Samuel through a vortex into the 16th century.
Abraham snuck around helping counsel the troubled brothers. He was very important them. Now he has been exposed to be an imposter. Abbot Richard, the head of the monastery is also referred to as Brother, or Prior Coptic orthodox church, is where Monasticism began. It is a group which originated in Egypt in the 3rd century, Christian but not Catholic Coptic socks originated in Egypt, worn by Coptics. They are roughly shaped garments to fit the foot for thongs or sandals for us. https://www.dogpile.com/serp?qc=images&q=15th+century+Coptic+socks&sc=OfFaXjCH6NlW10 To sweep under the carpet is an idiom, to ignore, deny, or conceal from public view or knowledge something that is embarrassing, unappealing, or damaging to one's reputation. |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously: We’ve been listening to a story told by Madeline who has been vortexed into the 16th century as Samuel. In the metaphorical story, we learned about a man who wore a mask to cover his meanness, so he’d be accepted by the town folk. Madeline/Samuel is likening it to the new situation about a caring brother named Abraham who has been declared, an imposter by Abbot Richard.
We left off in the story, with someone recognizing the person of interest, by his shoes. The revealer was urging the towns folk to remove the mask from the deceptor’s face. The mask was believed to have been concealing the face of a very mean man. We shall see. Below, are the last two lines of the story Madeline/Samuel is telling us. Then we hear more reflection from Samuel/Madeline about Abraham’s behavior and intentions:
**********
‘There were great gasps from men, women, and even children when the mask, of the town resident who had been accused of deception, was ripped from his face.
Beneath the mask was the face of a kind man. He had pretended so hard for so long to be a gentle person, he had become one.’
Maybe that is the case with Abraham. He helped so many of us. His kindness and self-giving couldn’t all be for pretense, not with us, his brothers. Was nothing of what he said and did, sincere? I catch bemused expressions on my brothers’ faces. I wish I could help them sort this out.
Abraham would be able to help. He could take each of us aside, as he did so many times, working with us to sort out bewildering situations in our interactions with others and especially regarding run-ins with Prior Richard. If given a chance, Abraham would be able to explain himself. Surely, there must be some logic behind his actions.
******
I sigh deeply. That is what happens, isn’t it? When we have a solid belief about something or someone, and it is shattered, we begin to feel like broken pottery. We pick up the shards, attempting to glue the jigsaw puzzle of our life back together.
For some, it holds, but for the fragile, the recovery is never firm. I send healing on all levels for those who need it and will receive it, including Abraham.
I need to quiet the buzzing, chainsawing my brain, causing an excruciating ache, and head for the chapel.
******
Amidst the melange of acrid body odor, lovely fragrances of the flowers, Francis tenderly grew and Joseph caringly placed, and sweet incense, I meditate, trying to soothe my savage soul.
What is that? I hear what indicates to me, I’ve found heaven. This is not the kind, religious people speak of nor has it the sexual connotation nor is it a dietary reference. This is different. Its origin is something comfortingly familiar.
One favorable thing Benedict promoted in our way of life was for anyone who had a skill or talent to foster it for the sake of the community. My talent is teaching the brothers how to milk our three Jersey-bred cows. Some of the brothers had a sweet talent that they must have continued from one lifetime to another.
Cheating, peeking through my eyelid slits, I verify the information my auditory senses are feeding me. At first, I just see fingers plucking strings, not of steel, but of what I know is called thin catgut. I don’t really know all the gross details. I guess they made it from something from animals.
The angelic pluckers each hold a thin flat box with a good-sized hole cut in it, not as pretty as in the 21st century.
Chords are being played on harps. Not by just one brother, but by five. I memorize who they are, so I can study them later. There is dear sweet Cordelia, as Stephen and Evelyn, as James. Which one is Caren, or Karin? Is that Mary Jo and Cyndy playing too? I cannot see their hooded faces, but I know they are there.
I am reminded of how, in the 21st century, these friends are taking lessons to be harp therapists. When certified, they will go into hospitals, homes, and nursing homes to play a specific set of chords to heal the sick and suffering.
We were, before this jolt of changing centuries, accompanying them as companions while they took their harp lessons. We were excited to be invited into the instruction area, with the opportunity to observe a fascinating demonstration of the effects of certain chords. We learned, when several notes are plucked at the same time, creating a chord, they have a different emotional, physical, or spiritual impact upon us.
It matters not to me, what chords they play on the 16th century harps. Every stroke of the string is healing. I no longer feel as isolated. I find myself studying their eyes, ‘the windows to the soul’.
It reminds me of a poem from high school about how someone recognized a person familiar to them from the Titanic, by looking into their eyes, under the brim of a hat, seeing waves crashing, people screaming and water overtaking last gasps for air.
This feels peculiar. Unless we’ve been in other past lives together, and we probably have, I am, in the 16th century, looking to the future, with memories of experiences with these friends, not yet forged.
Author Notes |
The 16th century harpist are friends who Madeline knows from the 21st century harp study sessions
Catgut is a type of cord that is prepared from the natural fiber found in the walls of animal intestines. The harp of the 16th century looked & sounded different than a 21st century harp, because it had only about 7-10 strings made from gut. A harp therapist goes into hospitals and plays certain chords to help heal |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously: Madeline/Samuel our narrator has just had an ethereal experience. Some of the harp players she knows in the 21st century are playing 16th century harps.
*******
I know what I have to do. I don’t know why I haven’t dowsed about confirming my gut feelings before. I’ve consistently searched out evidence. I guess I’ve been taken up with too many incidents of drama in this medieval monastery. I will use the long heavy string of beads on my rosary to dowse. The crucifix at the end will give proper weight to complete the pendulum. A pendulum is anything that swings and this will do just right.
I will also send a peaceful healing energy message to these, my 16th century friends. I will dowse about this mystery of identity and location. I will find to what degree I am accurate in my identifying my 21st century friends in this, the 16th century.
Settled into a quiet place during one of our stingy rest periods, I ready myself to dowse. As planned, I want to verify the situation, as it is unfolding, regarding who is who in this monastery. However, I find myself being drawn to dowse about something more compelling.
There are two monks who always sit next to Abbot Richard at the head of the table. Last evening, one of them, named Brother Roger, was missing. I was quite sure this was not a Zachary situation, reminiscent of a brother named Zachary who must have done something taboo. He simply disappeared and was never spoken of again.
Unlike Zachary, Brother Roger’s setting at table remains. I detect clues that something else is afoot. As many know, I am easily distracted, finding it difficult to focus. However, my big browns could not unfasten from the spectacle of Brother Richard’s fidgeting upon his bench. In an attempt to distract him from whatever is troubling him, he grants a free day with the magic Latin phrase “Benedicamus Domino.”
We answer uninformed and mindlessly, “Deo Gratius”, followed by applauding and hoopla-ing. We will be able to talk the entire day without garnering a penance.
Though many are preoccupied with the sudden, surprising free day, I’m fixated on studying Brother Richard’s intense exchange with his buddy, Brother John.
Both appear stiff and uncomfortable, glancing around the room, frequently checking over their shoulders. What are they anticipating or fearing will happen?
That’s what I want to dowse about, but I don’t know where to begin. If or when Brother Roger returns, maybe Abbot Richard will relax. For now, he keeps rubbing his forehead as if he has one splitting migraine.
He taps his fingers, then raps his knuckles on the table as he routinely swivels his head with darting eyes. I’ve never seen this level of vulnerability in the Abbot. Hopefully, more will be revealed.
I move into our gathering room to see how everyone is doing. I take Sylvester, who does the financial bookkeeping, aside. He might have a more precise clue as to what sort of trouble is simmering.
When he finishes his explanation, I realize this place is a house of cards. A bad powerful storm will collapse it. He reveals how we have become a ‘prayer factory’ for the rich. We have become corrupt. What an ironic cautionary tale. It goes much deeper or should I say, much higher.
Sylvester has learned the Holy Pope is a ruler with an army. This life is packed full of ironies. Both he and King Henry the VIII want to close this monastery, actually all monasteries. I’d like to think of Henry the VIII fondly, as I remember Herman’s Hermits’ recording.
In high school, in the 20th century, I played it repeatedly on my 45 or to be more precise, my seven-inch 45 rpm vinyl record. Even though one of my favorite English rock groups sang it, I will probably never want to listen to it again, even though, I’m sure I could find it online. Henry VIII has toppled from the pedestal I had him on.
The Pope, with whom I am unfamiliar, is down there in my mind’s eye groveling on the ground too. Things are not looking good. I give a glimpse back toward Sylvester. As I am walking back toward our section, the giant wooden knocker is slammed several times against the front door. Among all of the indelibles within my brain, the countenance and dishevelled condition of Brother Roger will remain ingrained. His robe was torn and muddied with stains of blood on his shredded sleeve. The most obvious source of the darkened brown splotches was his nose.
When he turned just right, I spotted a tear lined with reddish-brown near where his knee would land if thrown to the ground. With eyebrows knitted tight, I ponder what could have happened?
I am hoping there will be another break of protocol when Brother Richard substitutes in place of our described duties for the day, some sort of explanation, jagged as it may be, so we will be fairly and soundly apprised of what is coming next.
The drama escalates as Abbot Richard and Brother John catch Brother Roger just as he is about to collapse to the stone floor. Ow, that would hurt. There is some visceral pain, just imagining how that would rack his already battered body. With their support, he hobbles and ghosts into the Abbot’s hostel or office.
Author Notes |
Brother Roger and Brother John are assistants to Brother Richard, the Abbot and head of the Monastery
Sylvester is one of the monks in the 16th century who works up around the Abbot's Office Madeline/Samuel Sylvester knows is Somara of the 21st century Benedicamus Domino is Latin for "Let us bless the Lord" Deo Gratius is Latin for "Thanks be to God" |
By Liz O'Neill
Please refer to Author Notes to learn more about unfamiliar terms or concepts
Note: This story is beginning to follow the actual history of this place…not good.
Previously: There appears to be great discord with the Abbot, his two assistants and some other person or persons. Whomever it was, they physically harmed Brother Roger. Hopefully they will have more explanation about what is going on.
In addition to the shouting performance reminiscent of what we heard on the occasion of Abraham’s confinement, there are the sounds of objects being thrown and bashed against stone walls.
Though Abraham, our favorite brother was being termed a lying heretic, there was never any indication that Abbot Richard had become this incensed.
I’m wondering if there is a connection between Brother Roger’s beaten-up condition and the uneasiness I witnessed a few days ago on our free day. Is this what they were fearing. Do they have secret fears of something happening to them?
Days passed and all three brothers, Richard, John and Roger are among the missing. We are sheep without a shepherd, feeling like lost lambs. Out of habit, we manage to continue to run the routines of the day.
Nothing is forgotten. It is weird how we still keep silence, with the reader hypnotically giving us the Rule of Benedict in monotone. No one says anything, but I am sure our anxiety level is escalating with each hour that the unknown looms over our heads, which incidentally, I hope we can keep.
I detect a sigh of mixed emotions as each of the big three, Abbot Richard and Brother John followed by Roger whose left eye is betraying an ugly shiner, are all back at the head of our table. It feels like the spiral of life may be tilting closer to a balanced position.
With the usual required silence, we make an attempt to eat, to digest everything. The ferns in the soup seem to have been imbued with even greater bitterness. Ah well, more penance yields more money.
There will be a villager who will knock on the front door to donate money for our suffering. I wonder if there might be a bonus if they knew about Brother Roger’s near inability to move, due to some beating involving our money.
I notice the fingers of his left hand are wound with large leaves. I guess they haven’t discovered gauze yet. My imagination is drawn to the movies and darts away, as I review, how the fingers are affected as a result of torture.
I assume Brother Roger left here willingly. Who did he meet up with? Was it someone who just wanted to get points for abducting and torturing a short-statured, roly-poly, monk? I somehow don’t think any townsfolk are responsible for his close scrape with death.
In anticipation, I watch and listen to the Abbot, slurp by slurp and bite by bite as his bowl empties. As the moment for our dismissal arrives, he breaks with protocol and speaks.
With a quivering voice, he commends us for carrying on without his guided instructions for the day. In the same breath, we are instructed to automatically resume our work assignments on schedule.
I am about to protest in my muttering mind at being left out in the dark, when he speaks a second time. His whole being shakes as he stumbles through his instructions, “We h..have ssome very imp…portant matters to discuss. We’ll forego Sect prayer and the kitchener is informed our noon meal may be delayed. It will be acceptable if None prayer time is waived. Alright, be about your day’s labors, bells will ring in a short while for Terce. I will see you here in the refectory after Mass.
**********
Following Mass as instructed, we all file into the refectory or dining room. The tension in this room could be carved up with a fish flaying knife as we wait the Abbot’s arrival at his spot at the head of our refectory table. There is much shifting of postures on the benches. The brothers are doing their best to keep silence, however, if facial expressions made noise, there would be high-pitched cacophony.
Here he comes. We all sit rigidly at attention. What is Abbot Richard going to tell us? Hopefully, we will find out what happened to Brother Roger, who is here too. He looks like he could use some serious painkillers, possibly opium, a popular pain duller in this era.
However, he doesn’t look like he is managing his pain at all. Ooof. It occurs to me, he is suffering for others and will bring in several shiny shillings for the sovereign pontiff or Pope.
It’s papal property if he just takes charge. Who will win out? He or the King? And will we the unimportant monks become involved? Or will it just concern the higher up? We shall find out. Everyone is settled in as Abbot Richard begins speaking.
Rubbing his forehead, he appears to be summing up courage to continue. “I will not mince words. As you have observed, our dear Brother Roger, my attache’ was away for a while and returned in a ragged condition.
An audible sigh prefaces the Abbot’s resuming. “We received notice that we are to close this Monastery. There are to be no more monasteries operating in England by word of King Henry the VIII with the Pope’s putrid permission.” Wooden bowls rock as he pounds the table, punctuating the power of the word ‘putrid’.
Author Notes |
With Madeline as the narrator, we are following her as Samuel a monk from the 16th century, into a shaky scenario. This story is beginning to follow the horribly violent history of this place and time. Find your seatbelts to fasten for the next few chapters. It really happened but it isn't pretty. Kitchener is the brother in charge of food preparation A porter is the brother who answers the door, usually to accept . The founder of the Benedictine Monastery was named Brother, Saint or Abbot Benedict who wrote a book called the Rule of Benedict where he listed the schedule of prayer and work. This book is read at every main meal The two chapel times Abbot Richards mentions are Sect for prayer at noon and None with chanting at 3 pm. Terce is prayer at 9 am Mass is a little after 9am The refectory is the monastery dining room |
By Liz O'Neill
Please refer to Author Notes to learn more about unfamiliar terms or concepts
Note: This story is beginning to follow the actual history of this place…not good. I experienced great sadness writing this.
Previously:
Abbot Richard is explaining how Brother Roger’s mission was to attend a meeting to express our monastery’s refusal to comply with the orders of King Henry VIII to close the monastery.
*****
Abbot made a confession. “Had I realized Brother Roger would be hemmed in by Henry’s hateful henchmen, I would not have commissioned him to risk life and limb. I assumed there was room for negotiation. Obviously, I was mindlessly mistaken.”
Abbot mentioned how he knew it was his responsibility to care for the monks and keep them safe and housed. He did not want to send them out to be homeless.
I worry where I would go, as I don’t even know who I am as a non monk in the 16th century. As I have said I have no idea who I am, where I came from or who I might be related to here in England. I’m glad Abbot Richard recognizes the dilemma many of us would be in.
In a reassuring tone he said, “With no negotiating availed to us, we’re just going to hold our ground. Even though the Pope is in collaboration with the King we know the Lord wants us to continue, so continue we shall in His Grace.”
OMG. Now I’m rapidly recalling what that sign on the wall in the front of this building said. This is not good. My friends and I have to get out of here. This information bodes no good end for us.
The Abbot stands to assure himself we are paying attention and cautions us with a commanding tone. “Be absolutely careful if your job for the day is porter. You may only open the door to familiar donors.”
I don’t think they had peek holes back in the 16th century, thus the mandate should be ‘do not under any circumstances open that door.’ However, that would mean no moolah coming in.
Mark my word, money will find another way to undo us. Someone will knock saying they have a donation and what they will be holding is not money, but trouble and a bell to ring our death knell.
As the tumultuous week wanes, the tension decreases. We go about our monkly duties, some more interesting than others. Borrowing an idiom from the 21st century, the plan for the action of retaliating against the initial experience of being shaken up is put on the back burner. This may or may not be a positive thing. When minds rest, alertness sleeps.
***********
During the winter we are working on the frugal method of our lighting source, the rush. Not the sort of rush we speak about or attempt to achieve but a natural reed. We gathered them last summer to dry out. After stripping them of their skin we soak them in animal fat to be used for lantern wicks.
The other need is for our personal candles. That procedure deals with the method of each of us dipping our individual candles into tallow. This requires something from two animals, one not so painful, the others is more melted down animal fat.
We find great tediousness as we are to stand in silence speaking only to recite the rosary while continually dipping, a wick of John’s wool. Actually, our shepherd John’s sheeps’ wool. After sheering the sheep we made pieces into wicks. The tallow candle burns longer and brighter than the rush one.
I wondered how we would ever shear a sheep in the 16th century. Well, I found out. The monastery must have spent a pretty pence to get those elegant shears, said sarcastically. They weighed over a pound with some sort of spring-blade, not ‘sling-blade’ spring-blade. Uh huh.
But they did the job and we gathered plenty for John to work with to direct us how to twist the wicks and comb the wool for him to prepare yarn for his creations, especially those Coptic socks. I want a dozen pairs of those to give out for Christmas presents. NOT.
Although they might be quite a crowd pleaser we probably could get them on ebay. I’ll tell John/Cyndy they probably shouldn't plan on making a career out of that kind of knitting.
******
We are winding down from praying Terce at 9am and preparing for High Mass. Every one freezes when what we call ‘a policeman’s knock’ in the 21st century came at our front door. Who would be knocking at the door on a cold November day?
Many excuse it as an ordinary donor headed for some destination. As the porter marches toward the door I feel like reenacting the slow-mo scenes where someone in an attempt to stop the walker is running in slow motion shouting in deep drawn out tones, ’nnooooooo’ but as in the movies, I would have been too late and ineffective.
One of the older monks robotically rises from his wooden prayer bench, but someone puts their hand on his hip to halt him. I take a breath of relief in and out as the blood pounds my temples and my throat grows dry.
The intruder knocks repeatedly, increasing the volume to an intimidating pulse. No donor would be this frantic and intent on relieving themselves of their hard-earned money. I fear the porter will weaken. He must remain steadfast in refraining from opening that door. Someone suggests he go consult the Abbot before responding to the knocks, if that’s what you can call them.
Just as Abbot Richard appears around the corner, the knocking which had morphed into pounding had suddenly evolved into banging with muffled shouting. The banging has turned into a ramming sound. OMG. They are using some sort of battering ram. They’ll be in here soon. Then what? That giant thick wooden door is splintering.
We have nowhere to hide. We stand at the edge of the chapel, paralyzed. Abbott Richard directs us to turn inward toward the chapel to lay prostrate, possibly for the last time, upon this cold stone floor which seems even colder and fills me with chills. I worry about my friends. What will happen to us? I know we all make it to the 20th century sooner or later, so we will meet again.
Author Notes |
With Madeline as the narrator, we are following her as Samuel a monk from the 16th century, into a shaky scenario.
Abbot is the head of the monastery responsible for keeping the monks safe This story is beginning to follow the horribly violent history of this place and time. Find your seatbelts to fasten for the next few chapters. It really happened but it isn't pretty. I'm becoming sadder as I write more chapters Moolah is slang for money 'sling-blade' is an allusion to a movie called Sling blade where a man played by Billy Bob Thornton who used a sling-blade to bring justice. Coptic socks â?? a roughly shaped garment to fit the foot for thongs or sandals for us. https://www.dogpile.com/serp?qc=images&q=15th+century+Coptic+socks&sc=OfFaXjCH6NlW10 A police knock is very loud and firm. It can be in certain circumstances very intimidating and make one's heart skip a beat |
By Liz O'Neill
Warning of mention of violence
Please refer to Author Notes to learn more about unfamiliar terms or concepts
Note: This story is beginning to follow the actual history of this place…not good.
Previously: The monks have been threatened by the King with complicity by the Pope, that they must close the monastery. We begin to see the consequences.
“They are using some sort of battering ram. They’ll be in here soon. Then what? That giant thick wooden door is splintering.
We have nowhere to hide. We stand at the edge of the chapel, paralyzed. Abbott Richard directs us to go into the chapel to lay prostrate, possibly for the last time, upon this cold stone floor which seems even colder and fills me with chills. I worry about my friends. What will happen to us? I know we all make it to the 20th century sooner or later, so we will meet again.
*******
I want to put my hands over my ears and over my heart. Why do I feel like this is some sort of ‘good-bye’? I am very sad giving this report. I keep telling myself, you are having your last gaze into their beautiful soul for this lifetime. You know there will be others. You’ve been there. You will get there again.
The ramming and splintering has ceased. They are through. Ashen Abbot Richard, softly weakly, with tears in his eyes, says, “You might as well rise and make ready for our impending doom and imminent death. I’m not sure how they will carry this out. They have won. They will have our monastery and all of our money.
At first all I saw were black boots ‘til I shakily raised myself from the floor. Then all I saw was red.
A deep gruff voice echoes throughout the halls. “We are the soldiers commissioned by His Majesty King Henry VIII to take control of this monastery which will be no more.
“We command these three to come forward and kneel. John Thorne… Roger James…and Richard Whiting”
I’m sure their knees were shaking so badly, after being helped forward, they almost tumbled. Then to have the strength to bend their knees to kneel. All three had to hold on to each other so as not to tip over once down on their knees.
Then they receive their sentences. The king is making a public example of them to deter any more resistance from any other monasteries. I saw this happen with first-time drug dealers in the 21st century. The judge wanted to make an example of them to deter any other one-time newbies.
“On this cold November’s day in 1539, you Richard Whiting will be declared the last Abbot of Glastonbury. You are accused of and have been found guilty of taking 20,000 crowns [about £5000] from the abbey funds.”
As if the Abbot stole money for himself. The money belonged to the monastery, He probably used it to purchase those expensive shears I talked about. Or just maybe he used it for our care. What a concept.
I tune back into the bellowing voice of the lead soldier, still giving the sentence of our three leaders. “You will be carried up through the High Street on a horse-drawn hurdle and then up to the summit of the Tor.”
I barely have time to put it together. Now I know why there was inner turmoil in the 21st century every time we saw the Tor on our trip here. This is why there were repulsive responses among us. I remember the descriptions of our impressions of the journey through the town of Glastonbury as we headed toward the Tor. It was all one big foreshadowing.
The head soldier is not finished ringing the death knell with his condemnations. “Richard Whiting, you will be hung on a gibbet with John Thorne and Roger James hanging on either side of you." That was just like the two thieves, in the scene at Calvary.
Large heavy grain sacks are placed over their heads encompassing their bodies. As they are dragged out through the giant door splinters and down the primitive steps to some carriage, terror sets in. I am so filled with panic I’m experiencing difficulty breathing. I’m fighting back tears. I avoid looking at my friends for fear I will break into loud sobs.
Early on here, it was as if I’d been transported into a world free of air pollution and noise pollution, hatred and violence. Or so I believed. I thought I had my feet on the threshold of opposites.
I perceived this to be a placid silent environment, fully aware people kill each other where or rather when I’m from. I had not brushed up on the history of this era. Had I known I would be zooming into here and now, I would have been more prepared and more terrified.
The imposing soldier reappears all in red, sword at his side. He is dressed in a peculiarly shaped black hat and white pants of all colors and is just a little more daunting holding a rifle. Are we going before a firing squad?
Soon comes my answer. “We will not hang you. We will only take your holy heads.” We are herded into our gathering room. Benches are thrown into one corner along with tables shoved aside and knocked over. The plan is to clear the floor space and have us kneel.
The executioner is making ready with his axe, a chopping block waits for each of us. Kneeling on the stained stones, I am next in line. He is so close, I can feel the heat of his bulking body. As he stands behind me, I wonder if the hand on my shoulder is to steady me from listing to the left.
That firm hand moves and begins tapping, that familiar tapping I had so longed for. My vision and hearing begin to blur. I can sense the hammering of my heart and loud buzzing in my ears. Nothing else. I do not hear her.
"Madeline, Madeline." It was Cordelia gently tapping and shaking my shoulder. "Madeline, hello."
Author Notes |
With Madeline as the narrator who has been vortexed into the 16th century as Brother Samuel, we are following them as they are caught up in the politics of money.
Cordelia was the one who invited Madeline to go to England while she took classes in harp therapy to be able to go into hospitals, nursing homes and personal homes to heal the patient by playing specific chords. This was what Madeline/Samuel saw for soldiers https://www.pinterest.com/chfries6202/british-army-uniforms-1680-1800/ |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously: The monks/ladies were about to be beheaded. We follow Samuel/Madeline.
We catch you up: “The executioner is making ready with his axe, a chopping block waits for each of us. Kneeling on the stained stones, I am next in line. He is so close, I can feel the heat of his bulking body. As he stands behind me, I wonder if the hand on my shoulder is to steady me from listing to the left.
That firm hand moves and begins tapping, that familiar tapping I had so longed for. My vision and hearing begin to blur. I can sense the hammering of my heart and loud buzzing in my ears. Nothing else. I do not hear her.
"Madeline, Madeline." It was Cordelia gently tapping and shaking my shoulder. "Madeline, hello."
Madeline remains our narrator.
**********
My vision cleared as I turned toward her.
"Madeline, I've been trying to get your attention for about five minutes. I stepped away for a couple minutes to check on the shuttle’s arrival time and...you'll never believe where I ended up. It seems like a year. I'm so glad you are still here. Have you moved at all? Where did you go in your imagination? You and your ability to daydream."
That was far from daydreaming, it was a complete nightmare. Before Cordelia gets to finish what she was saying, all of the others who were waiting there rush over toward us. I blink as if coming back to my senses.
All of my friends are still alive in one piece. I’m sure they think I’m acting strangely when I embrace them for long seconds. We’d been through the slaughter and are now on a new adventure in a safer time with better eating utensils.
Charred smears streaked up the stone walls framing burned-out windows, that once were our home of sorts. We stand there in a group staring, holding hands and embracing each other as if we’re never going to let the others go again.
The shuttle arrives at that moment. I picture our portals pulsing behind us as we leave.
I want to reunite our group. “I promise one and all we’ll discuss this when we get out of this shuttle up at the base of the Tor.” There is a hornets’ nest buzz of conversation as we settle into the bus seats.
We are joined by tourists who are clueless regarding what has happened to us. One woman says to another, “Oh, we’ve got to walk back down here to get some of that well water. It is said to have healing qualities.” She taps on the bus window, indicating a sign reading The Chalice Well.
Her friend speaks my thoughts. “I don’t know.” There was a long pause. “I know we came here together to enjoy our tour and I hope you won’t be mad, but I think I’ll pass on that.”
Her friend comes back with a counter offer. “But Sarah, don’t you know it gives eternal youth to anyone who drinks it. Let me near it. Quick!” She laughs slapping her lap.
“No… thank you… I’m happy maturing at the rate I am. No need to slow that up. Besides, who’d really want to live on a gerbil wheel forever? Not me, thank you.”
Then she nailed it. “Besides, unless you are part Vampira, tell me why in the world would anyone be attracted to drinking blood-red water?"
Sarah continues. “Is it just water, or does it belong to the murdered on this famous Tor? Back where we were waiting for this shuttle, I read that some soldiers did some serious damage to some monk years ago, up there on that Tor. Maybe his blood is mixed in with the water. Yuck, and you want to drink that?”
In spite of the background din, we are all listening to Sarah’s friend, who it seems wild horses could not keep away from that well. “Why do you think it’s called the Chalice Well?”
Sarah answers a bit defensively. “I don’t know, Susie, why is it called the Chalice Well?”
I am reminded of the Michael line's dark, negative influence on people. The Michael ley line is an energy wave running below the surface of the earth that has a harsh, dark feeling to it and has been the driving force through our entire journey through England.
Are we witnessing Michael’s effects on friendship?
Susie answers Sarah in a sing-songy tone. “It is called The Chalice Well because it is the blood of Jesus. Now, you tell me you’re going to refuse that?”
Fortunately, we’ve reached the entrance to the Tor. We don’t have to listen to any… more. I think the answer is a look of disgust and the sound of a raspberry indicating the level of her frustration. They will have to settle that without our audience.
The bus driver has his assistant jump out to move the sawhorse that blocked us the first time we drove up here, telling us to turn around to wait for the shuttle. That seems like a year ago. Was it? Time is all messed up in my head. Maybe someone has a better explanation.
Everyone piles out and we find a cushy spot under a shade tree to gather ourselves. We have so much to process. None of us has anything to eat. I guess we expected, in such a tourist spot, there would be vendors. Instead, all they are offering is blood-red water from an ancient well.
I sense the memories fading fast. We’ve got to resolve things, so we will never have these premonitional experiences again. We need to be healed of the horrors we’ve experienced, that that part of our past will be softened.
Author Notes |
Madeline continues to be our narrator
A raspberry is a bilabial trillâ?¦a sound made by vibrating the lipsâ?¦sounding a bit like a horse Now a review about ley lines which have been the driving force through this entire book: Just as we have energy waves throughout the atmosphere, buzzing around our head, so too, do we have them within the earth's makeup. The energy below the surface affects the outcomes above. 'As above, so below.' Two of these lines of energy are each named the St. Michael line and the Mary line. The Michael line has a harsh dark feeling to it. The Mary line that reaches out around bodies of water gives a sensation of fluffy energy. The church names coordinate with the line that runs through that area. When we travel from one ley line region to the other, we can sense a noticeable variance, as they radiate dimensions of light, bright or dimmed. If we are going from the Mary line to the Michael line we are apt to perceive a change on several levels, physical, emotional, psychological, and spiritual. As promised in Ch 1: as this story has unfurled, you are now able see how these elements all dysfunctionally unfolded for us. |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously: The shuttle bus finally carries the ladies up to the Tor in the 21st century. But they are haunted by their memories from their experience in the 16th century and their threat of being beheaded.
Everyone piles out, and we find a cushy spot under a shade tree to gather ourselves. We have so much to process. None of us has anything to eat. I guess we expected, in such a tourist spot, there would be vendors. Instead, all they are offering is blood-red water from an ancient well.
I sense the memories fading fast. We’ve got to resolve things, so we will never have these premonitional experiences again. We need to be healed of the horrors we’ve experienced, that that part of our past will be softened.
********
I couldn’t wait to start talking and processing what happened to me at first and then to the others. “I was standing reading that big sign out front of that building. What was it? A museum? Karin and Caren I saw you disappear into it, what was in there?”
Both looked at each other with concern and simultaneously said, “Darkness!”
“You too? As I was saying, I was standing in front of the sign about the destruction of the monastery and the surrounding circumstances, which I never did get to read, instead I…”
I looked around at each friend who could have joined me in the rest of the sentence. You know how there are some people who mouth the words with you as you are speaking? Well, there were many lips murmuring right along with my audibly spoken words. “I …stepped into darkness.”
There followed a chorus of “Us too…me too…the same thing happened here… there was just darkness…I ended up in some dark room that might have been a bedroom…I had no idea where I was or where everyone else was…I thought we’d been abducted and you guys were in some other room.” This could have gone on forever. I decided to contain these reactions by having each of us tell her story.
“Whoa, let’s each tell our individual story. I think that is important. I also think we will understand better why we had such dramatic and in some cases physical effects from seeing the Tor or pictures of it or even the mention of it.”
Then Cordelia reminded me of my adverse reaction to the plates in our cottage cupboard with the pictures of the very monastery where we were going to be portaled.
Cordelia raised her eyebrows and shook her head in amazement. “No wonder I had to wash that plate. You were really having some kind of inner dowser premonition. I, Cordelia, according to you, am supposed to be the great inner dowser. Harrumph.”
She turned, directing the information to the others. “We were having raisin biscuits and coffee for breakfast. When I pulled out the plates, Madeline freaked. I couldn’t figure out what was going on with her.”
Cordelia directed the next question to me. “Madeline, did you ever realize or mention to anyone that it was a specific picture on the plate that bothered you?”
I couldn’t remember at this point, so much had happened. “I don’t know. I just know it was as if the energy coming from my plate was too much for me to make contact with. It’s like the powerful energy some of us sense at a yard sale.
“One of my dowsing friends, Mary, and I often experience weird energy at yard sales, garage sales, or tag sales. We look at each other with repulsed expressions as we drop an item we were holding because of its creepy vibes.
”We always shake our hands like I did as I quickly put that cottage plate down. This helps rid our beings of any negative energy.”
Caren piped up, “Oh, I know what plates you’re talking about. I made Karin get paper plates. I was not touching those plates. The large one may have been even worse than the little ones.”
Mary Jo and Somara looked at each other and laughed, pointing fingers.
Evelyn summarized everyone’s vent, “I just had the greatest urge to smash all of them. But did not want to get us kicked out of our place.”
Cyndy laughed, “I thought I was going to have to yell, ‘ Evelyn, stand down, back away from those plates.” Evelyn patted Cyndy’s arm and gave her a hug with a big smile.
Everyone joined in the round of, “Yes, those creepy plates…why would they put such pictures on them?...we had to buy paper plates too…it’s a good thing we knew not to use those plates, someone would have to touch them to wash them.” There was evidence of many shudders thrown off, as if they were shaking off the proverbial dark dust of the past.
I looked at Cordelia fondly, gesturing toward her. “She did wash one plate for me. We did a coin toss to see who would wash that one little plate we had used. She rigged the toss.” Looking at her, I said, “Didn’t you?”
She shrugged, acting all innocent with a wicked grin on her face.
Bringing it all together for us I said, “We might as well connect all of this to the Michael ley line. I think we’ve experienced the horrid events that have been tagged with the darkness of the Michael line. How could such dark energy run through our earth?
Caren really was a lifetime student. “Do they travel through any specific spots in the world? I’ve heard if there are certain power spots like Machu Picchu in Peru there will be some ley lines present.”
In answer to her question, I expanded my explanation. “There are many ley lines running throughout the earth creating havoc in some places and in others, people claim to feel miracles happening like in Sedona, Arizona in our own country.
“The two basic ones running below the surface in England are the Michael & Mary lines. We experienced them at Stonehenge and the Standing Stone Circle in Avebury, along with Silbury Hill, a very curious looking pyramid. I read that the Mary and Michael line cross at that point. “I guess it’s like the yin yang where we stare at the balancing of things. Fortunately, the universe has provided the Mary ley line, the opposite of the Michael line.
“The energy of the Mary line, as we know, brings on a soft, fluffy feeling. We will become balanced, I promise you.”
Author Notes |
Michael ley line
Just as we have energy waves throughout the atmosphere, buzzing around our head, so too, do we have them within the earth's makeup. The energy below the surface affects the outcome Sedona: https://visitsedona.com/spiritual-wellness/ Power Spots https://www.beliefnet.com/wellness/2006/05/what-makes-a-power-spot-sacred.aspx |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously: “There are many ley lines running throughout the earth creating havoc in some places and in others, people claim to feel miracles happening.
I guess it’s like the yin yang where we stare at the balancing of things. Fortunately, the universe has provided the Mary ley line, the opposite of the Michael line.
“The energy of the Mary line, as some of us know, brings on a soft fluffy, feeling. We will become balanced, I promise you.”
They were supposed to share their own stories of having been votexed into the 16th century, but it has not really happened yet. There were too many other topics affecting them.
********
We finally began sharing, but true to form, I was probably talking too much. But I promised them they could tell their stories. It will eventually happen but first I need to begin it. “First of all, I will tell you who I was as a monk. Some of you may already have suspected it.”
Everyone sat forward wondering if they had speculated correctly. ”I was Brother Samuel. I also was worried we’d been abducted and you others were alone in a dark room with just a bed in it. The walls of stone led me to think we were in some dank cellar. As I felt around the room, I thought it odd there were no light switches or wall plugs anywhere in the room.
I saw plenty of nodding in the positive. I swung my hand in a slicing action. “I got a penance the minute I hit the floor.”
A couple of them giggled. Mary Jo said, “We saw Abbot Richard was preoccupied, so we quickly followed the only light bringing us to the chapel area.”
“Yuh,” Somara said, “We felt badly using your dilemma as an opportunity to sneak in without getting caught for being late. But it was a matter of survival.”
“But we pulled it off, and we were lying prostrate on those uncomfortable rocks when Prior came in.” Cyndy had a victorious grin.
Caren raised both hands with grin from ear to ear. “He had no clue.”
“Did you notice anything when you were lying there?” I was smirking waiting for the answer and preparing the pronunciation of the important words for the joke I recited over and over in my head.
When you were lying prostate, I mean prostrate, did you feel different?”
Cyndy was the first to start the laughing, creating a regular domino effect. “That's an eyebrow raising question to answer.” She quietly snickered. “I guess I noticed my lack of breasts and something between my legs that wasn't there before. I wanted to stand and stare at it, in disbelief. But knew that would have to wait.”
Satisfied I said, “I see I wasn’t the only one who was surprised.” We were all laughing by then.
Cyndy tended to be a thinker, so I was curious what her reaction would be. Now I knew. Bhaaa
Somara said she now knew why her husband was needing to adjust himself.
“All men have to do that. And now we know why,” said Evelyn.
“I will never look sideways at my husband again,” said Caren.
“To have that equipment their whole life, umph.” Mary Jo was making a face that we all echoed.
Karin confessed she was wondering how long it would take to adjust to the new body.
Jill laughed with a surrendering gesture and blithely said, “No comment.”
I guess we’d discussed that nearly into the ground. But I still hadn’t gotten to say my joke. “I got confused about the two words prostrate and prostate. Then to busy my mind or Samuel’s mind I played with the concepts, wondering if lying prostrate on those cold stones would bother someone’s prostate.”
“You do love wordplay don’t you, Madeline?” Cyndy knew me well. She’d seen me perform for our substance abuse patients many times.
“Okay, enough of the serious stuff.” There was more laughter.
“I’m going to tell you who I think you were back then and see if you were wondering the same thing about each other.
“Cordelia, it was really hard to identify you. What did you do all day?”
My dear friend Cordelia, who I had missed a lot, answered my many questions. “First, I will tell everyone here, that I was Brother Stephen.” There were nods of recognition from several as they snapped fingers, slapped their laps, pointing with that expression of victory. “We knew it.”
She continued answering my question, which was probably everyone else's query. “Madeline, you’re going to laugh. Remember how you needed me to wash that saucer with the triggering image of the monastery on it?”
“Yes, I certainly do. We’ve all discussed those plates ad nauseam. Right, everyone?” I looked around for confirmation. There were nods and groans. “So why are you bringing that up again, Cordelia ?”
“Madeline, my dear friend, I know you’ve never liked wet wood. I’ve watched how you’ve reacted with popsicle sticks or when there was a cooking spoon made of wood in your vicinity.
I was getting really frustrated. All I wanted to know, and I’m sure the others also, was what she was doing in the 16th century monastery that we never saw her. She didn’t need to keep prolonging the answer.
I tried to get my point across. “Another unpleasant subject. What in the world are you getting at? Why you said I’d laugh I have no idea. So far, nothing is one bit funny.”
“Madeline, let me finish. I’m answering your question. You wanted to know what I did all day. I have never minded wet wood, good thing. My job or skill for the community was to…wash all those wooden plates, bowls, mugs, and eating utensils.”
There were audible expressions of surprise, repulsion, and admiration. “Whaaat? You did that? Whoa. How could you? I guess she didn’t have a choice. No, you certainly didn’t have a choice.”
It was difficult to separate the voices. We were all bewildered, but relieved it wasn’t us.
Author Notes |
The ladies are back in the 21st century slowly reflecting upon their experience with Madeline as narrator
Powerspots the ladies are speaking of. https://www.beliefnet.com/wellness/2006/05/what-makes-a-power-spot-sacred.aspx https://visitsedona.com/spiritual-wellness/ |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously: The girls are back in the 21st century and they’ve just found out who Madeline’s dear friend, Cordelia was in the 16th century. The best thing was to learn she was the dishwasher, touching all of the wet wood.
As the ladies lounged beneath a tree, it became obvious this was a time for surprising revelations. Not everyone knew Karin had become a psychiatrist in the 20th century and was addressed in professional venues, as Dr. Karin. However, in the 16th century as Brother Abraham, she was misunderstood and misjudged.
Karin had been listening to Cordelia and wanted to add to the dishwasher’s speculations about why she was not skeeved out by wet wood. Karin said, “Overexposure can curb aversion to unpleasantries.”
Cordelia was impressed. “So, do you think that helped? I was on daily dish duty.”
I could feel my teeth grating together and hoped no one heard them as I spoke. “That’s why you were never out with us, harvesting or milking the cows. What was your name anyway, Cordelia the holy dishwasher?”
“Oh yes, I milked the cows but needed no instructions. We had cows when I was growing up. I was Brother Stephen.”
“So next, Mary Jo, you were Brother Joseph who was responsible for decorating the chapel. I knew that was you because of your elegant decorating I’ve recently seen in your lovely home.
“And searching out who you were Caren, I almost got myself another penance. That one would have been a humdinger. First of all, I was outside for no monkly reason and second, I was sneaking into a mysterious building.
“That was the way I discovered Patrick was you. What a relief, every time we were outside. I’d scan the area. There was never any sight of you until I finally got lucky and spotted you coming down the steps from some unknown building.”
There were pleas from several. “Tell us what happened next.”
I was excited to tell the story. It would go down as one of the happiest discoveries. “I had been milking the cows and rushed the milk bucket to the kitchen bench, where I was supposed to leave it.
“I clandestinely hurried back outside with my obsessive thoughts about getting into that building. I knew if I could get into the back of the building, I wouldn’t be discovered. There was only one complication. There was no door in the back.”
There were groans of concern by all. Caren, of course, was the most concerned. “What did you do? If you got in trouble, I will feel horrible and somehow responsible.”
I wanted to allay fears. “I relaxed when it occurred to me that there was little chance of anyone seeing me because the windows were very high.”
“Oh that’s right, there was no decorating them, bummer. I always regretted that.” Mary Jo did like decorating.
I continued my account of how I got in through the front and about my discovery. “I was able to easily wedge the door open with a piece of wood. When I peeked into the building, I saw shelves filled with pottery.
“I finally knew where Patrick went every day and why we never saw him in the fields. And even better, I knew Patrick was Caren.”
Jill was fascinated by my discovery. “Very cool.” Then she addressed Caren. “That’s right, you had all of those nice pottery pieces for each of us at the cottage. So you were a potter in the 16th century and now in this lifetime. Very cool.” She had a big smile on her face.
I had to share my silly wonderings. “You know, Caren, I’ve been thinking, what if we went to the museum of history and got to the 16th century monastery section and saw your pottery. Wouldn’t that give you goose bumps?”
Next, I turned toward Cyndy. “We would also see some of your Coptic Socks you knitted. Wouldn’t that be weirdly wonderful?”
Mary Jo jumped into the conversation. “We should do that while we’re here in England. Oooh, let's do that. I wonder where we’d go. We should check it out.”
After the laughter of agreement settled down, I directed my serious attention to Somara. “As a scourge of shame to the King and Pope exhibit, we would see the books you were forced to keep and protect. Museum-goers would then understand how the Catholic Church became so rich.
“On a more serious note, Somara, I will forever be indebted to you, for saving me from a fate worse than death. Well, that idiom doesn’t hold much water in light of the circumstances we were faced with in the 16th century, does it? Anyway, you, as Brother Sylvester were aware I was not doing well, making my way to the Abbot’s office.”
“You sure weren’t. I knew I had to do something, so I pretended to drop stuff. That seemed to ground you. As bursar and working near Abbot Richard’s office, I witnessed many brothers having to go kneel before him to get their penance or get released from it.
“They were as paralyzed as you, but I was too scared to do anything for them. When I saw it was you trembling and stuck, something said, ‘go for it boy’. I’m so glad I did.”
“So am I.” Turning to the others I explained how Somara as Stephen, came through for me. I had to go to see Abbot Richard to get a review for release from my penance. I was terrified if I made any mistake, I would get a new penance. He could hand those ‘babies’ out like candy.”
Mary Jo was concerned. “Did you get in any trouble for interfering with the mood? I’m sure he wanted to keep the air of fear strong.”
“All I paid for that saving grace for Samuel was to kneel with the book in front of everyone for dropping it. I’m sure others here have similar stories that we need to hear.
You all know the feeling of the Abbot coming to get you or sending for you. I found out later that I was to get a penance for dropping the book at such an important time.
Author Notes |
A set is the name for the group that came into the monastery the same year
Abbot Richard is also titled Brother, or Prior as head monk of the monastery |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously: The ladies were discussing how important Stephen/Somara was in helping Samuel get to the Abbot’s office without Samuel getting another penance, but Stephen said he got a penance for interrupting the atmosphere. We continue with Madeline as our narrator.
Mary Jo was concerned about what may have happened to Stephen/Somara for coming to the rescue of Samuel/Madeline. “Did you get in any trouble for interfering with the mood? I’m sure the Abbot wanted to keep the air of fear strong.”
Somara shrugged as she said, “All I paid for that saving grace for Samuel was to kneel holding the book in front of everyone for dropping it. I’m sure others here have similar stories that we need to hear.
“You all know the feeling of the Abbot coming to get you or sending for you. I found out later that I was to get a penance for dropping the book at such crucial time.”
*********
Somara continued her rendition of her/Stephen’s consequences for disturbing the situation. “When the Abbot was wanting for Madeline/Samuel to get into his office and I dropped stuff, I guess he felt, I shouldn’t have been anywhere around there, certainly not dropping things, disturbing the moment. I had no regrets; I knew if needed I would do it again.”
Cyndy said, “How ironic that you ended up getting a penance for helping Samuel when he was getting released from his penance.”
Jill added her experience waving her index finger. “Oh, I know exactly what you mean. When I got back inside from tending to my girls, the hens, I was told to report to the Abbot’s office. I had no idea what I had done or not done. I felt dizzy as I got closer to his office.
“At first, I was swishing right along, beads clicking. I halted fifteen feet from the hellhole. What had I been doing out of the ordinary today? I didn’t even know why I had been led down this rabbit hole. As I was on my knees in front of Abbot Richard, he told me why I was there. Evidently, one of the older brother spies must have tattled on me.
“The Abbot said to me, ’It’s been reported to me, that you were breaking silence while completing your task with the chickens.’ When I explained I was talking enthusiastically to my girls about how well they were doing with their egg production, he reminded me they were not my girls. They were community property that provided food for the community.”
She had a look of disgust as she said, “My penance was to kneel holding eggshells from the kitchen.”
Caren piped in. “So, did you see me with the heavy wooden box of broken pottery? I was heating some of the pieces I had thrown on the wheel, and they exploded. It’s tricky, you have to slowly raise the temperature in the kiln and if it gets hot too soon, the pottery will either burst in the kiln or when it is cooling.
“That got reported to the Abbot and I minced my way to his office. My penance was to kneel holding a few shards of them. I’ve had some of my pottery in this century burst. With no Abbot around, no penances, just regrets, and a mess to pick up. But I have the will to begin again.”
There was a chuckle from Mary Jo. “Sorry for laughing, but that was me kneeling next to you holding some broken candles.”
If anyone broke anything, they had to kneel for the community of monks to see them holding what they broke. I added my part. “I thought it was a stupid rule. I guess we were supposed to be humiliated or something.”
Cordelia/Stephen laughed. “It just made us silently giggle. lt’s quite a challenge to giggle with no sound. Is it really a giggle? It may have looked like someone stifling a cough. Fortunately, our robes hid our jiggling bellies. If we were ever caught giggling and jiggling at a sacred moment like that, we’d have another penance slapped on us for sure.”
It was as if her words opened a sluice which had been blocked with all kinds of detritus. Everyone began nervously laughing then, giggling, becoming so loud other people were glancing or staring. We did not care. We just wanted to feel good again.
In unison, the members of our group turned in Cyndy’s direction, wondering what her story could possibly be.
Without being asked, Cyndy began telling her story, which won the prize for being the scariest. “No one knows, but I had to report that one of the sheep escaped or was stolen. Of course, they were my sole responsibility. I mean you guys helped anytime I asked for assistance such as the sheep shearing with those nearly useless excuses for shears.
“To this day, l don’t know what happened to Stewy. I still think some scoundrel snuck in and secreted her away. Maybe it was an omen to name her Stewy. Let’s have a moment of silence for dear Stewy." Everyone bowed their heads, some stifling a snicker or two.
As always, caring Cordelia expressed concern. “But what happened to you? Your whole insides must have been shaking."
“I tried to pretend to myself and everyone else that nothing had changed. I deceived myself into believing I’d never get found out, that no one would venture outside counting sheep.
"When I was instructing and coordinating the sheep shearing, a senior brother was commissioned to help. Ooof. He noticed there was a shortage of wool for our purposes. Upon investigating, he reported to me that he only counted three sheep, saying he was sure there were originally four sheep.”
Author Notes |
We are winding down, however there are still more tales to come. So as not to retain trauma, the ladies need to process their year of penances.
|
By Liz O'Neill
Previously: Cyndy fesses up to the group that one of her charges, a sheep who she named Stewy, came up missing. This was detected by a senior brother and the domino effect of events began.
*********
The stolen sheep saga continued. With a stressed expression, Cyndy sighed and continued.”I, as John, knew it was no good to lie or deny about a missing sheep. It would make matters worse. Lying does seem to have that effect.”
Jill was concerned now. “What did you ever do?”
“I knew I was sunk and would soon be summoned to the Abbot’s office. But I went looking along the perimeter of the fencing to see if I could find any evidence that Stewy could have gotten out on her own. There didn’t seem to be any low areas of the stone walls. Sheep can jump quite high, however, not as high as those walls.”
There was a myriad of possibles from the group.
Karin shared her speculations. “Could someone have removed some stones and beckoned…” she couldn’t help herself from laughing…”Stewy the sheep out into the street?”
Mary Jo had another theory. “ Cyndy, you mentioned one scoundrel. Maybe there wasn’t just a single scoundrel. Possibly he had a second scoundrel helping him. Could two strong scoundrels lift a sheep the size of Stewy? I’m trying to be serious here, but the name Stewy cracks me up.”
Cyndy continued the report of her dilemma. “I finally bit the bullet and headed inside, well aware of the fact I would soon be on my knees.”
Somara tsked as she said, “No way to avoid the inevitable reckoning.”
Cyndy immediately agreed. “Right. So when I told him of my investigations and some of my speculations which incidentally matched yours, Karin and Mary Jo, he had plenty to say. He did not care if someone stole our sheep, it was vital to our wellbeing.
“He essentially morphed into ‘stolen sheep shaming’ telling me I’d have to go without woolen mittens and woolen socks and woolen cowls and possibly a lantern.”
I couldn’t help but remember how important they were when I had to go out into the bitter cold to milk the cows back in the 16th century. I would have to thank Evelyn/James once again for the care shown at that time.
“The Abbot asked me, ‘What would we do if we ran out of wool for our lanterns wicks and the entire monastery was plunged into darkness with you to thank? Or your brothers had to go without socks?’ referring to the Coptic socks I knitted.
“After haranguing me for what seemed like an eternity, he gave me my penance or sentence. In addition to going without woolen articles, he told me that for a full week, I was to circle the sheep pasture reciting the rosary praying for the monastery’s missing sheep’s return. I was to do that four times each day as a reminder that we had, and he put great emphasis on yelling each word in staccato ‘had four sheep’.”
I gave the air around us time to settle. There was an air of mutual smoldering as several agreed that to make John/Cyndy go without those vital pieces of woolen articles during the winter was unjust.
Karin added her voice. “I have to pose a question rooted in my experience as 16th century Abraham. “Which would be worse, having to go without or having to wear double of everything? I was reported for talking to one of the brothers of another set, which as you know was a big ‘no’...’no’. My penance was to wear double of everything on a very hot day and on a free day when we could talk. However, I had to keep silence.”
“I remember that day. We were wondering what you were doing wearing a cowl & mittens on such a hot day,” said Jill.
Karin retorted with a gallows chuckle. “You didn’t get to see my double-socked feet in my straining sandals, very uncomfortable.”
Mary Jo groaned at that new bit of information. “So great a choice. Is it frostbite or heat exhaustion and dehydration you’d prefer?”
Turning the tone to a more positive emphasis, I continued my individualizing of acknowledgments and followed through on my self-promise to thank Evelyn/James. “And sweet Evelyn, you were James. I know you must have gotten your interest in medicine to become a nurse, for this century, way back in the 16th century.
“As James, you helped me when I was such a mess from having to be out in the bitter freeze, milking the cows. It was just a little shed of sorts. I don’t know how the poor Jerseys stayed warm with a tiny flame burning for them in a couple of lanterns.
“The tips of my fingers on both hands needed attention and there you were with your comforting guidance. It’s a good thing you had cautioned me to dress warm. I put those woolen Coptic Socks on that you knitted, Cyndy as John. I’m glad I followed your direction, Evelyn as James.
“And thank you, Cyndy as Brother John, for knitting our socks and those warm cowls and mittens, even though it seems Abbot Richard might have thought we’d be throwing rotten tomatoes at you for losing Stewy.
And you are still knitting today. You even brought some with you. Things were looking pretty bleak for a while at the end. I did think when and if we ever talked again that I would tease you about us making big money selling the Coptic Socks you knitted. I thought they’d be a real crowd pleaser.
“Sorry to be sticking a knitting needle in the spokes of progress, but I am not going to ever knit those socks in this lifetime.” There was a teasing of moans and ‘oh no’s’ and a raucous round of gallows laughter. Some were patting Cyndy on the back, indicating love and support.
Author Notes |
Gallows humor makes fun of a life-threatening, disastrous, or terrifying situation.
A set is the name for the group that came into the monastery the same year Coptic socks â?? a roughly shaped garment to fit the foot for thongs or sandals for us. https://www.dogpile.com/serp?qc=images&q=15th+century+Coptic+socks&sc=OfFaXjCH6NlW10 A scoundrel is a villain; a rogue, a disreputable person Jerseys were cows with thick cream with lower volume of milk in comparison with Holsteins most raise these days. More volume of milk brings in more money. ***The kneeling holding things really happened in the 60's, when I was in the convent. One time there were a few of us, who'd broken stuff. Mine was a toilet brush, another a broken bowl & the funniest one was my friend, who is Sammy, my cat's, foster mom...Michele. Somehow, the steering wheel had come off when she was getting out of the old van. So she had to kneel holding the steering wheel. What a riot. Of course, it was supposed to be a solemn moment....NOT. I did have a strange penance for talking with a secular (non sister) at school. We went to school with non sisters or non nuns. We were having a free day, meaning we could talk much of the day. So we were having a nice picnic on a very warm day. I on the other hand had to wear a rigolette which was a woolen square of cloth on my head & I could not TALK. Ooof. Picture that! The others probably were silently giggling but knew I must have done something VERY BAD. |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
The ladies continue to process in an attempt to make sense of what happened during the 16th century. Madeline continues to be our narrator.
Cast of characters:
Madeline is the narrator
Cordelia was dishwasher and invited her to accompany her to England
Somara was the bookkeeper for the Monastery
Cyndy was the shepherd for 4 sheep
Jill tended to the hens and chicken & the flower gardens
Caren was a potter for the monastery in a separate building
Mary Jo was in charge of the appearance of the chapel
Karin was a counselor to the distressed brothers but was exposed and expelled for deceiving authorities
********
Pulling on the fresh green grass, I continued to compliment the ladies for their contributions in the 16th century. “Jill, those lovely flowers you as Francis grew in your brilliantly colored garden for the chapel, brightened my day.”
Cyndy added more. “Even though the chapel was dark, and the flickering flame of the lantern brightened things enough, the flowers grown by you and placed just right by Michael/Mary Jo, brightened my spirits, especially when I was so troubled about our dear missing sheep Stewy."
There were voices in unison thanking her and agreeing with the statements.
“Thank you for the help in our Chapter of faults sessions, where we had to kneel when an offense we were guilty of was announced. What was the point of that anyway?”
Cyndy concluded something of value. “Maybe in the years before our set landed there, all the penances and acts of humiliation held meaning. Maybe it was a holy activity that meant something; to humble them to make them holier, closer to God.”
Caren agreed. “Right, like the asking for food. Now that was rough and very hard to find humor in. I think it was mortifying for the person begging for food and the person at the table looking at their brother on his knees, unable to look up at us.”
Mary Jo had an insight. “It probably was just as well that we didn’t make eye contact. We might have blown it by getting giggling.”
Karin countered the image. “I don’t know, it seemed some of us were actually caught in the wincing, shameful, embarrassed mindset and posture. Imagine, men who had the opportunity to spoon out whatever they wanted from the serving bowl had to go to another brother and kneel in front of him and beg for food.
“The kneeling thing was dually effective, humiliating for the kneeler and an icky feeling for the one being kneeled before. I could go on, but I will stop here.” She threw her hands up, signaling she’d said enough.
Mary Jo admitted Karin was right. “I just wanted to make light of the whole ridiculous, senseless activity.“
Cordelia posed a good thought. “I wonder if that’s one of the reasons the sets above us could not talk to us, except to say the rosary. They might say something about their secret activity that we could not know about until it was our time.”
It was my turn to insert my perception of the whole thing. “I remember the mystery and creepiness that hung in the air when we had to stay completely away from the activity room until we were cleared to go near there.”
Caren joined in mirroring my thoughts. “And then we found out the big secret. It was called Chapter of Faults. Was it called that because the Abbot found fault with us or because he was exposing our faults, or because we were to acknowledge our faults? Or all of the above.”
Cordelia chimed in, “That was another thing that made no sense. And because it had no credible purpose, we benefited nothing. Nada.”
Jill continued venting her original thoughts. “Abbot Richard would say that someone had left their cup on the table, rather than returning it to the dishwasher, and that they were to kneel to acknowledge it.
“We all looked around to identify who might have neglected that responsibility. But I’m sure each of us was wondering, as I did, ‘Was it me?' 'Did I forget?’ Am I right? Is that what you guys were wondering?”
There were nods of resignation all around.
Jill was on a roll. “Then when no one acknowledged such an offense, he became more aggressive by threatening that if he didn’t see someone kneeling, they would all remain until every recorded offense was acknowledged.“
Caren continued Jill's thoughts and observations. “The only solution we had was just to kneel regardless. Half of the time none of us really was certain who the guilty one was. Should any one of us have acknowledged such an offense?”
Karin had a way to know when and how cut to the quick for healing purposes. “As long as no one began to believe they had committed the offense, it was okay. I would imagine if someone were in that environment monthly, they might grow to believe they had committed the offense they admitted to, in their act of kneeling.”
I reluctantly admitted I had been affected. “I was making myself a little crazy, wondering if I were the only one who should have been on his knees, and everyone else could have remained on their bench.
“I am heartened how we all hit the floor on our knees when an infraction was announced so none of us felt alone, and it assuaged the Abbot’s Draconian ways, an allusion to Draco, the 7th century intolerant lawmaker of Athens.”
“Oh, Madeline, ever the writer. I am relieved to hear someone say that the Chapter of Faults also impacted them.” Cyndy let out a long sigh.
“Oh, I’m so glad you two are saying that.” said Somara.
“Somara, I think you speak for the rest of us.” Mary Jo’s words were followed by several ‘yes’...’yes’...’yes.’
Everyone looked to Karin for a solution, as she gazed toward the white puffy clouds and scratched her head, whispering, “Oh, boy.”
Author Notes |
Madeline is the narrator
Cordelia was the dishwasher and invited her to accompany her to England Somara was the bookkeeper for the Monastery Cyndy was the shepherd for 4 sheep Jill tended to the hens and chicken & the flower gardens Caren was a potter for the monastery in a separate building Mary Jo was in charge of the appearance of the chapel Karin was a counselor to the distressed brothers but was exposed and expelled for deceiving authorities Nada is slang for 'zero.' Cut to the quick is an idiom for revealing a painful area of thought or memory A set is the name for the group that came into the monastery the same year |
By Liz O'Neill
Cast of characters
Madeline is the narrator
Cordelia invited her to accompany her to England
Somara was the bookkeeper for the Monastery
Cyndy was the shepherd for 4 sheep
Jill tended to the hens and chicken & the flower gardens
Caren was a potter for the monastery in a separate building
Mary Jo in charge of the appearance of the chapel
Karin was a counselor to the distressed brothers, but was exposed and expelled for deceiving authorities
Previously:
“Oh, Madeline, ever the writer. I am relieved to hear someone say that the Chapter of Faults also impacted them. Having to kneel for offenses that Abbott Richard claimed someone was guilty of was damaging. So we had to confess to something we may not even have been connected to in any way.” Cyndy let out a long sigh.
“Oh, I’m so glad you two are saying that,” said Somara.
“Somara, I think you speak for the rest of us.” Mary Jo’s words were followed by several ‘yes’...’yes’...’yes.’
Everyone looked to Karin for a solution, as she gazed toward the white puffy clouds and scratched her head, whispering, “Oh, boy.”
*********
After pausing for a moment, Karin, who was a Psychiatrist, offered what she could. “Well, I guess we might keep in mind some may have developed distorted thinking regarding displaced responsibility.
“After the trauma from the 16th century, you may feel unnecessarily responsible for things that are happening around you. That could actually sabotage your day-to-day events and relationships.”
I had to intervene. “Karin, you must at least have some solution for us who were emotionally wounded?”
Somara said, “This seems just like a good group therapy session, doesn’t it?”
There were wide smiles as the others agreed.
“It feels so good, doesn’t it?” Mary Jo looked at the others for cohesion.
Cyndy said, “Even though I never found Stewy, I think I will eventually be able to comfort myself to know he’s at the Rainbow Bridge, not being annoyed with sheep shearing or anyone stewing, because he went missing while I was in charge of his well-being for the monastery.”
Karin paused while others spoke. Looking to the blue sky, she began. “Okay, here goes. This may sound a bit strange, but every time you hear Abbott Richard's words hovering, picture a little monk on your shoulder whispering lies into your ear, the reasoning part of your brain, and your wounded soul.”
Several of the group smiled for the first time in a while. “That just might work,” I said as I acted out flicking the medieval whisperer from my shoulder. Everyone followed suit, some saying, “Ping…ping…ping.”
********
It was time to direct praise toward Karin. “The wonderful person who is still helping us must have felt in the dark in much of the incidences referred to in our discussions. That is you, Karin.
“You, as Abraham, were such a blessing for all of us in our set. And you have continued on in this the 21st century to help people resolve differences within themselves. Why, we just saw evidence of how effective you are. I felt so badly for you getting thrown out of the monastery.”
“I guess I was quite a renegade back then. I’m like Clark Kent, mild-mannered and quiet in this century.”
Caren reminded everyone she was always locked away in the pottery building and missed everything they were talking about. But she did want to find out more and asked Karin some questions.
“Karin, I only know the little I picked up in whispers from the monks when we were in the monastery. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“No, certainly not. Ask me anything and I will fill you in to the best of my ability.”
“I’ve heard there was a dramatic scene circling you. Did you feel like they were going to smother you?”
“OMG.” This set Karin off. “At first I felt as if there were no air left to fill my lungs which were, instead, filling with darkness. I was frozen with fear when I was herded into the Abbot's office by the tribe of importance.
“I was preparing for some kind of physical beating when I saw the Cardinal with the walking stick.” Karin breathed a sigh of relief, remembering that it didn’t go as harshly as it could have.
“Caren continued her questions. “So they claimed you were an imposter, not even a Catholic?”
Caren had no idea she was slowly gaining information we all had felt insecure about. Then, it struck me, it was all literally in the past. We were not throwing around a time-worn idiom. It was real and we needed to move on. The Karen/Abraham in front of us was a respectable professional Psychiatrist, no phony, no imposter in this lifetime.
Karin explained herself. “Because I only knew what was going on with Abraham while there, for the year-length term in the 16th century, I can offer no other information. I actually knew none of Abraham’s history, except for the scrambled allegations pronounced by Abbot Richard.
“The assault of accusations was as much a surprise to me as to everyone present. It’s weird what happened to all of us. We were plunked back into a person’s body and a life we lived hundreds of years ago.”
Cordelia had been extra quiet during the discussions. “Why would our 16th century persons, or anyone, ever choose to stay in such a physical, and emotional confining situation? Did the ‘being closer to God’ feeling work for them?”
Mary Jo began the summation. “While immersed in those 16th century bodies, we had to wing it, in coordination with our assigned person, until we got the hang of it. I think we did well, considering the stark circumstances. Let’s hope we don’t have any long-term psychological effects.”
Karin sorted it out, as only she could do.
Author Notes |
Madeline is the narrator
Cordelia was the dishwasher and invited her to accompany her to England Somara was the bookkeeper for the Monastery Cyndy was the shepherd for 4 sheep Jill tended to the hens and chicken & the flower gardens Caren was a potter for the monastery in a separate building Mary Jo was in charge of the appearance of the chapel Karin was a counselor to the distressed brothers but was exposed and expelled for deceiving authorities A set is the name for the group that came into the monastery the same year Chapter of Faults was a required monthly session where the brother were required to kneel to acknowledge random offenses announced by Abbot Richard, the head of the monastery. Stockholm Syndrome: https://www.angelfire.com/vt/rcwn/Pagetwentyeight.html |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously:
We listen in on the ladies’ group therapy
The ladies continue reflecting upon their horrific experience, having been vortexed into the 16th century
Cordelia had been extra quiet during the discussions. “Why would our 16th century persons, or anyone, ever choose to stay in such a physical, and emotional confining situation? Did the ‘being closer to God’ feeling work for them?”
Mary Jo began the summation. “While immersed in those 16th century bodies, we had to wing it, in coordination with our assigned person, until we got the hang of it. I think we did well, considering the stark circumstances. Let’s hope we don’t have any long-term psychological effects.”
Karin sorted it out, as only she could do.
***********
“I think we needed to presume that the life we had dropped into was the way our life in the 16th century would have been. The way the need for survival played out went like this: some were more inclined to believe in the system and the monastic rule, others acted like they believed. Both groups conformed to the rules and behaved accordingly. The answer to all of this is two words, Stockholm Syndrome.”
Many looked quizzically at each other. Cyndy asked everyone’s unspoken question. “What is the Stockholm Syndrome? Is that something to do with the bank robbery in Stockholm, Sweden?”
Somara piped up. “Oh yes, I remember now, they said Patty Hearst acted irrationally because of the Stockholm Syndrome.”
“But what does that have to do with us?” Mary Jo was asking my question, and I’m sure others’ also.
We leaned in for Karin’s wisdom. “The element that creates this syndrome is confusion regarding loyalties. We became endeared to the other monks in our monastery even, at times, Abbot Richard.
“We developed a sense of allegiance to them and to the rules. There might even be remnants of a loyalty to God thrown in there. The concept of abandoning them became intolerable and morphed into buried efforts, eschewing guilt and breach of trust.”
Caren continued Karin’s thought. “Yuh, because we were stepping into characterizations of centuries ago, we had no context to draw from and had to move through it.”
Evelyn expressed my concern. “I was wondering where I would go if we got evicted. I had no idea about where I had previously resided or where and who my family was.”
“We’d all end up in some group of homeless people living who knows where. I don’t imagine they had homeless shelters back then.” There was a remnant of concern in Mary Jo’s voice.
Jill posed an abrupt question. “Do people realize our past life 16th century persons were really beheaded? I thought we were goners. I’m just glad we as members of the 21st century didn’t have to re-experience our demise and the universe spared us.”
Cordelia reminded everyone what Jill was referring to. “There are two basic ley lines running through the world. Just as we have energy waves throughout the atmosphere, so too, do we have them within the earth's makeup. The energy below the surface affects the outcomes above.
“The two ley lines that Jill is referring to are called St. Michael line and the Mary line. The Michael line has a harsh dark feeling to it. The Mary line that reaches out around bodies of water has a fluffy energy sensation.
When we travel from one ley line to the area influenced by the other, we sense a noticeable difference.”
This opened the door for me to think out loud. “That’s how we got into the next lifetimes that led us here. The fluffy Mary energy snatched us away from the dark Michael energy.
“Some of us may have gone together from the 16th century into the next lifetime experience, but others of us just went alone into a new one to meet individuals we may have known or would know in future lifetimes.”
I was on a roll. “Summarizing Shakespeare, he said something about how we are all actors on a stage. We just keep meeting each other in different parts and roles, known as lifetimes.
“So we may meet each other in a future lifetime, who knows. I just hope we are able to detect some similarity that will tie us together. I often say to people in this lifetime and they to me, ‘We definitely were in some past life together.’ or ‘We definitely knew each other in a past life.’”
Cordelia had much knowledge about past lives and had done many readings for people to help them heal from some of their darker times. “I’ve read, been told, or experienced, we will get inklings of what lifetime adventures we may have had. There will be attractions to certain cultures and events, or we may be triggered and repulsed.
“I think feelings and reactions may be especially strong if we believe we were a dark- souled character in some lifetimes. It is difficult for us to forgive our past deeds.”
“The thing people need to know is our soul never changes, regardless of our actions. Buddhists believe the soul is always good.” Cyndy’s words were reassuring.
“Thank you for clarifying that for us, Cordelia and Cyndy.“
I sensed it was time to move the discussion along. “I couldn’t believe my ears and peeking eyes as I lay prostrate, when I heard and saw you guys playing harps. Whoa. I felt like I was home. I didn’t feel as isolated anymore.”
Somara’s eyes lit up. “I was so hopeful hearing them playing harps. Actually playing slightly weird looking harps, nevertheless, harps. They looked heavy, though.” She squinted inquisitively at the harpists.
Jill probably was full of questions, but she only asked a few. “So how was it playing those clumsy strings of catgut? I can’t imagine what those strings must have felt like. I don’t know what I’d do with my guitar strung with catgut!”
Several of the harpists laughed, almost with a gallows tone to their laugh.
Caren sighed, lowering her head, gesturing a heavy burden. “They were heavier than any box of pottery I ever hefted, certainly not streamlined.”
Another of Jill’s questions matched my puzzling. “So, how was it you guys know how to play the harp back in the 16th century?”
Author Notes |
Madeline is the narrator.
Cordelia was the dishwasher and invited her to accompany her to England. Somara was the bookkeeper for the Monastery. Cyndy was the shepherd for four sheep. Jill tended to the hens and chickens & the flower gardens. Caren was a potter for the monastery in a separate building. Mary Jo was in charge of the appearance of the chapel. Karin was a counselor to the distressed brothers, but was exposed and expelled for deceiving authorities. A set is the name for the group that came into the monastery the same year. Chapter of Faults was a required monthly session where the brothers were required to kneel to acknowledge random offenses announced by Abbot Richard, the head of the monastery. Stockholm Syndrome: https://www.angelfire.com/vt/rcwn/Pagetwentyeight.html |
By Liz O'Neill
Madeline is the narrator.
Cordelia was the dishwasher and invited her to accompany her to England.
Somara was the bookkeeper for the Monastery.
Cyndy was the shepherd for four sheep.
Jill tended to the hens and chickens and the flower gardens.
Caren was a potter for the monastery in a separate building.
Mary Jo was in charge of the appearance of the chapel.
Karin was a counselor to the distressed brothers, but was exposed and expelled for deceiving authorities.
Previously: The reason for gathering in England was to participate in a harp theory course where they learned how to play certain chords for healing.
In the past life experience, several were playing medieval harps. When asked about how awkward those harps felt compared with the ones in the 21st century, several of the harpists laughed, almost with a gallows tone.
Caren sighed, lowering her head, gesturing a heavy burden. “They were heavier than any box of pottery I ever hefted, certainly not streamlined.”
Another of Jill’s questions matched my puzzling. “So, how was it you guys knew how to play the harp back in the 16th century?”
**************
Once again, Cordelia came through. My, she was smart in this subject. “Remember, we had no idea of our backstories while in the monastery. We still have no way of knowing what our 16th century characters did in their childhood. They had one, of course, so they may have learned how to play a harp in a schooling situation.
“We probably will never know. That experience must have tickled our fancy to learn in this lifetime. Like Caren still being drawn to pottery-making and Karin being called to help troubled individuals through psychiatry.”
The tone changed as everyone directed their eyes upward to the right, squinching their faces demonstrating deep consideration, with several purring sounds of agreement.
The pause was a perfect cue for us to attack the eternal stairs to reach the top. “Do we want to attempt those steps?” I gestured toward the staircase, which was obviously missing a handrail. “It has,” forming the gesture for quotes, “‘religious pilgrimage’ written all over it, where people pray on every step. That would be a lot of praying. There had to be an easier way.”
There were several moans. Mary Jo joined with a few others and said,“I might just sit this one out.”
There were random soundings of ‘yuh’.
Cyndy remembered the labyrinth. “Hey, what about the labyrinth? Remember, we were going to play our harps as we walked the labyrinth?”
I couldn’t help but be a bit sour. “Yuh, walking up the trail they used to drag the Abbott and his assistants to their death, sounds like a cheerful activity.”
“But,” Jill said, “labyrinths are very healing. Maybe we should walk it.”
“So, are you saying you think we should walk to the top that way on the labyrinth path?” Somara was weighing the possibilities, pros and cons as she spoke.
Jill responded. “Yuh, if we can get there. It was just a thought. Although, we aren’t even sure if the path is still there. After all, it has been five centuries since it was used to transport the monks to the gallows.”
“I never realized we were actually going to be here. There is so much written about this place. I’ve read quite a bit, without knowing I would someday find it coming in handy.” Somara enlightened the others.
“I guess the ancients carved the spiral terraces to make it easier to journey up to the top and also to carry or drag needed items including stones with them.” Somara was appropriately interrupted.
Mary Jo’s sarcasm showed itself as she stated the truth. “ Yuh, it was easier to carry bodies to the top. I have a feeling our leaders from the monastery were not the only ones who died on this earthen mound.”
Somara continued. “Many theories exist about why there was such an unusual terracing around this giant hill.
Cyndy added more question. “Yet, the path is patterned like a labyrinth. So why or who used it for one?”
“This place is old.” Mary Jo concluded what several of us had trouble holding in our brain.
I had to make an admission. “I still can’t grasp how old other places are compared with the United States.”
Evelyn agreed with me. “We’ve gotten lost in our own little world. We’ve been blinded to the incredible realities of ancient tales. We have spent our energies smoldering about the short history of our country with its intolerable conflicts.”
Caren leaned forward with enthusiasm. “I see where you’re going with this. We are just a fresh dab of paint on a giant canvas of ancient accumulations of brush strokes.
"With a pottery metaphor, we are a wet clay pot beside ancient collections filling shelves in museums of ancient history. Maybe others have some other comparisons.” Caren looked around at the group.
Jill raised her hand for emphasis. “ It’s like putting a young sapling beside a chunk of petrified wood.”
Cordelia laughed. “I can’t resist this one. We think we’re going way back with bobby socks of the 50’s.”
I chuckled. “Ooof, that was a long time ago.”
Cordelia continued her point. “Let’s put those old ankle-cuffed socks beside…”
Cyndy raised her voice toyingly. “Don’t you say it…”
Cordelia picked up where she’d left off. ‘Let’s put those old ankle-cuffed socks beside the good ole, Coptic Socks.”
Cyndy knew things were going too far. “The thing you’re going to do next is to have me knitting freakishly-shaped socks, so we can all have a pair to wear with our sandals. No way.
“I already told Madeline we’re not going to market those monstrosities in this century. It’s time for us to look for a way up to the top of this ominous hill, anyway.”
Karin rescued her. “Cyndy is right. I don’t think we can comfortably approach the path from here.” Karin stood and began kicking the overgrown weeds and crab grass around, attempting to find signs of a medieval path. I think we are too far down to begin walking the more groomed labyrinth.”
“Does anyone have any guide to get up there.” I laughed at my question. “Ooof, we might have snatched one as we passed through the portal.”
“Ah, bummer, I must have left mine in the giant pocket of my monk habit or dress.” Cordelia knew she could get away with teasing Madeline.
Mary Jo made one of the best suggestions regarding our dilemma. “Maybe we can find someone around here who can tell us if there is another way up to the top besides those treacherous steps.”
Author Notes |
Bobby Casual sock were socks cuffed above the ankle and were popular in the 1940s and 1950s
Coptic socks were a roughly shaped garment to fit the foot for thongs or sandals popular in the 14th century and worn in the 16th century. Below is a link for a visual of them. Do you think they would be popular in the 21st century? https://www.dogpile.com/serp?qc=images&q=15th+century+Coptic+socks&sc=OfFaXjCH6NlW10 The leaders of the monastery were abducted by King HenryVIII by his soldiers and dragged in a wagon to the top of the Tor, to be hung. The king wanted the money the monastery had been accruing from donations. Images of the Tor. Look at how tall it is & those steps with no railing: https://www.dogpile.com/serp?q=Glastonbury+Tor&sc=oNVvIXIelrb710 |
By Liz O'Neill
Madeline is the narrator.
Cordelia was the dishwasher and invited her to accompany her to England.
Somara was the bookkeeper for the Monastery.
Cyndy was the shepherd for four sheep.
Jill tended to the hens and chickens and the flower gardens.
Caren was a potter for the monastery in a separate building.
Mary Jo was in charge of the appearance of the chapel.
Karin was a counselor to the distressed brothers, but was exposed and expelled for deceiving authorities.
Previously:
The ladies are finished with their therapy interactions with each other, guided by Karin, who is a psychiatrist. Mary Jo made one of the best suggestions regarding our dilemma. “Maybe we can find someone around here who can tell us if there is another way up to the top besides those treacherous steps.”
*********
We all thought that Mary Jo was the clearest thinking and best informed of us on this topic of how to get to the top. As I have fantasized before in similar situations, I hoped for a helicopter to come to our rescue. It could nicely lift us up there in a minute or so.
This long stone staircase journey looked like we might make it by close of day. The going up would be bad enough, but the descending, with no rail, makes me worry we might just pitch forward.
As always, no large capacitied helicopter was coming for us, nor even a tiny one for me. I coached myself that I needed to get a grip and focus.
I could finally think logically. “Let’s do what Mary Jo has suggested. Everyone fan out, find us a way up there. We can meet back here to compare notes.
*********
As I approached a group, I lost my courage as I overheard their discussion. The taller woman said, “Musimy wejÅ?Ä? po dÅ?ugich schodach.”
She was answered by her laughing friend. “CieszÄ? siÄ?, że zjadÅ?em dobre Å?niadanie.”
My first thought was to run the other way, but we were on a mission. I went up to them and just bit the bullet and outrightly asked the question. “Is there another way up besides the stairs?” I motioned to the stairs and gestured going up steps, then walking on a level path.
Needless to say, they looked at me strangely. They probably thought I was a mime looking for money, waiting for me to hold up the money-collection cup.
They shrugged and in unison said, “Bez angielskiego, no English.”
I nodded and said, “Gracias.” Ooof, that went well. Not!
The next group spoke English. They were about to ask me the same question about a safer approach.
I was growing increasingly deflated. I just hoped the others had better luck and moped my way back to the meeting spot, to see some were already seated on the grass beneath the tree.
The grumbling that was going on did not fill me with hope. It did not.
As I neared the group, Jill looked up at me and said, “Doesn’t anyone speak English here? We’re in England for gods’ sakes.”
“Those who spoke English were seeking the same path as we are, if one even exists.” Karin shook her head in disappointment.
I remembered my friend and my nightmare in Mexico. “This difficulty with language inconsistency reminds me of our trip to Mexico several years ago.
“I guess I made an assumption. We know what happens with that situation. I make an axx of you and me. I thought the people in the resort would speak English. But, then it occurred to me that the staff members in our Holiday Inn don’t learn different languages to kowtow to the guests.
“There was one fellow who spoke English well. He was quite remarkable, speaking Mayan in the home, Spanish at work, and fluent English for the likes of us. There was another one who was fun. He’d greet me with ‘Ola’ pronounced o-luh. When I greeted him with the pronunciation of ‘O-law,’ he joked with me. ‘O-luh, o-luh, coco cola.’
“Now wouldn’t you think, in an airport, someone would be able to comprehend and/or speak English?”
Several responded with similar phrases. “Well, of course.” “I would hope so.” “They should in an airport.”
I once again remembered the incredible tension we experienced. “Nope, not one English-speaking person. We needed information for when our plane was boarding. There was some written message flashing on a screen that we were delayed. That was the end of it, as we watched the cameras picking up people boarding a plane.
“Was it ours, no way to know. When we asked about our plane, no one understood our dilemma or our English. Another plane was boarding. The tension within us was growing.“
Finally, after an hour, there was an announcement, that we were to go down some stairs to board our plane. When we got down there, we met a stressed English-speaking woman who claimed she’d been waiting for two hours, that the plane was delayed all of that time.”
After I finished rambling, Cyndy posed a comical question. “There are so many different nationalities and languages, could that be like the ‘Tower of Babel?'” She pointed up to the looming tower at the top.
“Who knows, Cyndy might be right. We know so little about this place. There are many myths about this tor and its surrounding areas.” Evelyn looked toward Mary Jo for more insight.
Mary Jo, who seemed to be the only studied person here, filled us in with what she remembered she’d read. “That actually is a cathedral steeple from years ago.
"I guess there was a St. Michael Church and several houses and buildings. At some point they were all destroyed and the only thing left is that steeple."
My bitterness returned. “I wonder if that was before or after the gallows were constructed for the leaders of ou…the monastery. I almost said our monastery.” I felt flustered.
Jill reminded us. “We were there in the past. That was our monastery, as horrible as many aspects of it were, I guess it was home, and we were sheltered and fed. We were the reason Abbot Richard did not want to close the monastery. He felt responsible for us.”
Evelyn added reality to that situation. “We’d definitely have nowhere to go, with no backstory of who we’d been before the monastery.”
Somara summed it up. “I guess we should thank the Abbot wherever and whomever he is today.”
Cordelia, the inner dowser, grew pensive. “I think maybe we should walk around the left side of this massive hill. I’m getting a sense our answer may be in that direction.”
I observed that old hesitation as we thought of standing. I noted everyone moving their bodies in different manners, as if shaking off pain-filled shudders, medieval nightmare memories.
In preparation for the speculative trek, a few of us scanned the ground for the semblance of a walking stick. Cordelia encouraged everyone. “If we ever find the steep upward walking path, we may be glad we took the time to select a suitable stick.”
Author Notes |
Here is a link that contains images of the dreaded staircase.
Images of the Tor. Look at how tall it is & those steps with no railing: https://www.dogpile.com/serp?q=Glastonbury+Tor&sc=oNVvIXIelrb710 Buildings before ruins https://tse2.mm.bing.net/th?id=OIP.ULCJoANkoUYkO9GEFk662gHaE8&pid=Api |
By Liz O'Neill
Previously: The ladies are on a mission to find a way up to the tower via a safer trail than the long railess stairway to the top.
*******
Cordelia, the inner dowser, grew pensive. “I think maybe we should walk around the left side of this massive hill. I’m getting a sense our answer may be in that direction.”
I observed that old hesitation as we thought of standing. I noted everyone moving their bodies in different manners, as if shaking off pain-filled shudders, medieval nightmare memories.
In preparation for the speculative trek, a few of us scanned the ground for the semblance of walking sticks. Cordelia encouraged everyone. “If we ever find the steep upward walking path, we may be glad we took the time to select a suitable stick.”
********
With after thought, everyone searched out and found a decent, strong walking stick. Following Cordelia who seemed to just know, picking up information from the universe, as an inner dowser, they grasped their walking stick as a symbol of hope.
Cordelia also encouraged and coached everyone. “Let’s all begin the image or envision ourselves discovering a stairless walking path. We can be calling it out to appear to us. I feel very strongly one exists.”
We could hear each other basically chanting to the universe, asking for the path to appear.
Just as our balloon of hope was shriveling and our trust in Cordelia’s inner dowsing abilities was wearing thin, Karin announced she could see tiny specks of people high on the hill.
As we halted to take it all in, Caren said, “And they are moving downward, so there must be a second path besides those steps in the front.”
Evelyn sighed at the thought of the trip upward on the dirt or concrete path. “I hope there aren’t any stairs to climb in that tower.”
Mary Jo rescued Evelyn and anyone else wondering. “That is just the hollow steeple left from the St. Michael's church, with no stairs added. It was destroyed around the time of Abbot Richard, the other two monks, Roger and John’s execution. The church was soon after destroyed. ”
As we continued to trudge, foresightful Cyndy began a discussion as a distraction from our feelings of futility. “Why do you suppose they have never constructed a railing for that 45 degree angled stairway?”
Mary Jo offered an amusing reason. “Maybe they didn’t have enough metal rail. It is over 400 feet high.”
Somara was tipped off with the word metal. “You mentioned metal rails. Maybe the upkeep would be too much with the erosion of rusted metal, possibly iron.”
“Do we know anywhere in this world where there aren’t gangs of destructive individuals. I hate to imagine what they would do with thin railings?” Jill was on a roll.
When the discussion was concluded, I think we all understood why there were no railings. “I’m glad you opened up that discussion, Cyndy. I think we all have a different perspective on the issue.
“I’m still hoping we can get up to the top without having to return to find ourselves staring, once again, at that formidable climb. This plea had no more than left my lips when Caren, who had been fastidiously watching for motion on the hill, reported what she’d observed.
“Now there appears to be people halfway up, moving in this direction. They seem to be suspended in midair.”
Cordelia, with hand, shading the sun, stared in that direction. She expressed another perspective to the bizarre vision. “I wonder if they are walking around the labyrinth?”
My whimpery side was showing. “So have we been placing our bets on the wrong set of descenders?”
Karin pointed toward a group walking toward us on ground level, our level. “Look at the group coming toward us. There’s got to be someone who speaks either English or one of the sparse languages we can clumsily make it through. She ended with a gallows raspberry sound.
Both Madeline and Cordelia glanced in the direction Karin indicated, then looked knowingly at one another. Each was certain the other was thinking the same thing as she was.
This was confirmed as Cordelia walked toward Madeline. Cordelia was the first to enthusiastically share her inner dowsing sense. “Do you notice anything different in their aura?
Madeline had the ability to pick up energies from people. Some people saw auras in specific colors. There’re books written instructing its readers that certain colors indicated information about various levels, physical, emotional, psychological, and spiritual.
Madeline never went by those books. Her core reference and its meaning was derived from her own experience observing energy colors surrounding a person and what was going on with them. It had nothing to do with electrical or magnetic energy.
She remembered having this ability confirmed when she read ‘Celestine Prophesy’ by James Redfield. What a compelling book. It changed yet another aspect of her life. Madeline was thrilled to know there was an online reading of this book on YouTube.
This way others might understand they have the ability to see auras of plants, animals, objects and people. The 3rd chapter explains how if we lightly squint at any of these, we will see a shadow just above them.
Some people see a color on a deeper level, and they might be able to make a chart in their mind of how they feel about these different colors.
Madeline knew what she was seeing with the people coming toward her and the meaning of the glowing brilliant white light surrounding them.
Author Notes |
A depiction of the buildings that existed upon the Tor before the hangings of the three leaders of the monastery and the destruction of everything, leaving only the steeple.
https://tse2.mm.bing.net/th?id=OIP.ULCJoANkoUYkO9GEFk662gHaE8&pid=Api |
By Liz O'Neill
Who they were in the 16th-century
Madeline is the narrator.
Cordelia was the dishwasher and invited her to accompany her to England.
Somara was the bookkeeper for the Monastery.
Cyndy was the shepherd for four sheep.
Jill tended to the hens and chickens & the flower gardens.
Caren was a potter for the monastery in a separate building.
Mary Jo was in charge of the appearance of the chapel.
Karin was a counselor to the distressed brothers, but was exposed and expelled for deceiving authorities.
New characters:
Mary was Abbot Richard Whiting, the head of the monastery, who was partially hung, tortured, finally killed and buried at the top of the Tor.
Gloria was Brother Roger James who was beaten up when he went to a meeting with the henchmen of King Henry VIII and later was hung to his death on the Tor.
Anne was Brother John Thorne, an assistant to the Abbot who was hung to his death on one side of Abbot Richard, with Brother Roger on the other.
Previously: The group who had recently returned from a time travel experience into the 16th-century was on their way to the top of the Glastonbury Tor.
Their first option was a railless stairway about 400 feet long at about a 45-degree angle. They are walking to the opposite side of the hill, hoping to find an easier, safer access.
They have seen a group approaching them. There is something unusual about them. There is a bright glow around them. Cordelia and Madeline know this to be an aura, highly intense energy emanating from a person's physical, emotional, psychological, and spiritual levels.
"Each was certain the other was thinking the same thing as she was.
This was confirmed as Cordelia walked toward Madeline. Cordelia was the first to enthusiastically share her inner dowsing sense. "Do you notice anything different in their aura?"
********
Cordelia responded to her own question. "Their aura travels out exceptionally far and is pure white.
"How can that be with the dark negative With Michael ley line crossing through here, I would never expect to find anyone with a clear, balanced aura."
I was feeling less alone in my vision. "Hopefully, we can investigate the cause. Cool, they are getting closer. Hello."
English responses were all, we thankfully heard.
"Hey." Her hat was lovely with different colored varieties of butterflies. I worked at not appearing rude as I stared at a few I recognized.
My thought on the subject is, if you wear a hat that looks like a poster made into a hat, expect to be stared at or studied.
"Hi." The sportily-dressed one had a baseball cap with the letters 'NY.'
"Hello." That lady had a flamboyant sun hat.
We returned the greetings. Next came our barrage of questions.
Cordelia began. "So, are you guys coming down from the top?"
The butterfly lady responded. "Yes, we finally made it back down. We went up those treacherous steps in the front of this monstrosity of a hill. Gloria," she pointed to the sporty one, "discovered there was a stairless back way up or down."
Gloria stepped closer to explain how she spotted the cement path heading downward. "Hi, yes, I knew anything would be better than that vertigo producing steep railess stairway, plunging downward."
Butterfly lady introduced herself and her other companion. Hmm, there were three of them, I noticed. Hmm.
"Excuse my rudeness, my name is Mary and this is Anne." She gestured with her arm extended.
Anne stepped forward and began shaking hands with everyone. "It is so good to meet you and possibly be able to share our bizarre experience."
In my jumbled head, I quickly made mental notes. Butterfly hat was Mary, Sports cap was Gloria and Sun hat was Anne.
I forewent the order of age for introducing us. It was something like 'introduce the oldest first, blah blah, blah.'
Instead, I just introduced myself and quickly went through the roll call and left it to everyone to make acquaintances. And they did. It was fun to see the enthusiasm, until the tone grew more serious.
Mary began the harsh declaration. "We are worn out. We do not understand what has happened to us since we got here.
"One of the most bizarre occurrences was on our first drive up this way. We did not know we were supposed to get a shuttle ride up here.
"We impulsively headed up toward the signs for the Tor. Our trip up the hill through downtown was worse than the ride back down.
"I don't think we even reexamined the distorted faces as we descended the hill, supporting the shops full of busy, preoccupied individuals."
Gloria agreed with the report. "We three had similar reactions to the townfolk. I heard inner screaming and Anne saw a sick green color around them."
Anne said, "There was an olive green fog around the whole town."
Mary switched the description of events to more current bodily symptoms. She spoke for the trio. "The strangest, most unnerving thing that happened was that the closer we got to the top of this Tor, the tighter our throats felt."
Anne added her description. "It was as if something or someone were clenching my throat right by my air pipe." She held onto her throat, as if she were reliving that life-threatening sensation. After taking a deep breath, she continued. "I began panicking when I experienced difficulty breathing."
Gloria claimed she began coughing and putting her hands to her throat. "I didn't know if I was allergic to something or the climb up had affected my breathing. I began wheezing as if there wasn't enough oxygen."
Mary summarized by saying, "We figured maybe the altitude was too much for us. Next, the most debilitating thing happened. I had just reached the top of the staircase, and I was hit with a case of vertigo like I've never had before."
Anne asked her if she'd ever had vertigo and Mary had to answer 'no.'
Gloria was showing concern for us. "So, we don't want to say too much and influence your trek up the path. I will tell you, the path we came down seems a lot easier than those death-defying steps we climbed.
"I will give you a head-up, though. The 45 degree angle hill is quite short, although the section where the path levels off is extremely long."
Mary said, Yuh, hopefully this place doesn't affect you the way it did us."
Gloria added an important fact. "As we examined each other, discoloration began to show itself on our necks, totally encircling each of our necks."
"Let's not forget, Gloria, your black eyes and swollen lips that creepily appeared." Anne shuddered as she pointed that out.
Mary said, "The worst was the excruciating physical pain we experienced, as we neared a plaque telling about some monk, I think his name was Richard, being buried there.
"I felt like my arms were being yanked out of their sockets. Fortunately, they have benches up there. I had to sit, my legs would no longer support me. I felt paralyzed.
"Gloria's face and jaw ached like a toothache, and she had humming in her ears making her feel nauseous and crazy."
"I had shooting pain from my tailbone to the top of my neck." Anne drew a line in the air with her finger to accentuate the extent of the area of pain.
All three looked at us and simultaneously asked the same question. "What would cause such a thing?"
As our group intensely took in all these three ladies were saying, it was becoming clear to us, who these three women were in the 16th-century.
But how to tell them was going to be the challenge.
Author Notes |
Ley lines
These are straight lines of magnetic, luminous energy, traveling through rocks below the surface, crossing locations, circling the entire earth. They have been found to connect many sites holding churches and monasteries, named from derivatives of Mary or Michael. Images of the Tor Stepless path https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/b/glasonbury-tor-ruins-st-michael-s-church-glastonbury-somerset-united-kingdom-demolished-dissolution-111481643.jpg https://www.dogpile.com/serp?q=The+Tor&sc=fIf58ojMBs7010 |
By Liz O'Neill
Who they were in the 16th-century:
Madeline is the narrator.
Cordelia was the dishwasher and invited her to accompany her to England.
Somara was the bookkeeper for the Monastery.
Cyndy was the shepherd for four sheep.
Jill tended to the hens and chickens & the flower gardens.
Caren was a potter for the monastery in a separate building.
Mary Jo was in charge of the appearance of the chapel.
Karin was a counselor to the distressed brothers, but was exposed and expelled for deceiving authorities.
New characters: (***Spoiler)
Mary was Abbot Richard Whiting, the head of the monastery, who was partially hung, tortured, finally killed and buried at the top of the Tor.
Gloria was Brother Roger James, who was beaten up when he went to a meeting with the henchmen of King Henry VIII and later was hung to his death on the Tor.
Anne was Brother John Thorne, an assistant to the Abbot who was hung to his death on one side of Abbot Richard, with Brother Roger on the other.
I’ve got many friends on here. Every once in a while, someone inspires me for what to include in my chapters. Aryr, a wonderful lady on here, phrased the new relationship of our ladies with the new women who just came down from the Tor.
She said, 'they were meeting their leaders from the 16th-century.' When the newly made friends began reporting their physical, and emotional reactions, our ladies identified them as Abbot Richard, Brother John and Brother Robert.
Previously: The group who had recently returned from a time travel experience into the 16th-century was on their way to the top of the Glastonbury Tor and met 3 intriguing women, just descending the Tor.
“As our group intensely took in all these three ladies were saying, it was becoming clear to us, who these three women were in the 16th-century.
But how to tell them was going to be the challenge.”
**********
I had been doing some quick thinking about where to go from here in this conversation. With the new insight provided us, to use a time-worn idiom, 'this changes everything.'
We had some major work to do with these ladies, our former leaders from the 16th-century. Yes, they were our former leaders, and here we are requesting further leadership as to how to get up that blasted hill.
The irony is that when we saw them being dragged out through our monastery door, we never dreamed, we would meet them again, alive, in a new lifetime...ours.
Another irony is that we, the subordinates, would be leading them in their healing. I scratched my head, trying to figure where and how to begin.
Since it would be seriously impolite to call a huddle with the other ladies, I was on my own and could only hope they joined in the contribution of some affirmations for me.
I decided to just go for it, beginning at the beginning, to borrow a line from Julie Andrews as Maria in “The Sound of Music,” ‘a very good place to start.’
“Did any of you notice any unusual sensations before getting to Glastonbury? The reason I ask, is because on the way, when we were within the vision of the Tor, Cordelia began experiencing extreme discomfort.”
I looked at my other lady companions. “I don’t know if either Cordelia or I have mentioned this to any of you. You will soon see how it makes complete sense.”
Turning my attention to Mary, Gloria, and Anne, I continued. “We both complained of severe headaches. As we drove closer to the Tor, our head pain increased, in addition to a new sensation.”
Mary Jo, Somara, Evelyn, Cyndy, Karin and Caren looked from one to the other. I guess we hadn’t told anyone of the strange foreshadowing. The three women were fixated on my every word.
Cordelia jumped in to help me out. “Our headaches morphed into a very weighted feeling, like our heads were being held down. Now we know why.”
Mary Jo wanted to make some sense of things for the bewildered trio. “ We’ve actually just come out of a time warp where we all were monks in the monastery in the 16th-century in Glastonbury.”
Cyndy added her take on things. “Evidently, that really happened to all of us, which is why we’ve all been called by the universe to meet before this, at a workshop about harps, which we will explain further if desired.”
Somara gifted us with her knowledge gained from being the bursar or money manager for the monastery. “Because the monastery was making money, fast, the King at the time, Henry VII, demanded the monasteries in England, shut down.
“Our leader, Abbot Richard Whiting, didn’t want us, his monks, his charges, to be displaced. When he refused, there was nothing but trouble from then on.”
Evelyn wanted Mary, Gloria, and Anne to comprehend the impact of events, that the veil might be lifted for them. “To begin with, the King’s henchmen bombasted their way in through a locked and barricaded door.”
Karin admitted she was not there, but reported what she’d heard. “I’m choosing to relate this to you, because as a psychiatrist, I am aware of the subtle workings of the mind.”
In an effort to be cautious and gentle, she slowed her cadence as she continued. “You may have unforeseen reactions upon hearing the next set of events these others have witnessed.
"What you have already experienced as you were nearing the top of the Tor will hopefully all make sense and will impact you as needed.”
Karin took a deep breath before she pronounced what might potentially cause new trauma for Anne, Gloria, and particularly, Mary. "When the King’s soldiers violently entered the monastery, they made a death announcement for our three leaders.
Richard Whiting, Roger James, and John Thorne were to be brought to the Tor to be hung to their death. Although, Richard would be cut down sooner to be kept alive for the sake of torturing.”
All three began to hold onto their throats, with the rope marks returning. It was uncanny how quickly those marks appeared on each of their throats. There were moans and puzzled facial expressions.
Mary was the first who was able to put emotions and questions into coherent words. “What do you mean by all of this? Are you saying we were all in a monastery in the 16th-century? How could this be? Do you people believe in past lives?”
Author Notes |
Buildings around the time of the hangings
https://tse2.mm.bing.net/th?id=OIP.ULCJoANkoUYkO9GEFk662gHaE8&pid=Api https://www.dogpile.com/serp?qc=images&q=The+Tor&sc=xEyNlbUOOMCX10 Tidbit about Richard�??�?�¢??s death & what was left of the monastery https://www.executedtoday.com/2009/11/15/1539-richard-whiting-abbot-of-glastonbury/ |
By Liz O'Neill
Who they were in the 16th-century
Madeline is the narrator.
Cordelia was the dishwasher and invited her to accompany her to England.
Somara was the bookkeeper for the Monastery.
Cyndy was the shepherd for four sheep.
Jill tended to the hens and chickens & the flower gardens.
Caren was a potter for the monastery in a separate building.
Mary Jo was in charge of the appearance of the chapel.
Karin was a counselor to the distressed brothers, but was exposed and expelled for deceiving authorities.
New characters:
Mary was Abbot Richard Whiting, the head of the monastery, who was partially hung, tortured, finally killed and buried at the top of the Tor.
Gloria was Brother Roger James who was beaten up when he went to a meeting with the henchmen of King Henry VIII and later was hung to his death on the Tor.
Anne was Brother John Thorne, an assistant to the Abbot who was hung to his death on one side of Abbot Richard, with Brother Roger on the other.
New characters: (***Spoiler)
Mary was Abbot Richard Whiting, the head of the monastery, who was partially hung, tortured, finally killed and buried at the top of the Tor.
Gloria was Brother Roger James who was beaten up when he went to a meeting with the henchmen of King Henry VIII and later was hung to his death on the Tor.
Anne was Brother John Thorne, an assistant to the Abbot who was hung to his death on one side of Abbot Richard, with Brother Roger on the other.
I’ve got many friends on here. Every once in a while, someone inspires me for what to include in my chapters.
Another lovely woman on here, Lyenochka, who always has some unusual gem of wisdom to post, gave me some insight into the theology around past lives.
Previously: The group has been discussing a subject that helps things make sense. Mary posed a good question:
“Mary was the first who was able to put emotions and questions into coherent words. “What do you mean by all of this? Are you saying we were in the 16th-century?” How could this be? Do you people believe in past lives?”
*******
Caren looked around at the others leading the gallows guffaw. “Well, if any of us did not know about or believe in past lives, we are definitely believers now.”
Somara the studier of helpful facts presented information that would be helpful. “ I can give some theological background to what may have happened to us.
“There is a sect of Judaism and another one called Druzism that ask if after we die, do we come back in another body in a different period of time. It is clear that at one time we had male equipment and at some point in time, some era, some lifetime, we came back with female equipment.”
Somara continued to elaborate. “Druzism believes when we die, our souls enter the body of a newborn. They believe that the soul needs to be connected with a body. That doctrine is called traducianism.”
Karin, speaking from personal investigation, had some eye-opening information. “Many Jews are surprised to learn, that reincarnation, the ‘revolving’ of souls through many lifetimes, is a basic principle of Judaism.”
Gloria posed the next question. “So you’re proposing the possibility that we all knew each other in another lifetime and maybe that’s part of why we just encountered each other, to help to further sort it out?”
Anne wanted more clarification. “Do you think the fact we had such violent physical reactions is evidence that we indeed were Richard Whiting, Roger James, and John Thorne?”
Mary said,” We can play who was who in the 16th-century.”
Gloria decided to play. “Well, since I developed a blackness around my eyes and my jaw was suddenly aching, I will wager that I was Brother James in a past life.
There were nods of agreement and various verbal responses.
“Right.”
“It looks like it.”
“Sad to say, it sounds so.”
“How are you doing about it?” Cordelia’s voice was identifiable.
“Gloria, does this help any?” Karin, was the catalyst to getting this healing, perking.
Just as Gloria was to respond, Anne was pointing at Gloria’s eyes. “Gloria, your eyes are back to normal, even the bloodshot effect is gone.”
Gloria was hopeful. “What does my neck look like?”
Anne smiled as she reported the condition of Gloria’s neck.“No, that’s normal too. What about my neck? Any rope marks on it?”
Gloria had a big grin when she hugged Anne. “No, no markings either.”
Mary was incredulous, watching her two friends as they healed right before her eyes. “Okay, what about my neck, what does that look like? My arms and legs are no longer paining me.
"Look, I can do a little dance, probably not the Irish or Scottish dance, but I couldn’t do that kind of dancing before this."
Both Gloria and Anne approached Mary to inspect her throat area. As they found no markings, everyone clapped.
Evelyn gave them best wishes when she said,“Hopefully, this is enough for your healing, and you won’t have to take the time trip, we seemed to have to have done.”
Cordelia was still curious about their bright auras. “So did you guys go anyplace or visit any particular spots when you got to the top? You were obviously somewhere that you picked up some major positive energy.”
Cordelia continued to explain. “The energy you were emanating as you were coming closer to us, indicated to Madeline and me that you’d already healed some, or balanced the negative and the positive energy.”
Cyndy had earlier announced that walking a labyrinth is healing. “Did you by any chance walk any of the labyrinth up there?”
“Yes, we did walk that ancient path.” Anne announced this with pride.
Gloria reported some information they’d gotten, but didn’t fully comprehend. “We were told something about energy channels called ley lines, whatever those are.”
Cyndy reminded everyone that they had considered playing their harps in the labyrinth. “I think we will feel renewed if we walk a section of the labyrinth.”
Mary helped Gloria out.“Yuh, they said that two of these ley lines called St. Michael and Mary are quite opposite. The Michael line is harsh and dark negative energies. However, the Mary line is sweet, full of light and positive.”
Anne remembered an important fact about if those two lines cross healing and balance can take place. “We were instructed to stand in the middle of the steeple.”
Gloria enthusiastically reported that you could actually see where people have stood in that one spot. “There were shoe print indentations in the cement floor. It was amazing.”
Cordelia reconvened her questioning. “So each of you stand within the walls of the steeple? That’s amazing, so the two opposing ley lines cross right at the top? Whoa. I want to get up there. The sooner, the better. ”
Author Notes |
Images of the Tor
Stepless path https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/b/glasonbury-tor-ruins-st-michael-s-church-glastonbury-somerset-united-kingdom-demolished-dissolution-111481643.jpg https://www.dogpile.com/serp?q=The+Tor&sc=fIf58ojMBs7010 A wonderful ley line map. The Michael Line is red and the Mary line is green https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/viewer?mid=1EfTggFzl0UQ1W_Ls45K2Cl_H6eE&hl=en_US&ll=51.34404330404662%2C-2.1097562803420087&z=7 |
By Liz O'Neill
Who they were in the 16th-century
Madeline is the narrator.
Cordelia was the dishwasher and invited her to accompany her to England.
Somara was the bookkeeper for the Monastery.
Cyndy was the shepherd for four sheep.
Jill tended to the hens and chickens & the flower gardens.
Caren was a potter for the monastery in a separate building.
Mary Jo was in charge of the appearance of the chapel.
Karin was a counselor to the distressed brothers, but was exposed and expelled for deceiving authorities.
New characters introduced as women who had descended the stairless path and who they were in the 16th-century:
Mary was Abbot Richard Whiting, the head of the monastery, who was partially hung, tortured, finally killed and buried at the top of the Tor.
Gloria was Brother Roger James who was beaten up when he went to a meeting with the henchmen of King Henry VIII and later was hung to his death on the Tor.
Anne was Brother John Thorne, an assistant to the Abbot who was hung to his death on one side of Abbot Richard, with Brother Roger on the other.
Previously:
Gloria, who had been to the top and had successfully found her way back down with her friends, gave some valuable input. “Just a heads-up, as I said earlier, it is a long way up. It is much more leveled off and safer than using the front stairway, but at least twice as long of a walk.”
The women who had just descended the stairless path and who had been stunned, yet healed to hear their violently tragic end in the 16th-century monastery, were parting ways with our ladies.
“Anne remembered an important fact about if those two lines cross healing and balance can take place. “We were instructed to stand in the middle of the steeple.”
Gloria enthusiastically reported that you could actually see where people have stood in that one spot. “There were shoe print indentations in the cement floor. It was amazing.”
Cordelia reconvened her questioning. “So did each of you stand within the walls of the steeple? That’s amazing, so the two opposing ley lines cross right at the top? Whoa. I want to get there.”
******
I was wanting to sum up matters, so we could get moving on. “Is there anything else we should know?”
The three looked at each other, shrugged and shook their heads in a ‘no’ gesture.
I was sensing a piece of sadness as we prepared to bid ‘adieu’ to probably never see each other again, in this lifetime, anyway. However, possibly and most probably, in another.
Evelyn, our concerned nurse with knowledge beyond ours, came forward. “Hold up a minute. We’ve been standing here for a while, so our hearts have had time to quiet.
“It is a perfect opportunity to check your heart rate. Some of you may already be aware of yours. Do people know how to check your resting heart rate? We are going to be exerting some serious stress on our hearts as we climb that hill.
“If you feel your heart pounding out of your chest, just stop and give it a rest. Make sure you let your walking stick do most of the work. I’ll remind everyone to check their heart rate part way up.”
Everyone began discussing what their resting rate usually was or the new reading. A few of us like Cyndy, Somara and me had 60 beats per minute, because we are consistently physically active.
Somara walks up and down hills and rides a bicycle. Cyndy walks for an hour three times at her work and jogs on her days off. I used to jog however, now I am more apt to slog, slow jog.
We readied our walking sticks as I chin-pointed that we were nearing the entrance to the walking path.
The initial incline was at about a 45 degree angle, so we couldn’t even see the top. We blindly chugged toward the top. The payoff was that it soon leveled out. This was the point Evelyn noted everyone checking their pulse rate.
The knowledgeable nurse said, “If you have doubled your resting rate, you’ve performed some excellent aerobic work. The next looks like a long haul as it levels out, but it will give our hearts some relief as it will require no climbing exertion.”
The tower, hidden by the hills, slowly revealed its entire form after we climbed yet another 45 degree angled hill. Though it meant less walking than the previous one, we were short of breath.
Standing at the top, we felt like Rocky Balboa, sadly, no brass was playing for us.
Still out of breath, Cyndy cheered, “We’re finally up here. Now we can check out the labyrinth.”
Cordelia was catching her breath. “Speaking of the labyrinth, I’m so glad we decided not to schlep our harps all the way up here, it was difficult enough to drag myself up here.”
Observant Caren scoped out two vacant benches. We’d better make a bee-line for those benches. She pointed with her two index fingers in the direction of the empty seats.
We quickly headed toward them. Evelyn opened her mouth widely, quietly yelling in slow motion, “Noooooo.”
We were too late. The empty spots were now occupied. We need to look for another one.
As I looked around, I realized we ascended opposite the stairs. It would have been more reassuring if we’d known this ahead of time, but we wouldn’t know this unless we were up here.
Guess where Cyndy saw one? You guessed it, down a short path and a bit beyond, to the labyrinth.
It looked like we were going to be walking some length of the labyrinth, regardless.
Feeling more rested, Mary Jo said, “It’s coming back to me now, this labyrinth was used for ceremonies.”
Cordelia bitterly asked a good question. “Before or after the lynching of our leaders, and newly met friends, Mary, Anne, and Gloria?”
Mary Jo shrugged sadly as she answered Cordelia’s question. “Probably during and even long before.
Caren, the artist and potter said in a dreamy tone, “Picture it, lights from lanterns and candles, songs and dancing.”
Somara, waving her arms, sang the next auditory imagery. “Then, we hear flutes and harps, and dancing virgins twirling in lovely artistic patterns.”
After we rested, we were actually pumped to walk some of the labyrinth and maybe even dance some of it.
Author Notes |
Schlep is a Yiddish idiom meaning to drag or haul
Rocky Balboa was the main character in the Rocky film series When he ran up q long stairway theme music played. Aerobic exercise, also called �?�¢??cardio,�?�¢?? involves physical activity performed over a prolonged period. This type of exercise helps to improve your heart and lung function, increase circulation, and decrease elevated levels of blood pressure. The remnants of the monastery with the Tor looming in the background https://secure.img1-fg.wfcdn.com/im/12519979/resize-h350%5Ecompr-r85/2878/28787550/Glastonbury+Abbey+With+The+Tor+Beyond+by+George+Arnald+-+Print+on+Canvas.jpg The angle of the part the ladies climbed https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/b/tor-glastonbury-ancient-tower-mystical-properties-31073882.jpg |
By Liz O'Neill
Who they were in the 16th-century
Madeline is the narrator.
Cordelia was the dishwasher and invited her to accompany her to England.
Somara was the bookkeeper for the Monastery.
Cyndy was the shepherd for four sheep.
Jill tended to the hens and chickens & the flower gardens.
Caren was a potter for the monastery in a separate building.
Mary Jo was in charge of the appearance of the chapel.
Karin was a counselor to the distressed brothers, but was exposed and expelled for deceiving authorities.
New characters introduced as women who had descended the stairless path and who they were in the 16th-century:
Mary was Abbot Richard Whiting, the head of the monastery, who was partially hung, tortured, finally killed and buried at the top of the Tor.
Gloria was Brother Roger James who was beaten up when he went to a meeting with the henchmen of King Henry VIII and later was hung to his death on the Tor.
Anne was Brother John Thorne, an assistant to the Abbot who was hung to his death on one side of Abbot Richard, with Brother Roger on the other.
Previously: The ladies have made it to the summit of the Glastonbury Tor. As the ones they were headed for were grabbed by someone else, Cyndy scoped out some unoccupied benches part way down the path of the labyrinth. Cyndy had all along expressed a desire they all walk the labyrinth. It appeared they were going to be doing just this.
**********
As we rose in ceremony from our resting benches, I was compelled to ask a strange question. “Does anyone else hear low volume flutes, or is it my tinnitus. I know I often have varied tones of buzzing in my ears, but this sounds different.
Mary Jo, Caren and Somara simultaneously responded saying, “I thought it was my tinnitus. Yuh, I thought the altitude was affecting my tinnitus, and I thought my stress was agitating mine.”
Evelyn said, “It is faint, but I don’t think it’s your tinnitus. Let’s wait to see if it gets any louder.”
“Good idea. Then it may become clearer.” Cyndy and Karin agreed with Evelyn.
Cyndy suggested we continue walking along the nicely manicured section of the labyrinth.
As the subtle sounds increased in volume, Caren did a few twirls, joined by Cyndy, who was in her glory, finally able to set her dancing feet on the labyrinth path.
Mary Jo stopped, tilted her head, bent lower and said, “Are my eyes deceiving me? There appear to be lights floating below us. No, wait a minute, now they are changing directions, swerving in columns hither and yon like a river.” Her voice increased in pitch as she progressed in her announcement.
Cordelia enthusiastically was experiencing the same vision as Mary Jo. “Oh I see them now. They appear to be ascending through deep tangled grass, areas showing less attention to the upkeep as here.”
“They look like a lovely swarm of lightning bugs, that I might see outside my home on a summer’s eve.” Somara was waxing poetically. She might have chosen a different metaphor for swarm, that sounded more ethereal, but it was off the cuff.
Next, we heard loud explosive sounds echoing, bouncing off the Tor, and through the valley. However, they did seem to be following a pattern and rhythm.
The flutes grew in volume. Had we walked through another portal returning to the 16th-century? It was clearly Renaissance music with Renaissance musical instruments. I dared not mention it to the others. They were probably in their own nightmare of wonder.
The anxiety was growing as we stood there. Cyndy suggested we return to our benches to see what was to ensue. We all agreed and followed her lead. Not much more dancing took place within our hearts nor our footsteps.
It seemed like hours that we sat there, motionless, fixated on the lights approaching from the base of the long hill.
Hearing the harps made us wonder if it had anything to do with the fact we'd all been beheaded in the 16th-century. There has always been a playing of harps after someone was dead, in movies, anyway.
Evelyn was the first to speak. “This is more than eerie. If we didn’t have the same benches we sat on earlier, I would worry we’d gone back into the 16th-century.”
Evelyn had opened the sluice gate. She expressed everyone’s fear, and/or terror. There were mewls from several.
Cordelia expressed her greatest dread. “I do not care to relive even a minute of the 16th-century.”
Karin added her extension. “Or any aspect of medieval times, not one second of it.”
Then I recalled the horrible events in Karin’s life as she lived through the hell doled out to her, as 16th-century Brother Abraham, the one who helped everyone, but in the end was expelled in shame and condemnation.
Cyndy was worried she’d once again be scorned for losing her precious sheep, who she affectionately name Stewy. “She was my responsibility and Abbot Richard never let me forget it.”
In an effort to comfort Cyndy, Karin reminded her of who we had recently discovered the Abbot to be in this lifetime. “I’m sure if you were to talk with Mary, formerly Abbot Richard, that she would absolve you of any wrongdoings.
Caren confessed something that had been smoldering. “I don’t think I could create any more 16th -century pottery after the luxury of the techniques I have become accustomed to in this century.
Another confessant, Mary Jo spoke. “ I also would never want to go back to spend my days attempting to see anything in the clouded darkness of that chapel. It’s a wonder I didn’t lose my eyesight. Although, I could never determine my degree of visual accuity. I never had to. I was like a mole, unlike most of you who got to be out in the fresh air.”
“Any light and fresh air I happened to steal was a teaser." Somara begrudgedly reminded us. “Answering the door and accepting money with the next order for penance to be undertaken for the donor’s intentions, afforded me my snatch of daylight and pure oxygen.”
“I miss my harp soooo much.” Cordelia moaned. “Those catgut harps could hardly be called harps. I don’t ever want to see one, even in a museum. And like you, Madeline, I may have developed an aversion to wet wood. Bwaaa.”
As the smoldering air around us extinguished, I noticed another sound. “Bells! Does anyone else hear bells or has my tinnitus gone into overdrive?”
Evelyn reassured us. “No, those clearly are bells you are hearing.”
“I see heads beginning to appear.” Cyndy pointed in the direction of the chanting, flutes, drums, harps and bells on some kind of rack.
We were wary as one of the dancing maidens motioned for us to join them. The whole thing was too bizarre. We looked at each other, shrugged and rose from our self-established safe space.
The scene was likened to a page torn from a book containing Escher paintings, as we accepted and joined the invitation to become a part of the optical illusion.
As they processed, with us in tow, it occurred to me, as a friend once said, ‘what goes down must come up.’ The procession was headed back down the hill they’d come up.
I wanted to get a communication of cupped ears going. “If we continued to follow, we’ll have to walk all the way back up. We’ve already done that once today.”
The first to hear me was Cyndy. “I’ll pass it along. I hope it doesn’t end up getting messed up as in the game ‘telephone.’ We should head back up toward the steeple.”
I hoped that was everyone’s wish. I know when one of the descended women, Gloria, told of the floor within the steeple having foot indentations where the two opposing Michael and Mary ley lines crossed, Cordelia was very interested.
Observing our group, little by little pulling back and turning about, I was assured our project was a success.
Standing at the entrance of the passageway through the steeple, I got on my proverbial soapbox. “This whole experience from beginning to bitter end has gotten me to reflecting upon Enlightenment. This concept is sometimes accompanied by the phrases, ‘Chop wood, carry water before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water after enlightenment.’
“We don’t change our tasks, lightening our burden from lifetime to lifetime, we change our perceptions. One fact is clear to me, things will continue to become easier.
Such horrors as the Inquisition would no longer be tolerated. Life for us will change, and we will improve and grow closer to reaching enlightenment as we progress from one new lifetime to the next.
Hopefully we will recognize some aspect in each other within various lifetimes. I suggest we each do as the Native Americans have for at least 14,000 years, strengthen and bring the spiral of our lives into balance.
“I am going over, now, to stand where the harsh, dark Michael line and the fluffy, light-filled Mary line cross. With my feet planted firmly, I will bring the harshness I have experienced in my past lifetimes and in this lifetime, into light and balance.”
As I scanned the panorama of greens of hope and browns of conviction, I knew for certain, my life was in balance, and I’d be okay.
THE END OF THE STORY (In this Lifetime)
Author Notes |
A ceremony, possibly like the ones our ladies witnessed:
https://pix.avax.news/avaxnews/a4/9e/00049ea4_medium.jpeg Tinnitus is the perception of sound when no corresponding external sound is present. It may present itself as a ringing, clicking, buzzing, hiss, or roaring etc. Escher paintings are abstract art with people walking on different levels, sometime appearing to be floating. Inside the steeple where people stand to become balanced, where the Mary & Michael lines cross: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/3f/20/1d/3f201ded1ddd78e5b444f989d97c4694.jpg A wonderful ley line map. The Michael Line is red and the Mary line is green. Note where they cross. Move your cursor to zoom in & out. Note the scrambling of the Michael line. No wonder the energy is weird there. Thank the universe for the Mary line. https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/viewer?mid=1EfTggFzl0UQ1W_Ls45K2Cl_H6eE&hl=en_US&ll=51.34404330404662%2C-2.1097562803420087&z=7 |
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