Some of you have already received this text – my apologies for the duplication. This is its ‘official’ publication….
It was warm and sunny, so Catherine and I decided to eat our lunch outside on the terrace at the Camelot Inn. We had left Bath that morning, had nipped in for a quick visit and a
replenishing of water from the White and Red Springs at the Chalice Well Gardens in Glastonbury, and were in need of replenishing our bodies’ stores as well before once again climbing into Catherine’s van to drive to Tintagel in Cornwall for that evening.
Two men came in and sat at a table near us, bringing with them a palpable air of uneasiness and danger– I was sure they’d arrived on motorcycles, though they didn’t really look like stereotypical bikers. There was an arrogance to their attitude and gestures that made sense when I heard them speaking French de la France. We finished our meal and as we walked past them to leave, I said “Bonne route” with the distinct feeling that we had been supposed to connect.
We had with us these two swords of Catherine’s – real ones, Toledo steel and all – one representing the masculine principle and the other, the feminine. They had at one time been bound together, then separated; we knew somehow that they needed to be joined again in ceremony and that the place to do this was Tintagel, so away we were….
Arriving later than we had hoped and expecting our first destination – “King Arthur’s Great Halls” – to be closed, it was a pleasant surprise to be welcomed in by Roger, the guardian of
the space and long-time friend of Catherine’s. The Halls were created from 1927 -1933 by a wealthy man named Glasscock who believed that a revival of the Code of Chivalry could put an end to war. He founded the Order of the Fellowship of the Knights of the Round Table of King Arthur in order to implement this, with the Halls as its home – a beautiful and impressive structure of different colours of Cornwall granite constructed as an ante-room and a passageway, lit with stained glass windows depicting the shields and stories of the original Knights of King Arthur, surrounding a central Great Hall. More windows in the Great Hall, created by Veronica Whall and considered by some the most exquisite stained glass in the world, symbolically portray the steps to becoming a Knight. Paintings representing the legend of King Arthur decorate the anteroom. By the time Mr. Glasscock died, the Fellowship is reputed to have had up to 75,000 members, but after his death it lost its impetus. In the 1950’s the Halls became the
property of a Masonic order and in the 1990s the building was reopened to the public and the Fellowship renewed, though with somewhat commercial overtones.
A series of improbable confluences occurred for us at this point. We had serendipitously arrived on the evening before the annual meeting of the Fellowship of the Knights of the Round Table – preparations were being made for the event, which was why Roger was still there.
The two men who were assuming leadership of the Fellowship (with the intention of returning it to its former dignity of purpose) were present and graciously accepted that we do our sword-binding ceremony in the Hall the next morning, understanding that this could help set the energies for their own ceremonies and festivities later in the day. One of them, Roland “Roly” Rotherham, a distinguished gentleman of military bearing and a great moustache, dressed all in black with a kilt and an academic accent, enthused about the next day’s event and began listing some of the people who would be attending. Among them were notably a friend of mine with whom I had left some baggage that I needed to recover (contacting him, he was able to bring it down with him and solve my dilemma!) and two journalists from Le Figaro who we knew were the fellows we had seen en route to Tintagel.
The next morning at breakfast, we discovered that the français were staying in the same hotel as we – Camelot Castle, a decidedly unique place in a spectacular setting on the cliffs overlooking the sea and the ruins of a castle said to be where Arthur was conceived. A rocky
promontory shaped in the face of a man – Merlin, to Catherine – hovers above Merlin’s Cave; we were mightily pleased to have a room that overlooked it all….
When we arrived to do our ceremony in the Great Hall, the three men who had greeted us the evening before were again present. Black-kilted Roly asked if there was any way he could be of service, so I placed the two swords across his outstretched arms and he brought them with heart-rending dignity and ceremony into the Hall, placing them on the immense round granite table that stands before the “throne” at the upper end of the room.
As the three men witnessed from the far end of the Hall, Catherine and I performed ceremony with her golden crystal bowl that resonates in harmony with the Higher Heart frequency (F#), and my buffalo drum sounding the Earth’s heartbeat. We prayed and bound
the two swords together with brightly-coloured cloth and ribbons, hilt to tip. To the left and above the throne is the last stained glass window of the series illustrating the steps in the development of a Knight : an image of a heart with the inscription, “Love is the fulfilling of the Law”. A ray of sunlight pierced the heart as we ended the ceremony and landed directly on the bound swords – another moment of miracle among many.
We were in tears and the men who we had been honoured to have as our witnesses were also visibly touched. Hearing the scuttle of feet and shifting furniture outside the Hall that announced the caterers’ arrival, we packed our things and were almost ready to leave when Roly’s cell phone rang. He answered, saying that he had just witnessed a moving ceremony and that he was going to pass the phone to “Dawn from Canada” who would explain what it was all about. My mind not the least bit engaged, I spoke of the perfection of performing ceremony in this Hall that had been built with the intention of creating peace in the world, as the symbolism of our ritual was of passing from duality to Oneness. At one point, the woman to whom I was speaking said in a tone that shook me a bit with its sarcasm, “So, now that you have bound together the male and female principles with these swords, we will all live happily ever after?” “Well”, I replied, “this is obviously a work in progress, but as each one of us walks consciously on the planet, imbuing as best we can each word and gesture with Spirit, we are bringing together Spirit and Matter…Heaven and Earth. This is something we are able to do and therefore it is our responsibility to do it; actually, I believe that this is the fullest and highest destiny of humanity – to create Oneness from duality on the Earth.” There was a deep silence on the other end of the line, then the woman thanked me and I passed the phone back to Roly. He covered the speaker for a second and said in a stage whisper, “You’ve just spoken to 2.5 million people on BBC Live!”
That evening, I was wrapping up some internet work in the lobby of the hotel when the French journalists came in with a few British people after the Fellowship event. I was invited to come and have a drink with them, as I would also be able to translate when needed. The Brits retired quite early so I was left in conversation until the wee hours with the two Frenchmen. It turned out that they were war correspondents who had spent the past 20 years of their lives covering the world’s conflict zones. Jean-Louis, the writer, had snagged this great contract to do a series of articles on the founding myths of western civilization for Figaro magazine and got his old friend Noël to join him to do the photography. They explained that they had thought perhaps they would find some dignity, chivalry and sense in the legends at the root of their civilization – they were instead devastated to find only more lies, betrayals and bloodshed. They told me that during their decades in war zones, they had never had nightmares – now, they had them every night.
In conflict areas, people were real – it was hard being in “peaceful” cities and having to deal with the pettiness, the waste, the consumerism and the hypocrisy of daily existence. They did not want to return to war and danger, but they felt they had become “unfit” for “normal” society. These men touched me so deeply….”Why?” they were asking…”Why are human beings this way? I invited them to participate in the ceremony that Catherine and I were going to do the next morning….
Jean-Louis did join us at first as we began our sound and prayers on the cliffside after breakfast, but then he disappeared…As we continued working, we were startled to hear a
tinkling sound that seemed to come from a point directly between us. We looked around and Catherine spotted Noël at the very top of Camelot Castle, joining us by sounding chimes. This filled us with much joy….
When done, we packed up our things and walked up into the sea-grass labyrinth in front of the castle that is called the Waves of Peace. As we made our way to the centre, Noël joined us from the hotel and we heard Jean-Louis calling to us from down the slope to wait for him.
The four of us stood in the centre of the Waves of Peace as we once again did a sound ceremony for peace and balance. There were so many aspects of duality coming together symbolically and physically in that spot – we were again awe-struck at the invisible orchestration that had made it possible.
They wanted to know what tradition we were following – were we pagan? I explained that we are part of a steadily growing group of people who are simply listening as carefully as we are able to our inner voices – to that part of ourselves that resonates with the Oneness that some call God – and being guided to travel to specific places on the planet to clear past imprints of dissonance and to anchor Love into the Earth. Catherine showed them photographs of crop circles and spoke of how we are receiving help from other dimensions of being as well. The connection we had was deep and shining….As we said our adieux in the parking lot of the hotel, we felt that something important had just transpired.
Catherine and I set off next for St.Nectan’s Glen, to an ancient site of initiation that is reached by walking some distance through the rejuvenating green of the Glen, up to the cave
where St.Nectan lived his solitary life, then down to a natural circular pool that is energized by water falling from 60 feet above, splashing into the pool after passing through a perfect ring of stone….
As we got closer to the place of initiation, I became agitated and dizzy, feeling myself slip into an altered state. I waded into the pool and fell to my knees. An image came that I have experienced several times in the past years: a lighted hilltop is surrounded by destroyed cities, burned fields – a sense of devastation and darkness. Warriors from all ages of human history make their way slowly and painfully to the summit where, as they stand in a circle, their tattered rags and battered armour falls away; they stand tall and become beings of Light. (As I write these words, the sun has broken through a thick layer of fog and comes streaming through the window…)
I felt the spirits of the 2 journalists move through my body, dive into the water and come up splashing under the waterfall. I felt the water wash away the horrors they had lived and witnessed as they played like children – their innocence restored. Grateful, and thinking that this was why I had been called to this spot, I prepared to rise but was unable to move. Then the Others came – wave upon wave of them. I felt the spirits of warriors pass through me – those who had fallen in battle, from the First People protecting their lands everywhere around the planet, to the millions who died in the two World Wars, in Vietnam, in Cambodia, in Sudan, in Rwanda…I have no idea how long I was there – it felt like hours. Then the words came very clearly: “This is what Yeshua did in the time between his crucifixion and
resurrection.” My mind immediately bolted. “Whoooooa – wait just a minute! This is Ego talking …”
At that instant, Catherine, who had been sounding her golden bowl to hold the highest frequencies for the work, placed a stone in my hand. It was in the shape of a heart, and iron deposits that had been accentuated by the water made it look as though it were bleeding. I collapsed into the work once more. When I felt the energy had passed, I asked for confirmation that the two journalists had indeed felt or received in some way what I had seen happen. Dragging myself to my feet, I turned to leave the pool – and saw them, in flesh and blood, coming down the stone steps toward us. As I collapsed once again, a fresh wave of souls washed through me – this time, women and children who had died violently through the ages. The two men were perhaps a bit embarrassed – Noël proceeded to photograph the waterfall and Jean-Louis sat at the foot of the steps a distance away. I went once again to the water to make an offering and give thanks, then Catherine helped me gather myself and leave. As we passed Jean-Louis I said “I’ve cried at least some of your tears…”
Stumbling slowly back through the Glen, I had the feeling that this had been the culmination of my whole existence. Turning back to say a final word of thanks and farewell as we crossed the threshold of the forest, I saw a line of brown-robed monks standing silently across the path. They bowed to us, then disappeared. I later read that visitors often have glimpses of the spirits of monks in St.Nectan’s Glen – I carry their image in my heart with fullness and