Hello, I’m Annie Dieu-Le-Veut, a former journalist and mythologist, but now a shaman and dowser of songlines who traces the original wisdom teachings of ancient myths and then breaks down their hidden meanings to throw open the doors of perception.
I first came to Avalon almost 50 years ago, along the secret Green Road of the Soul, the “Mystic Way that leads through the Hidden Door into a land known only to the eye of vision”, as the 20th century mystic, Dion Fortune, described it.
I entered that portal through the first ever Glastonbury Festival of music at Worthy Farm, which has since become famous all over the world, although it was a much smaller and deeply spiritual gathering back then.
Afterwards, we set up camp on the grass verges of Cinnamon Lane that winds around the foot of Glastonbury Tor.
I was lucky enough to meet people there who thought like me, who were digging down into our spiritual roots, into our ancestors’ understanding about the spirits of the land – known locally as the Fae or faeries – and learning about how a relationship with them was pivotal to spiritual growth.
I eventually returned to Canterbury in Kent, where the night-illumined cathedral filled my bedroom window in a house I shared with some art students. And I got on with my life, which involved, eventually, becoming a mother, and then a writer.
Through my work as an alternative health journalist for national newspapers, I travelled all around the world in search of ancient medicinal therapies and techniques. This enabled me to learn a vast amount of esoteric lore from a variety of guides, gurus, swamis and shamans who all helped me, over many decades, to develop in my spiritual evolution around the Wheel of Life.
And the more I listened to the stories of different exotic, indigenous cultures, that were preserved in their sacred lore, the more I realised that they were all telling one story, albeit with diverse local flavours. However, it took me many years to discover there was an equally valuable treasure hidden in our own land.
There’s no place like home
In 2010, I was suddenly and unexpectedly pulled back to Glastonbury – like Dorothy and Toto in a tornado. Now in my late middle age, I was still a fairly rookie shaman. Nevertheless, the Fae came into my visioning and asked me to do a shamanic soul retrieval for the land around the town, and I carried it out on the Winter Solstice.
Since then, I’ve realised that so much of what presents itself as “spiritual” completely misses the point. It’s about the land. It’s always been about the land. It’s about being in love with land.
When we try to tell the story of our great love for our homeland – whether through words, music, paintings or dance – the land replies by coming into our dreams and visions with the stories of our ancestors whose ashes fertilise the soil beneath us. Then what we learn from these Mystery teachings helps us in our spiritual development by sparking our growth towards enlightenment and wisdom.
But you may be wondering why the ancient wisdom found in our ancestors’ stories is so important for us to learn about today?
Well, we’ve all had our cognitive processes carved into shape by the tales that we’ve been told. Stories are what make the world go round. We live and breathe according to the weave of the narrative that we’ve received from birth, so much so, that we’d find it difficult to leave our beds in the mornings unless there is an Ariandne-like red, winding yarn to show us the way through the labyrinth of our day.
As Shelley once said: “Poets are the secret legislators of the world.”
This is why we become attached to our own stories and can get quite upset when someone tells us another that doesn’t chime with “our own”. I put “our own” in inverted commas, because unless it’s one which can be traced back to the mythological seedbed of our own early ancestors, which they wrote in the stars, it is rarely actually “our own”. However, Nature abhors a vacuum, and so in the absence of the sagas from our own forebears to guide us along our life’s path, we tend, like a sleep walker stumbling along a landing, to grab hold of the rope railings of any tall tale we’re given.
The further back in time we go, though, the more wisdom that the metaphorical myths contain. That’s why I dig and dig and dig, looking for the cosmological teachings of the ancestors whose Rivers of Blood run through our veins in the Bright World Above, and through the dark caverns of the Land Below in which they are buried, often in the very spot where they fell fighting to defend the sacred soil for future generations.
Our Rivers of Blood have run through this Blessed Land of the British Isles for at least six thousand years, due to the efforts of innumerable generations who worked with the spirits of the land in protecting our Sovereignty by “bringing the stars down to the Earth”. They were not altruistic; they were acting in their own enlightened self-interest, because they understood the importance of the family line thriving into the future.
Through all this I have come to realise that the more a society comes away from the stories of its shamans, the more it can be persuaded to the point of bullying to act in the interests of pathological altruism, rather than in its own enlightened self-interest. This is how our enemies weaken us, making us much more susceptible to fall to those who have no scruples at all about in acting in their own enlightened self-interest and Nature will favour them, because they are more intelligent than us in the matter of survival.
We can see this throughout history – how many indigenous tribes have been moved off their traditional lands in the last few centuries? It is not because they are or were wiser than us. It is because they lost touch with their roots, with their ancestral spirits in their own soil, and were persuaded to adopt foreign stories that their enemies gave them.
I believe that the same will happen here in Britain unless we bring back our own stories that run through our own Rivers of Blood and Soil, and start to teach them to our children again.