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Stonehenge, November 1998 | ||||||||
Gaian Rants | ||||||||
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I am approaching Stonehenge with my friend, Robin, who insisted that we visit this ancient stone circle. Strange, but visiting Stonehenge wasn’t high on my list of “must dos” for this, my first trip to England. Several years ago it would have been but at this point in time I felt the highlights of the trip would be Glastonbury, theTor, and the Chalice Well. And I continued to believe this even as we drove into the car park and went to get our tickets before approaching the site. If you have never been there, you may be surprised to learn that Stonehenge which sits high on Salisbury Plain, is surrounded by major highways. English Heritage has a long-term plan to restore the site to “its isolated dignity . . . where the public will be able to roam freely over 4,000 acres of Wiltshire downland, safe from car and noise pollution.” This will require relocating a portion of the highway, something that would never happen in this country but hopefully will in England. Imagine — there are people who drive by Stonehenge so often that they no longer notice it, just as (believe it or not) there are people who live here in the White Mountains who are oblivious to the glory of our own sacred place. I feel mild curiosity as Robin and I follow the walkway under the highway to approach the stone circle from the west. (In ancient times people approached from the northeast which aligns with the direction of the midsummer sunrise.) It is a clear day with clouds dancing dramatically across the sky moved by the wind that seems ever-present on the plain. We are not the only tourists, of course, and I am aware of this as we get closer to the ancient monument. Then — there it is. I stop, taking in the huge stones. And before I have a chance to even think about it, my eyes fill with tears. A mix of pain and anguish and joy and gratitude and other emotions I have no name for overwhelms me from a place deep inside. “It’s still here. It’s still here,” I think to myself over and over. I cannot stop the tears as they track down my cheeks. I want to embrace the stones, touch their rough surface, experience physical contact. I yearn to run into the center to the Altar Stone, kneel down before it and remember. . . what? I have no idea. I force myself to resume walking the path around the circle. We are not allowed to approach the stones as the thousands of visitors over the years have caused serious erosion problems, endangering the stones themselves. There are times when this restriction is suspended and I envy the modern-day Druids who hold their ceremonies here by special permission. A young couple asks me to take their picture. Tears blur my vision so I hand the camera to Robin, who complies. I continue walking around the circle and stand facing northeast looking across the circle to what is called the Heel Stone. I imagine I can see faint indentations in the Earth, pathways by which ancient peoples arrived at the site. The tears have eased a bit and I take up the camera I hold and snap a few pictures, hoping to capture some of the magic and awe I feel. I find the shapes of the stones, the shadows they cast, and their rough surfaces marked with faded carvings absolutely fascinating. And while the stones are huge, I am impressed by the tightness of the circle. Yes, some stones are missing and some have fallen, but to call what remains “ruins” is simply not accurate. The stones and the Earth in which they are buried hold memories stretching back eons. There is energy here, power here, immense strength. That is enough for now. I have no answers, only my experience. | ||||||||
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