You will be already familiar with nature spirits from illustrations of tiny fairies and pixies sitting on toadstools and mushrooms. You may not have realised, though, that there is a hidden message in these works of art. It is a metaphor for our true Elders, the Underlords and the Overlords of the green mantle of this Earth, who are known to us merely as fungi.
It’s amazing how we take fungi for granted, given its absolute power in the land. Every single animal and insect on the planet, including mankind, comes originally from fungi, from which we began to separate about 650 million years ago.
Down here in Somerset, many of the birds are pairing and nesting, while the creamy curds of the May blossoms are already out on the boughs on the faery thorns. People are happily chirping away about the joys of an early Spring. However, that the season should be “early” is no random coincidence. If the Church was still in tune with the natural rhythm of the Land, as were the earlier Celtic monks, they would know that true Easter (named after the Saxon goddess, Oestre) should be next week because this season of celebrating fertility has always been on the first Full Moon after the Spring Equinox, which is around 1.00 am GMT on March 21st, this year.
We are all familiar now with the famous Tunnel from those who come back from the Realms of the Dead and recount their near death experiences. But another common factor in these accounts, and yet one that is little reported, is the overwhelmingly ecstatic feeling of love that surrounds them during their brief sojourn to the Other Side. And far from them coming under the harsh judgement of a Jehovah-type God who sternly weighs their “sins” in the balance, there is only a gentle self-assessment, which is often kindly supported by their ancestral spirits, that informs their view about whether or not it would be the wisest course to return into an often broken, and thus painful, human form, because their “appointments” on that rung of The Ladder of the Wise had not yet been met.
Many who return to This Side find that their new realisations cause their life to change, and they take up new interests – and sometimes new trainings and new professions – in order to better align themselves with their life’s purpose. This is all to the good. However, it is a little-known fact that one can reach the Other Side without going through the death experience, and it is by following a technique I call the Ecstasy of the Heart.
The magic of the Sovereignty of the Land has long been hidden from us by many means, screens and schemes, and one way of preventing us from dis-covering it has been to change the meaning of words. For instance, let us consider the word ‘history’. ‘History’ actually comes from the 12th century Norman ‘histoire’, which in that language meant ‘story’. Thus, when discussing ancient ‘histoires’ we are dealing with a story that may or may not be true. However, it doesn’t matter for our magical purposes because, as I always say, the only difference between mythology and history is that myths are true, by which I mean that “history” is usually written by the victors who are bound to put a spin on their recorded events, but “mythology” contains deep and eternal truths that always remain true.
And so by engaging with what we believe to be history is, in effect, entering cognitively into the fabric that made up the consensual reality of our ancestors, and no matter how much the transcribers and translaters have, over time, taken that fabric, and cut and tailored it into different suits, jackets and dresses, the mythological truth still remains evident, in the weave, to those who have the eyes to see it. Continue reading
Stories are what makes the world go round; we all live on the stories that we’ve been told and the stories we’re being told. We couldn’t get up in the morning unless there was a narrative to show us the way, so much so that we can get quite upset when someone tells us a different story that doesn’t chime with “our own”. I put “our own” in inverted commas, because unless it comes from our shamanic ancestors, it is rarely actually “our own”. But Nature abhors a vacuum, and so in the absence of our own sagas, we will hungrily grab hold of any tall tale we’re given.
The further back in time we go, the more wisdom the stories, which our ancestors wrote in the stars, contain. That’s why I dig and dig and dig, looking for the indigenous teachings of those ancient ones whose Rivers of Blood run through our veins in the Bright World Above, and through the dark caverns of the Land Below in which those who came before us are buried, often in the very spot where they fell fighting to defend this sacred soil for future generations. Continue reading
When she was just a young girl, my mother was the first to get to her dead father who had died of a heart attack in the outside loo, and had fallen against the door. Mum was the only one small enough to be able to crawl under the door and then, with her little arms, pull the dead weight of his body back so that the others could get to him. Shortly after that, she and her elder brother were outside chopping wood for the fire, and he accidentally managed to slice off the top of her index finger.
Insult was added to these traumatic injuries by the fact that her mother, my grandmother, was the sort who favoured and promoted the interests of her male offspring over her one daughter, who she would continually put down. Continue reading
If I was asked to describe, in just seven words, what you’ll learn to do from my new book, Stories in the Stars, it’s this:
How to reincarnate into your own life
Why is that?
It’s because ancient myths are actually the vessels or arks of our ancestors sailing the seas of Time and containing, deep in their submarinal holds, precious messages about our innate holographic relationship to eternal astrological and alchemical cycles which drive each of us along our life’s path.
Over thousands of years, these orally-transmitted wisdom teaching stories have been twisted and bastardised into fake histories in order to serve various and changing political imperatives. And they have been concertinaed, truncated and dumbed-down to satisfy the appetites of light entertainment through the shifting narratives, over time, of the mytho-industrial complex.
I’m a sort of story archaeologist who digs up the originals of these epic tales that were drawn in the glittering night skies of the last Ice Age. I brush them off and then break down their meanings in the simplest of terms, so that we can unlock the doors of our perception with their metaphorical keys.
Once we understand the substance of the messages our ancestors left for us thousands of years ago, we realise the value and meaning of human life, and finally know what to do with it.