Up the road in Dorstone is a megalithic tomb named Arthurs Stone, which feels like our very own mini Pride Rock. Stood aloft, facing the rolling hills where many a spear head has been recovered, I felt back in time to acknowledge the important gatherings held at this inconspicuous resting place.
The plan was to scale the Begwyns, lean into the wind and drum wildly with the free-roaming horses, to be left alone, to enjoy the impressive view. But instead I gave way to spirit’s incessant signalling and revisited this ancient arrangement of rocks.
On the steep drive up I passed a couple of friends, one being a canine who i used to train, just as they were crossing my mind. It was a joyous and brief handbreak-reliant chat before continuing the ascent, enough to lift my perspective of what might be in store. Jo did tell me the place was empty so of course, I was really happy about that.
Before stepping beyond the wooden boundary I asked the spirits of this place for their permission to enter and I did so through the originally intended walkway. The sun was already strong and the invite to climb on top of the stones felt stronger still. With a soft belly, long spine and arms outstretched I outpoured my gratitude with a song, setting a tone for my visit. I wanted a soft day. Then a car pulled up and immediately that familiar shyness crept over me.
‘No’, I said to myself aloud, ‘I'm not standing in my way any more’.
So I smiled and welcomed the visitor to join me. Turns out this elder is an archeologist, a northerner (as are my ancestors) and psychic too, so we had a lot to talk about. A full hour had passed and I was alone with the animals once again. Now it was time for the next stage, a purpose for which I had a better understanding for being there.
Crouching underneath the reassuringly steadfast stone roof and listening into the shadows, my eyes fell upon a single crow feather. Only recently have I connected consciously to this being as an ally, when my ancestral guide surprised me with two gifts, one being a flock of Crow, Raven and Blackbird for my right palm and in the left, a blue electrical ball. So new am I to these tools that I don’t yet know their full potential and I feel this is a good thing.
When I am adjusting energies of a place and increasingly uncomfortable tension overcomes me, I call to and invite in Source, the original creator, God as the seed of all truth and Love, they who are beyond religion and the duality of good or bad, they who birth and dissolve in constant cycle. I once called upon Angels and higher beings before I experienced clarity over their potential to reflect Love as the moon does the sun’s light, without neccassarily being of truth and holding us in Love. I learnt a long time ago that no holy man was needed for me to access divinity, we are manifestations of God, the vessel for that Love to be expressed, not simply mirrored.
Before I understood that celestial beings (ancient races, dimensional entities, aliens etc) don’t carry the same intention for humanity I would turn to a being named Archangel Michael for support. Even before I believed in Angels I met ‘him’ in a cafe in Bristol! Sounds utterly bonkers but one day I was in floods of tears, explaining to a group of older friends how I’d been psychically attacked. I demonstrated how I beckoned for his help and at that a towering figure, foreboding, no-nonsense, masculine, stable and ever-ready presence emanated behind me. I gasped and spun around expecting to find a huge man standing in my space, but the floor was empty. Looking down to the seated elders, smiling at my shocked and questioning expression, they nodded and confirmed, ‘yes, it is.’ I’ve been blessed with far-out friends who channel angels and other beings so this was an easy day for them but for me I struggled to wrap my head around it. I did so for many years even while calling on him to win psychic battles. Only after writing this article had I been shown that AM is no longer the original being referred to by that name, that this code has been hijacked, and upon revisiting all interactions I realised they never helped but watched. My battle was never there's. So I had been slaying demons alone all this time, which was terrifying to realise but has since strengthened me.
Not having any books or articles to turn to for answers to the many reality-stretching extraordinary encounters I’ve faced, I’ve been more flexible and open to the possibilities of what spirit shows me. So these inky black feathered birds that fly from my body out of my palm, I see how they release me and others from attachments (limiting beliefs or entities) as I assist transitions.
I thought I was instructing these birds, and that their help totally relied upon me remembering to visualise them. However, I am starting to recognise they have their own consciousness and once I permit them to take action they do so with such a force, energy rushing and pulsing through me with detailed visions of their flight, the sensation is akin to the near reach of climax.
I’m so used to outsourcing help to deal with difficult psychic tasks but my guide, ‘old father’, now (quite annoyingly) signals to me to ‘step up’, to make use of what I have, to engage these tools that seem to also be a part of me/my energy field, who clearly have greater awareness than my conscious human mind does, and our collaboration as kin has already strengthened my sense of embodiment and safety when communing with spirit, which can be quite dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.
So even if i forget, or feel hesitant, my guide reminds me I am capable and when I feel lazy he does the same to ensure I practise and learn how valuable these gifts truly are. He will not allow me to outsource and that’s the sort of guidance I respect.
This feather, an easily-missed little message in the belly of this stone cave, assured me I wouldn’t be undertaking this spiritual task ‘alone’. I thought, ok, maybe this is going to be a big one, so with eyes closed I called the black feathered friends with my heart and in timely response a loud Caw rang out from the nearby tree, making me jump and laugh into a lighter sense of space.
The stones sang through me, and stories came to mind. Flickers of moving pictures in sepia with passings smells of earthy perfume and open fires. I asked if any spirit here wanted to leave and why they hadn't. A sorrow-laden voice said, 'gestation'.
The energy wasn't heavy at Arthur's Stone, even though a fair few spirits were releasing their stories and returning to source over the next hour. I think perhaps a mixture of her grief and my limited capacity to receive her meant the details weren't all that clear. So I practised with her, reassuringly guiding this one through the cobwebs of old beliefs and painful longings, onwards to another existence. The air felt as peaceful as it always does but when she witnessed herself through my eyes, softened to the touch of the creators Love, which courses through me when I allow it, the weighty sorrow fell away and she took that step.
I can't be sure that she fully left so I will revisit but I spent the next hour in joy, dancing around singing, soaking up the stillness and smiling at my allies, the birds who always show up exactly when I need them. And true to the word, as I typed this a blackbird, not a regular to my garden, flew into the tree outside my window and watched me until I figured something else out about our union - I do love their patient persistence.
Layne Arlina