The White Spring Temple: Part II

Linda, the newly ensconced volunteer coordinator, turned out to be both fabulously loony and fabulously sincere about the White Spring Temple. She has been volunteering there for about a decade and has an infectious laugh and exuberant spirit that feeds an energetic being that is perfect for the task.  I spent a day with her going through her gauntlet to see if I was okay to be a volunteer. While I’m not able to climb to get to all the candle lighting, I did my share. Linda is so familiar with all of the walls, turns, corners, and protrusions that she can place and light candles in some very precarious places. I talked to people coming in and all of the other components of the job. So, I passed. From there on, I’m considered a space-keeper. I feel more confident to be in a pair, but there really should be a pair to keep watch over all. And I still am, each time I return.

The building stands on Wellhouse Lane at the foot of the grazing pastures that slope up to the Tor. The building itself is Victorian. Built in 1872 as a reservoir for the town, it provided the drinking/running water for about 30 years.  After decommissioning, the building was used and not used for about 80 years before becoming first shops and a café, the wiring from the 1980s-90s is still visible if no longer live, and then in 2004 it came into new ownership and the White Spring Trust was established for safer keeping. The Temple was consecrated in 2005. www.whitespring.org.uk

The White Spring’s history, however, runs forever alongside its sister, the red spring, aka Chalice Well, both of which emanate from the Tor. I will write about the Chalice Well and Gardens in the future.

 

 

The Tor is a teardrop shaped hill oriented similarly the temple building. Actually, it looks more like the infinity sign   ∞ and looms large in the landscape and can be seen – no, Demands to be seen – from almost anywhere in Glastonbury and for miles and miles around it. I’ve seen it from Street, Wells, Meare, Godney etc. When driving, there are certain vantage points that allow viewing all the way to Wookey. The valleys – called the Somerset Levels – were watery marshes from the Paleolithic. No doubt deep ruts from the retreat of glaciers 12K years ago.

Glastonbury Tor from the NW side

I struggle to put into mere words what I have felt, what I have seen others experience, and what the White Spring Temple means to the people who volunteer there. My own sweet friend Ali does some volunteering, too. But she’s had so much death and despair in the last 3 years, she herself is worn out.

The best new friend who has come into my life because of the White Spring Temple is Jude. Soul sisters from the start, once again. Jude is aired. She lived in Glastonbury when we met last year, but she has recently moved out to Woolavington. She walks at Huntspill River Preserve in the Levels amongst the willows and wildlife. I have an open invitation to stay with her, which I will do on my next trip!

In 2015, she was living in a little row house across the street from a very old town cemetery where Dion Fortune is buried. I’ll not tell the tale of Dion. So much has been written and she wrote so much, it has to be left to the reader to delve into that. I will say that fortune’s legacy and impact on Glastonbury is still being felt some 60-odd years after her passing. http://www.servantsofthelight.org/about-sol/biographies/dion-fortune/  If you walk through the cemetery and on beyond Windmill Hill you come, once again to the Tor. In 2015, Jude reported through Facebook that she and her wonderful Zanaka Moon dog climbed it over 100 times. Very astounding to me.  Even after moving 12 miles away, they managed to climb the Tor 60+ times in 2016!

     Now, Zanaka aka Zsa is a most magnificent animal. She does get into dog scrapes often, though. In early Dec. 2015, just after lid met Jude, she got bitten pretty badly. Jude needed a dog-sitter, so I went and sat with the wounded Zsa. Good thing I did too. Her daughter and grandson came in just after Jude had gone on her errands and l ‘m afraid if I hadn’t been there that Zsa would have been accosted by the very lively child!

     That first day I met Jude at the White Spring Temple, I was still trying to find out how to get into the volunteer corps and I went to just sit and feel, watch the place. There are almost always  nude bathers in the afternoon – no matter the outside temp and no matter that the water is about 45-50˚ in the pools. I dunk my head sometimes and get all my hair wet. It feels so wonderfully refreshing. In 2015, I did that even on Solstice. But I get ahead of myself.

One particular fellow comes every time the door is open. I don’t know his name, but we’ve seen each other on the High St. where we nod in recognition, without going into any detail, Jude told me that he is as veteran from the Iraq war. He plunges into the deep pool and then gets into the middle of the round pool and meditates with the candles sometimes 5 minutes, sometimes ½ hour or more. Jude suggests that the waters are what keeps PTSD at bay. I can certainly see that, May the white waters keep working for all who come to them!

Inside the White Spring Temple, Jude is the picture of quiet stewardship. She is never loud and allows each person or group space and time to do what they come in for. Many tourists, especially in the warm-months, happen upon the White Spring Temple as they are going to walk up or after they’ve come down the Tor. So many people have never heard of the White Spring Temple. Or the White Spring waters, for that matter.

Jude also has a glorious voice. She sings in a choir (Wells?) with some other folks associated with the White Spring Temple. Perhaps Linda. I think that’s the reason for our conversation in the first place. I was singing my prayer and she remarked on it; or, she was singing hers and I remarked on it. Either way we chatted and walked to all of the altars doing so. We ended up at the Mary / Black Madonna altar and I gave her my prayer, the Creah. That prayer has surely made it around the world by now.

      I met several lovely people at White Spring Temple during 2015. I went as many Monday afternoons as I could and some Fridays to co-volunteer either with Linda or Jude. It seems like every time I went one or two people seemed to hone in on me and me to them. One woman from Italy, never having heard of the white spring, came in because she heard singing from the road aside.

When I explained that no one was actually singing, she became very excited. She knew what she heard; I’ve heard voices singing when no humans were around too.

She ended up spending the rest of the afternoon in the White Spring Temple over in the deep pool area with tuning forks and a recorder. The sound of the rushing water, so ever-present, is relaxing, invigorating, liberating all at once. When she left, she said ”This is the best place in all of Glastonbury!” I had to agree.

As the weeks flew by, I felt more and more at home with all of the regulars at White Spring Temple and with the space itself. During my 2015 stay, the water inside got deeper and deeper until on the left third it came to nearly calf-height. Those wellies and Warm boot socks were a great investment!

The final time I was at the White Spring Temple in 2015 was on Winter Solstice. There were singers and extra candles burning so the place really lit up. The acoustics are magnificent and the songs like, ” The Holly & the Ivy”, produced an especially rare and magickal aura. You could really feel the sun coming back. Out in the courtyard, a brazier was burning briskly and several people gathered around, a number of Goddess-womyn showed up on that day and I got to say goodbye, well, TTFN – Tata For Now – to those lovelies. It was the best holiday time I’d had in years. There’s much more to my Winter Solstice 2015 story, but…TTFN!

The White Spring Temple. Part I: Samhain

While I have said this before, the white spring and what has become the temple surrounding it, is the key to my magickal experience in Glastonbury.

From the first day I encountered it in 2011 with Margaret, Claire, and Ali, it has been the object of and central to meaning in Avalon.

In October 2015, during my fieldwork, I finally got in touch with the right people to Volunteer as a space-holder for the open times when the public is allowed free access. As much as- any church or temple or mosque, this place in free and open to all. The world being what it is, though, someone, preferably some-two are there to guide, direct, keep the Candles lit, keep mischief to a minimum when parents bring kids in and try to keep photography to a minimum. Photos do happen though, for which I am guiltily grateful. So I can gaze at someone’s photo from the web as I write.

On Samhain 2015, I saw an open Invitation in the local monthly “all things spiritual” journal, The Oracle, for a ritual at White Spring Temple. The holiday was celebrated, in this instance, on November 7, 2015. About 15 people ended up gathering. It ran on GT [Glastonbury Time] and the priestess who was running the ritual turned up about half an hour late. (Procuring the Key troubles). I was about to give up, but more folks arrived and so I waited. The experience was well worth the wait!

Once the priestess opened the main gate, she and two younger womyn who were obviously her assistants, began the long process of lighting candles and getting the space lit up and set up of ritual. I hung back and didn’t do anything but watch. I’d been at White Spring Temple when it was all ready for the public, but not from the get-go. It is amazing to watch the inside of the building go from pitch dark to enlightened. I would later learn that it takes about 50 candles of all different types to make that light every time the White Spring Temple is open.

It was quite cold and rainy outside, but with the candles ablaze and 15 folks adding warmth, the temperature became quite comfortable in just a little while. We were asked to introduce ourselves around the circle. I think I was the only American and they were quite impressed that I’d found the ritual. I also don’t remember if the brazier was set up and tended on the outside court. Seems like it was.

2015 saw White Spring Temple with a substantial flooding problem. Every time I went, I got soaked past the ankles.  I finally went and bought my own wellies so I could stay dry.  For Samhain though, I got wet. Gloriously wet. The wonky knee doesn’t like it, but, we persevered.

There was a circle. And we each got a piece of wheat for the ritual and to take home. There was singing and chanting and drumming. The leader (priestess) then spun a meditation that took us into the world of Gwyn Ap Nudd – the faery king – deep within the Tor, where, it is said, there is an entrance to the world of faery. This meditation kept us entranced there while she beat a peculiar rhythm on the drum. I cannot recall the cadence as it was both mesmerizing and calming and otherworldly all at once.

In no time at all, I went to a deep chamber where the candlelight was only around the edges of my sight. The center was a tunnel of fog, mist if you will, that swirled and beckoned and begged- ‘stay!’ The ubiquitous rush of the water from the spring receded, quieted, became as subtle as honeybee wings. There was no voice, no discernible sound save the beating of the ancestress’s drum. Even that sounded far away and muffled. I felt transported to that otherworld.

I sat there in that state long after the others were back and chatting. I would not have been too shocked to find we’d lost hours of time.  But, it was 30-45 minutes that the priestess drummed and we were transported.  It seemed like moments. There are numerous tales about what lies beneath the Tor. The White Spring Temple is as close as I have come to it. Is there a Chamber? A maze of warrens too small for human folk? Science says’ no.’ Flat, just like that. Just piles of rock. Layers of rock. But, do those folks know everything? I think not. So current instrumentation tells them there is just rock. But, how can so many non-scientists be completely wrong?  Or are those warrens simply in the mind of the seeker? That’s a question for the future.

In that deep corner where the water wishes from the spring into the structure, beyond the bubbling spring on top (which I really want to touch) It makes its way through an underground maze… And has done since the last ice age! From whence all our stories come. I left that evening with an even more determined wish to Volunteer. By End of month, I would be.

[Note: Aside, there was a lot of upheaval in the Volunteer corps (care) at that point. People who had ‘run’ things for a decade, were stepping down and others (Linda) were stepping up. So it was a bit difficult at first to find the right people (person) to get the okay from.]

Read this article from Indian Country Today, the preeminent newspaper of the combined indigenous nations of America.

http://indiancountrytodaymedianetwork.com/2012/12/20/apocalypse-prophecies-native-end-world-teachings-146476

While this was written in 2012 in the middle of the Mayan end of days hyper-ecstatic craze that swept the New Age spiritual world, it is still a potent reminder of the pain and agony, and of the hopefulness of a world of tribal societies that Europeans cum Americans attempted to annihilate in the name of “Manifest Destiny” and some ethnocentric “right of being” brought to the so-called New World by Christianity gone aggressive armies. Apocalyptic visions are hardly the sole property of “people of the book,” namely the Abrahamic big 3 that seems to get all of the attention, still.

But, when peoples speak of the “end of the world” what are they talking about?  I think it’s safe to say, three years on, that the Mayan apocalypse was indeed the end of a calendar.  It’s not like on December 31 everyone thinks the world is going to end.  But for some people, of course that happens.  People die.  War. Earthquakes, tsunamis, landslides, tornadoes,  typhoons, drought, wild-fires strike with increasing ferocity every single day. When it does, it is truly the “end of the world.”

As we turn toward another Gregorian calendar turn, may we all remember that, as far as Gaia, the beautiful, calm, serene, angry, ugly, and spinning earth, is concerned, time is irrelative. Four+ billion years ago is the same as tomorrow.  Beings upon our blessed earth come and go and SHE will keep spinning.  In that light, the very best we can do is to be good to one another.  We are 99.9% exactly the same at the DNA level.  I am your daughter, sister, mother, lover, aunt, niece.  We are all cousins, at some infinitesimal level.  Gaia knows.  She holds our space on this earth as surely as we hold space for each other in love and ritual.

December 16, 2015: My intention was to cover the ceremony of the Cutting of the Holy Thorn that travels to the Queen’s Christmas Day table every year since the reign of James 1, ca. 1603. Here is an article from the BBC about the Holy Thorn ceremony and a short history.

As it often happens, in Glastonbury, even though I was invited by the Mayor, Denise Michel, and was out and about well before the 10:30 start, and even saw the Mayor’s contingent walk up the High Street. I could have followed, but Denise had told me the previous evening that there would be a procession with the children to the Holy Thorn. So, I decided to wait for the procession and then take photos and some video at the tree in the Abbey, which, I assumed, would be the spot where the ceremony would take place. I assumed that because every single time I have been on a tour of the Abbey, the guide would always make a point of stopping at the Holy Thorn and tell of the story of the cutting for the regent’s table.

Once there, I found another person, Thèrèse, an Elder Bard here, waiting with her son. We had a very deep discussion and I ended up telling her about some instances in my life that profoundly changed my perspectives on people and how that influenced me to this day. As the time passed, the procession did not come. And did not come. And never came.

Thèrèse finally called someone on the phone and discovered that the ceremony in fact was at the Holy Thorn in St. John’s Church courtyard. Not in the Abbey. Oh, my.

By the time we got up the High Street, the whole lot of children and dignitaries were on their way back down. We missed the official ceremony.
Now, at the surface that sounds like a terrible comedy of errors and very unfortunate. However, I don’t think that is the case.

Avalon clearly had different ideas about what should happen and who would be where. We discovered, upon meeting the dozen+ other Bards coming back down the street, that we weren’t the only ones to miss the St. John’s cue. Yet another Elder Bard had made the considerable hike up to the original Holy Thorn on Wearyall Hill thinking that would be the spot for the ceremony. That thorn is the mythic site of Joseph of Arimathea’s planting of the thorn some 2000 years ago. So, Avalon managed to have a solemn Druidic presence at all three of the thorns.

That’s Glastonbury magick.

Mind you, I am all too familiar with the content of the film, “Suffragette.” Having studied, then taught, women’s studies and feminism at the university level since 1990, I know the basic story of the Pankhursts. The story of votes for women.

Both the US and the UK had simultaneous battles ongoing in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Yes, battles. We are shocked and appalled by the images of police-men throwing down young girls in classrooms, on street corners. We can’t understand how any police-man can shoot a fleeing suspect in the back, in cold blood. Part of the answer is that the police have always been a violent gang of legalized thugs that do the bidding of government – be that local, regional, or national.1

Yet, knowing the tragedies of women’s lives, especially working women’s lives, does not diminish the agony of watching it unfold before you in the well-acted, well-constructed film that is “Suffragette.” The lead, Maude Hobbs Watts, skillfully played by Carey Mulligan, is the English personification of a too hard-worked, married mother of one who was in a certain place at a certain time. Karma? Fate?

A laundry-woman (not considered a skilled trade despite being one), Maude is confronted by the 1913 anarchist movement founded by Emmeline Pankhurst. The call to incitement to act in “deeds, not words,”2 came after some half-century of peaceful protests, speeches, and pamphlet-writing by multitudes of woman orators and authors who all made reasonable arguments in favor of women’s equal status with men.

Maude’s awakening/consciousness raising came at first from seeing and getting caught inside a radical Women’s Social and Political Union WSPU window-breaking attack on West End shops. Injured and confused, she made her way home and talked – or tried to talk – to her husband, Sonny, about what she’d witnessed. The more she learned, and the more women she met who themselves were involved in the Votes for Women movement, stirred something deep inside. A yearning for a different life, for herself and her husband, but most especially for her son, Charlie.

The dramatic break-up of this tiny family is a microcosm of the whole raison d’etre of the women’s movement. Her husband failed her. Her child was swept away from her. The “boss” at the laundry, where she worked herself to exhaustion for a pittance, had been sexually abusing her since becoming an orphan of the laundry (her mum was scalded to death) at age 4. She watched as another young 12-year-old girl was being targeted by the same “boss.” Maude had had enough.

While I don’t think breaking windows and blowing up mailboxes are particularly good or effective ways of getting ones’ point across – then or now – I quite understand the frustration that must have welled up in this movement. Reason and well-thought argument, it was clear, did nothing, nothing to change men’s minds. Pankhurst also said that men only understand war.

In the end, a woman’s life was sacrificed in order to bring the British government around to even paying attention. Even then, it had to happen in such a public place with the entire world’s press watching and reporting to have an effect. Whose life and what mode of sacrifice? For that bit, go watch this film. Weep for those women, weep for women right now, and weep for all of us.

I’ve called this an ethnographic review because part of the experience was going to the Strode Theatre in Street, Somerset (close to Glastonbury) for a cinema night. The house was nearly full. Throughout the film there were ripples of disgust, shock, and horror. At the close, the film makers gave some pertinent facts about the fight for women’s rights. As each new line or information or date of suffrage for women around the world was revealed, there was an audience-wide intake of breath. Later, in the café while ordering coffee to try to settle my thoughts and drive home, women at the bar were saying that every little girl needs to see the film. I think every child should. A few elder women whispered at their table that their own mums or grans were involved. Many, though, had no idea that all this had happened.

That is the base, the core of the problem that we as women still have to face every day with our current fight for women’s rights. Education and keeping the herstory alive and in schools, writing, films, music, art – IN PUBLIC – is vital for today’s battles to be won.

___________

1 BTW, I am not anti-policing as there are legitimate criminals. I am anti-thuggery, however, which is what I am discussing here.
2 Pankhurst, Emmeline. 1914 My Own Story. p. 38.

I began writing this entry on November 9, 2015. It is also the first day that I am clearheaded enough to write for the Blog here. Not that I haven’t been writing, oh, no. I have nearly a ream of handwritten notes. Getting those from one form of calligraphy to another, that’s another matter. As the heading says, I feel I must talk about culture shock. But, just what are we talking about? The bane of the anthropologist’s existence. To read more, click on the link above to read Rachel Irwin’s excellent explanation in her article, “Culture Shock, Negotiating Feelings in the Field.” I have taught this concept in my classroom for some 16 years, now, and have also related what I personally experienced when I was in the field between 1996 and 1998 in Cherokee, NC. Let me tell you, knowing mentally what is going on here, even remembering my other experience of culture shock nearly twenty years ago, does not, did not, has not fully prepared me for the moment(s) that it hit me here in Glastonbury.

It’s not that I’m uncomfortable. I have this nice little nest here at InnGlastonbury that is perfect for me. My abilities [walking and climbing hills] have increased many-fold. [Although I do wish I had a bicycle so it would be a tad easier to get to places further away.] I have the resources to have a car at my disposal (although I don’t use it as much as at home in NY), I have enough ££ to purchase food and drink and the little necessities that always come up. I have friends. Now. There are so many visitors to Glastonbury that I am just another face in the vastly moving crowd in certain times and places. Even as the darkness creeps ever nearer in the evening and mist/fog and clouds lay close along the land, tourists and pilgrims still come to Avalon. There is most certainly enough work to keep me engaged, more even, than I had anticipated when I was contemplating this project and sabbatical over a year ago. And therein lies a major part of the culture shock. I’m putting two different charts in here. One is my personal interpretation, the other is from a website called www.CrossCulturalSolutions.org .

This one is mine and specific to my time here in England. The chart below is a longer range look at culture shock experience. So, let’s walk through the experience. It is my hope that this discussion will add to the much-needed personal experience narratives and dialogue about the subject for anthropologists, specifically, but, also for others who are sojourning in other countries, cultures, and climes (Irwin 2007).

Coming off of a rough August at home due to factors that are personal and shall remain so, I found it difficult to get excited about coming on this trip away for just over three months. I had a melt-down then and pulled myself out of that just as I was leaving in mid-September. Once I arrived here in Glastonbury, which I have written about and invite you to go back revisit that narrative, my mood lightened considerably as it was so nice to be back here in the beloved country. After that, I also had a whirlwind 10+ days coming up that included spending 5 days in Canterbury and along the southern coast. So, by the time I got back here and ready to dig my heels in, I was well and fully into the Honeymoon phase of my experience. Everyone was glad to see me after more than a year away and I had lots to do with friends. But, those who live here full time have busy lives and plans and families to keep them occupied.

It was at that point that I came face-to-face with the fact that I am in this alone. Now, just to be clear, I am not looking for sympathy or atta-girls or anything like that. What I am doing here is putting into words the processes and outcomes of my path through this project, or as it turns out, projects. In the chart below, you’ll see “the plunge” just after the Honeymoon phase. That is followed by “Initial adjustment.” For myself, I’ve been through the initial adjustment period on several occasions here in the UK. Since I have been coming to Glastonbury every year since 2011, I well understand the food and drink culture, driving on the opposite side

http://www.crossculturalsolutions.org

of the road in the opposite side of the car, as well as how and where to shop for everything I need, road rules, and things like tipping in restaurants. For me, then, “the plunge” is combined with “confronting deeper issues.” In my chart, that is stated as “Realization of the enormity of the project(s) and the work involved – being really alone [read: on my own] in this community.” So what does that mean?

Somewhere in my mind, I reckon that I got caught up in thinking that being here for an extended period of time would be like an extended 2-3 week experience which I’ve had each year for the last four. That is except for 2013, when I brought a Study Abroad group from Suffolk County Community College (where I am a Professor of Anthropology and Women’s Studies), for a 6+ week sojourn. Even then, I was so busy and involved with the students, driving them everywhere we went from Bath to Penzance and back again, and grading their work, answering questions, doing lectures and workshopping information, along with Margaret Meggs (without whom I couldn’t have done), that I didn’t even feel the Honeymoon phase! And, I was never alone. Margaret and I stayed for about 10 days after we put the students on their planes home, but even then, there was no sense of confronting deeper issues as we had friends around almost every day and we had each other. Now, I am not trying to speak for Margaret, but I realize now that in order to dip into those issues and work at making sense of them I need solitude. In point of fact, until this trip, I didn’t even realize that those deeper issues where there. But, of course, they are.

Having realized what I had set myself up for in terms of the work, my brain thereby made “the plunge.” On my chart that is expressed by “Feelings of Isolation and Depression.” One of the women that I have come to depend upon was away for two weeks, another person cancelled our meeting time, and as stated above, everyone else was busy with life in their own ways. I spent many hours in my nest in thought and meditation, depression and anxiety. Now, does that mean I wasn’t working? Mercy no. As Barbara Ehrenreich once said: Just because I’m riding around on a bicycle [appearing pleasant and relaxed I presume] doesn’t mean that I’m not working. She was very busy in her head. Me too. I have nearly filled a notebook with notes, some of which are already here, but some of which have not made it from hand-written form to type-written form. I’m working on that.

I am on the way out of that period, now. I feel more at home and at peace. I have made other friends and acquaintances so that I have more interaction with people. I take advantage of the splendid array of talks and lectures, music, and ritual that is the reason I am in Glastonbury in the first place. Because I have continued to step out, even when feeling depressed and anxious, to pre-set destinations for gathering data, the Abbey and the Tor, I have learned a great many things about what the people here think and feel about their town, what is going on in it, and about the people who come here on a day to day basis. Most will be forthcoming.

At the end of my chart, I have listed “Realization of time coming to an end.” I am certainly not experiencing this yet. I have thought ahead to this piece as I’ve come and gone before, as stated above. I always have a certain trepidation about leaving. But, today, I have 45 days to go. There are so many events coming up . . . gulp . . . there’s that feeling of being overwhelmed . . . that I am literally running from one to the next. Today finds me going to Cardiff, Wales to visit with and interview the lovely and phenomenally talented Gwen Davies who I met as a result of two Glastonbury Goddess Conferences. I decided to go to her in Cardiff as she has a full schedule as well. Pictures from that two-day jaunt will be forthcoming.

So, will my downward sloping feelings reappear? Probably. Is that normal for ethnographic fieldwork? Absolutely. It is where I have found myself and my place here in Glastonbury.

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I thought I would treat you all to a pictorial essay.  So, here goes.

Just outside the door of the Pilgrim’s Hotel is the just refurbished Marlowe Theatre.  A beautiful structure and it is quite busy and well-attended.  The link is live to the theatre so you can check it out.

 

 

Just around the corner, the serene River Stour flows through the town.  It appears so peaceful at the surface, but if you look over the bridge and peer into the water, the current runs persistent and strong.  There are plants flowing in the water that puts me in mind of the Lady of Shallot slowly drifting down the river to her death from looking up from the mirror of shadows.  Beware the current and look up from your weaving.  A good lesson for us all.

Ever the cheeky humourists, this is a sign featured outside a butcher’s shop just after the tell-all book about current PM, David Cameron came out this week.  You’ll have to look it up if you aren’t up on the saucy politics of the UK.

The square comes up fast. . .

. . .then down the road a bit more and you come to the entrance to the Canterbury Christ Church Cathedral.  Admittedly, while it looks imposing from this shot, when you’re walking along the street, with lots of other stone and ancient buildings, it is not obvious that this is the entrance to the cathedral.  As a matter of fact, the map of the city makes it appear that this is an open street.  As you can see, it is anything but that.  So, in we go.

 

 

Walking into the entryway, you can easily now see the imposing cathedral through the arch to the back.  For an American, the entrance itself is quite something to see in and of itself.

BTW, if you’re ever here, it cost L10.50 to enter.  I would hope that if one was coming to worship that there is no fee.  This structure is part of the Church of England.

 

I found it impossible to get the entire building in one picture, so here’s a montage of photos to pin together in your mind.  This building is under some sprucing up, as you can see with the scaffolding on this side.  Even with that, it is a magnificent structure.  And now to the interior.

Grand Stained Glass. . .

 

I’ve included a floor plan of the cathedral above to you can get an idea of the vastness of this space.  This picture is of the Nave.  In the far back is the choir and beyond that the presbytery.

 

 

 

I walked along the north aisle where they were putting in these gorgeous fall flowers.  I assume they are for a wedding later on.  Just amazingly beautiful.  The arrangement itself must be 5-6 feet tall and on a 4 foot pedestal.

Moving toward the back and toward the Martyr’s area – that would be Thomas Becket.  I didn’t take pictures there.  It was just a bit too creepy for me and the area was really packed with tour-guide shepherds and their sheople eager to hear the gory tale of murder and mayhem.  If you look here, just beside the woman in blue are gates.  That is the mighty treacherous stairs going down to the Martyr’s level.  Of course much has been changed since Becket’s day, and it’s some speculation as to the actual spot, but, it’s the thought that counts.  There are also images and icons of Becket throughout the cathedral on every level.  From here, I went down to the crypt level to see an icon of what would appear to me the angel Uriel and an image of a Black Madonna and child.  Unfortunately, you can’t take pictures in the crypts, so I kept my camera off.  However, SHE lead me to the Icon and after another group of tourists had cleared the space, one of the curators came in to retrieve something.  We, of course, started chatting, and she offered me the e-mail address for the archives so that I can purchase a picture of the Icon.  Forthcoming!

As I made my way out of the crypt, I took just a couple of other pictures to show the truly magnificent pulpit.  I’d like to give a lecture on the Divine Feminine from that spot!  Then, back out to the bright sunshine.

The exit from the cathedral is just as mysterious for the first timer as the entrance.  This wall of buildings faces the same street as the entryway.  [These are the backs that open onto the grounds of the cathedral.  Through the doors to the left is a huge gift-shop and way out to the street.  It’s all quite well kept and polished so when I saw this, I couldn’t resist the color purple.

Remember that my ultimate goal this day is to get to the opening of the conference at Canterbury Christ Church University (CCCU)!  [A short walk – for the healthy-legged!] But, for myself, it was quite a haul.  On we go.

This is a very old Methodist Church.  If you know me, you’ll know that I grew up in a progressive Methodist family.  So, this is an homage to that gentle upbringing and to show the age of the place. . .

And Tudor buildings still in active use.  Well now you’ve seen Canterbury old town down from The Friars to Burgate Street. Now I headed onward toward CCCU.  But before I arrived there, more architectural delights awaited.

I’m crossing the main Ring Road [that’s a bypass for American drivers] and you can easily see the Roman Walls of the old town.  This wall goes all the way around and there are definite routes in and out if you’re in a car.  On foot is much easier, as is most of England, and worth the aches to do it.

Here is the opposite direction from the picture above.  Everywhere you turn there is another ancient building, usually church-related. This one is now a school. I’ll be turning right at the end of this street and an immediate left to get onto Longport Street.

The ancient wall that runs down Longport and on past the ruins of St. Augustine’s Abbey.  Here is the walker’s view of the ruins.

 

The next stop, just a few hundred feet, is CCCU.  So ends the tour of Canterbury, a al, me.  Next, the conference!

So, again by date we’ll go. September 21 – 24.
September 21: Monday: The best thing that happened today was getting to spend an hour or so having coffee with my dear friend, Katie Player. She has the most wonderful house on the Roman Way which has a spectacular view of Glastonbury Tor. Nearly every morning, Katie wakes us up on Facebook with a picture of the Tor for the day. Sunrise, rain, mist, and snow, it is always there like a sentinel looking out for the inhabitants of Avalon, whether they realize it or not. I won’t go into that right, but, as everywhere, there are a goodly number of people who live here looking at the ground, so to speak. Perhaps, those are some of the ones I really need to get to know. Does someone who lives at the Grand Canyon get so used to the wonder that it isn’t seen anymore? And in the shadow of any of the great mountain peaks? What is it that keeps the human enchanted by the landscape around them? Surely, this is one of the pieces of the puzzle that I am trying to put together here in the landscape of Avalon. Katie surely does appreciate the wonder of the landscape as do many people I have met here. Yet, there are many who do not.

Katie’s View
After leaving Katie’s as she had to pick up her too cute daughter, Hollie and a friend from school, just regular life-stuff, you know; I got to meet the young ladies when I bumped into them at the best store, Proper Job. It was a quite complete day.
September 22-24: Tuesday, Wednesday, and early Thursday: I don’t know how many of you know that one of the great things I am getting to do while in England this time around is to present a paper on my project at a conference at Canterbury Christ Church University. More on the conference after this. I am more than thrilled about this particular opportunity. Since I am writing in the present about days already done, I can hardly contain my enthusiasm and return to the miasmic feeling of these three days. Here goes.

#1- I had to finish writing my paper. Oops. Yeah, I know. Don’t leave anything until the last minute, so says the professor who has trouble following her own advice. But it wasn’t that so much, writing a paper, it was the fact that I would literally be “coming out” as a channel who is also an academic and a scholar. Even while the Call For Papers for the conference was so very encouraging and the keynote speakers all talk about this same type of thing, it’s quite another to speak up for one’s self. That made this particular paper extremely difficult to write.

#2- Diabetes. As is often the case, I experienced extreme fatigue and weird blood glucose levels after coming to a new place and getting used to it. Enough said.

#3- The Highlight! I was here to attend the Goddess Hall’s Equinox Ritual, make some new acquaintances and see some familiar faces. And the Hall was completely packed. It was literally standing room only and therefore got really warm pretty fast. Fortunately, the beautiful ritual got everyone involved all wrapped up and despite a few trips of feet in the crowd and beads of sweat becoming rivulets, the ritual was evocative and full of meaning. There was a large infinity symbol on the floor of the Hall, one side white – denoting the light half of the year that is ending – and the other side black – denoting the dark half of the year that is beginning. This a major theme throughout Celtic spirituality and two major cross-quarter holidays, Beltane and Samhain, celebrate and consecrate those beginnings and endings. The equinoxes, both spring and autumnal, mark the center of time; when there are equal parts of day and night. As we were invited and chose to walk around the infinity symbol, much like one would traverse a labyrinth, everyone took slow and careful steps first on the light half, then to the dark. Ending back at the point where both sides meet, we then all got a blessing from a beautiful priestess of Avalon and were invited to go back to our respective spots. After the ritual was done, there was poetry readings and announcements. A community of like minds. As we left out into the chilly September night, we all received fresh picked apples from the bounty here in Somerset. It was a lovely experience!

#4- Last, but not least . . . My car did something very strange. With no warning at all, the seat-belt warning bell would not go off. Would not go off, would not go off, would not go off, would not go off. You get the idea. The sound of that bell is most unpleasant and having no way to deal with it, I had to make an extra trip up to the Bristol airport and trade for something else. I actually like the car I traded for MUCH better. It is a white Vauxhall, stick shift, and cruise control. Then, I had to leave the Bristol airport and head directly to Canterbury. Going through Bristol is a maze of small roads through a big city [about the size of Nashville with Bristol being a bit smaller] that eventually leads one to the M32 then the M4. The M category of highways are comparable to US interstates. So once on the M4, I had 3+ hours of highway driving. Yay, cruise control.

When I rolled into Canterbury, I was completely turned around, tired, and it was raining. I got lost immediately. It took an hour and a half once I arrived to figure out how to find my hotel, The Pilgrim’s Hotel, in the walled city, just across the street from the Marlowe Theatre and in shouting distance of the Cathedral. I wanted to stay in the old part of the city to get some of the ambiance of the now mythological pilgrimages that have taken place here for hundreds of years. The lost-ness was mainly due to the fact that one cannot really drive in the walled city. That is unless one has the benefit (?) of a handicapped badge. Well, I have that, so I finally got some instruction from the hotel manager, one Wesley, on how to navigate down into the town. Whew. That was a torturous day.
Checking into the Pilgrim’s, finally, Wesley was kind enough to get my bags out of the car for me and get me up to my room. And I do mean UP to my room. Now I have already filled out visitor’s survey for the Hotel so I am not saying anything here that I didn’t already tell them. The building is old. I love that. But, for those of you who know me, you also know that stairs are still, after 11 years, still a nemesis that I have not conquered. My room was on the top floor and the staircase was the original 1500s type, narrow and steep, especially to the 2nd floor. Oy. It also never occurred to me that my single room would be the equivalent of a nun’s cell. The bed was quite comfortable, but, that was just about all that fit into the room. There was a desk, but no chair with which to use it, and the closet cabinet opened the wrong way so you had to stand beside the bed between the wall and reach around the closet door (which would not open all of the way due to the bed) to get things in and out. The rooms have obviously been upgraded as there was a new en suite. But, again, it was so small that one could hardly pee with falling into the tub. That was an experience. By the time I got out of my driving clothes and into something suitable for having dinner, I was exhausted and aching all over. Therefore, I AM A PILGRIM! Torture to the body IS part of the point, eh?
The thing I did like about the room was the beautiful old window which opened all the way out. Oh except that there is scaffolding completely enveloping the building, so it wouldn’t open ALL the way, kind of like the closet door… but, from the window, a view across the buildings with top of the cathedral in sight.

Now, I’ll have to say that the food in the two restaurants on the ground floor was really excellent. One is a French-English restaurant called Dems. I had the best mussels there I have ever had. So good. The other one is a Pub with a regular pub menu, not fussy, and very popular with folks going to the Marlowe for the evening.

More later. . . the conference and a walk through the Canterbury Christ Church Cathedral.

As promised, I’m giving an entire post over to the “Faces of the Black Madonna workshop.” Here is the official statement from the event:

Glastonbury artist and author Nic Phillips (Nic Phillips Sacred Art) and Priestess  of Avalon and Sacred Dramatist Katie Player share a long standing fascination with Black Madonnas, and have come together to provide a day of exploration into Her sacred mysteries.

In the morning we will be discussing her various incarnations through the centuries and posing the questions: Why is she black? Which ancient goddesses may have influenced her appearance? What message is she trying to give us? We will look at her ancient roots, through to the medieval icon phase and her cult in Western Europe, up to her depictions in the modern world and veneration in cultures such as Haitian Vodou where she is syncretised with the fierce and protective mother spirit, Erzulie Dantor.

Other parts of the day will include sacred movement and a simple ceremony to connect with Her. We will be making an altar to the Black Goddess together and invite everyone attending to bring an item of relevance to add to the altar. In the afternoon there will be a session to create your own Black Madonna icon on wood using collage pictures of Her, gold leaf, and more.

This one-day workshop is £50, 50% payable on booking, the balance due by Saturday 12th September 2015. Please email nicholasphillips365@hotmail.com for a booking form or for any further info.

The Avalon Centre, 1 King St, Glastonbury Sat 19th September. Please arrive from 9:30 for a 10am start. Ceremony closes at 4:30.

After a week of downpours starting on the day of my arrival, September 15, Saturday dawned clear, warm, and welcoming beautiful. I made my way just a few blocks from my humble abode to the very welcoming Avalon Centre. Katie and Nic were there to welcome us all into the space that they had already set up. A nice cup of Earl Grey tea and hugs was a great way to get started. Moving past the galley kitchen with a wonderful long dining/working table and some 16 chairs, I came to a door and then a lovely living room-esque space with comfy couches, suck-you-in chairs, and fortunately, some rather more sturdy straight-back chairs replete with cushions. There were already a few participants sitting and enjoying both their tea and each other’s company, so I introduced myself and chose a cushioned chair to settle into.

To the left of the living area is a large meeting room; I’m going to guess 25’ x 40’ in dimensions. It has a hardwood floor and open ceiling so that it feels very large, but, simultaneously, intimate. On the left wall are massive glass sliding doors that open onto a small garden with benches and chairs available for relaxing and chatting.

At the head of the meeting room, Katie and Nic had set up a beautiful altar for the day full of images of the Black Madonna from around the world. There is also a projection screen where Nic had a slide show of photographs so all of us who were participating could see the images that he was discussing in his narration. I truly enjoyed seeing all of the representations of the Black Madonna [the Dark Mother Goddess] in her many forms.

The Dark Mother comes in many forms around the world as well. From Cerridwen to Kali and Bast to Tiamat, SHE is the one who rules the night, the underworld, the bottom of the sea. SHE leads souls to the other side and defends HER children. As mentioned above by Nic and Katie, Erzulie Dantor is the Haitian Voodoo Loa [Goddess], the breaker of chains. Here is another depiction of HER.

Photo Source: Mystic Voodoo http://www.mysticvoodoo.com/home.htm

According to Marcel Gomes [Sweden: Swing, Swing, Swing – May 6, 2011], Erzulie Dantor

…is the Voodoo goddess of love, romance, art, jealousy, passion, & sex. Erzulie Dantor is the patron loa of lesbian women, fierce protector of women experiencing domestic violence and patron loa of New Orleans. Beauty, love, and sensuality are her Creations. Emotions are what link her to the endless reservoir of universal creativity. Erzulie Dantor offers to you protection and possibilities beyond the imagination. Erzulie Dantor is a mulatto woman who is often portrayed as the Black Madonna, or the Roman Catholic “Saint Barbara Africana”. She has tribal scars on her cheek, and is considered heterosexual because she has children, but she is also the patron loa of lesbian women. Thus, she loves women fiercely, and will defend them to the death. She loves knives and is considered the protector of newly consecrated Voodoo priests and priestesses, as well as of women and children who are victims of domestic violence, and women who have been betrayed by a lover. She is highly respected and much feared due to her Woman Power. https://marcelgomessweden.wordpress.com/2011/05/06/erzulie-voodoo-goddess-of-love/

Woman Power. It is an endless speculation as to why Woman Power is so feared. That was a part of this workshop: to embrace the power.

Beyond Katie, Nic, and myself, the participants of the workshop were: Julie, Kaff, Molly, Justin, Elinor, Mary, and Carolyn. As always, this turned out to be the perfect number of people as we could chat and get to know one another while we moved effortlessly through Katie and Nic’s beautiful day. Nic’s excellent scholarship introduced us to:

*Our Lady of Guadalupe – Maybe the Aztec Goddess, Tonantzin http://www.theyucatantimes.com/2014/12/our-lady-of-guadalupe-or-tonantzin/

*The Bride in the Song of Solomon says “I am Black and Beautiful.” She also berates herself due her dark skin which she akins to the hard fieldwork that has been her lot.
http://biblehub.com/songs/1-5.htm

*Isis and/or Artemis as a correlate to the Christian Black Madonna

*Mary Magdalene in the south of France, especially at Notre Dame de Ravis where there is a statue of Sara La Kali who is claimed to be the child of the Magdalene and Jesus, among other things. The Romani claim to be descendants Sara La Kali.          http://www.bbc.co.uk/religion/0/28211422

*Santa Muerta who is venerated during Day of the Dead in Mexico. She is the subject of much controversy, as shown here in Huffington Post in 2013: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/r-andrew-chesnut/death-to-santa-muerte-the-vatican-vs-the-skeleton-saint_b_3291499.html

*Einsiedeln, Switzerland: Notre Dame Sous Terre [Our lady of the Dark Wood]. This statue is a pilgrimage destination for the Swiss as well as people from all over Europe.

This Black Madonna is carved of dark wood and is painted black. Nic and Katie speculate that the association, Our Lady of the Dark Wood, could be due to HER make-up or to an actual forest. And, here is a great article from 2002 discussing the nature of the Black Madonna as Dark Goddess. Our Lady of the Dark Forest: The Black Madonna of Einsiedeln  Originally printed in the May – June 2002 issue of Quest magazine.
Citation: McCormick, Karen. “Our Lady of the Dark Forest: The Black Madonna of Einsiedeln.” Quest 90.3 (MAY – JUNE 2002)

*Our Lady of Walsingham, Walsingham, Norfolk, UK. Why SHE is considered a Black Madonna, I have yet to discover. Katie has suggested that we take a road trip to visit her while I am here. That sounds like a great idea. In the meantime, HER picture:

And, a history of HERSELF.

http://www.rcsouthwark.co.uk/walsingham_history.html

*Our Lady of Chartres, Our Lady from Under the Earth (Notre-Dame-De-Sous-Terre), Chartres, France. The website interfaithmary.net has this explanation for HER in Chartres [where there are two Black Madonnas]

For millennia Chartres was the main pilgrimage site in France. With its ancient Pre- Christian roots, its Druidic Black Madonna, its relic of the Veil of the Virgin , not to mention the power of its cathedral, Chartres drew pilgrims from all over Europe. Much has been written about the magical, alchemical power of the cathedral to bless, purify, and transform visitors, but this is not the place for that discussion. Suffice it to say that the Lady of Chartres is a trinity of sorts who finds expression in the cathedral as a whole, which bears her name Notre-Dame de Chartres, and in the three main depictions of the Madonna on three levels of the church:
1. in the crypt, the Black Madonna Our Lady from Under the Earth, guardian of the underworld;
2. in the cathedral, the Black Madonna Our Lady of the Pillar, guardian of this world;
3. in the most famous window of Chartres, Our Lady of the Beautiful Window, crowned and wrapped in her blue mantel as the Queen of Heaven. http://www.interfaithmary.net/pages/Chartres.htm

There is a lot of detail in this explanation. Please go check it out.

*Our Lady of Czestochowa, Czestochowa, Poland. This Black Madonna happens to be Katie’s first encounter when a child of an Icon that was black skinned. Katie has joined the project, The Seduction of Avalon, so I hope she will relate her story herself. HER picture:

And, where you can read about the Black Madonna with the slashes on her cheek. http://www.piercedhearts.org/treasures/shrines/czestochowa.htm

*There are so many other stories and images, Goddesses and Madonnas that fit the bill of the Black Madonna. Here is a Sir Gawain tale from the Arthurian legends:
http://www.storiestogrowby.com/stories/gawain_rag_body.html
And, I encourage everyone to check out my friend Lydia Rule’s Black Madonna Banners and explanations, as well as the rest of Lydia’s fabulous work. She painted all of the images that you see on this website.

http://www.lydiaruyle.com/blackmadonnaspage1.html

Now, let me go beyond the scholarship and describe the spiritual aspects of the workshop.

In two separate movement sessions, Katie provided music, space, scarves, and inspiration for all of us to move our bodies and meditate upon the wonderful idea of the Black Madonna, the Dark Mother, in our own lives and in the world. Everyone got up and took a scarf with which to play. The music for each session was 3 pieces from around the world. A few were familiar, a few were strange and foreign and enchanting. As I danced with the others in the group, I felt as though all time was slipping away and that only those in that room existed on this plane of existence. We were swept up into each song, each entirely different from the last. Katie’s sensibility in movement ritual was clearly evident and we came back to our seats from each session rather floating in air. Extraordinary.

In the afternoon, after we gathered our own lunch from around Glastonbury, we were invited to make our own personal Icons to take home. Here is a picture of mine:

It was such a pleasure to all sit around that big table cutting pictures from the hundreds that Nic had found and printed out to decoupage onto our icon boards he had provided for us. We laughed, painted, glued, dripped, and glittered our way through the afternoon. Everyone’s Icon was as individual as we all are. Even when some people picked the same pictures, each Icon was completely different. Beautiful, too. Here are pictures of the event.

The last piece was a beautiful meditation and a gift of Apache tears stones from Katie and Nic. Katie led us deep into Mother Earth to a cave where the magnificent Dark Mother dwells. Each of us were on our own when we got there so all of our experiences were quite different. This will have to remain within the group as the information was sometimes intimate and very personal.

As for me, I had a dream the following night.

DREAM

The dream shook me awake with fear.

I know SHE was standing beside the bed that was not the bed that I lay upon. I had been standing and waiting for something or someone in the dream before. SHE suddenly – but more quiet than nightfall – came by my side and put her hand on my left shoulder. SHE swept HER hand down my arm to deposit something into my left hand.

I remember the deep attraction, an actual physical pulling toward something or someone that was beyond the side of the “bed.” SHE moved away from me staying on the left and I could see HER. Black haired and nut brown skin, I don’t recall her clothing at all. I couldn’t say whether she had anything on her body. Just Black hair and nut brown skin and eyes which were closed from far away. My etheric body began to turn sideways on the “bed.”

Suddenly – silently – she was again behind my left shoulder. I neither saw nor heard her move from one spot to another. Again, she put her hand on my shoulder and drew it down to my elbow. SHE gripped me hard, so I was in just enough pain to turn my head directly toward HER. Then –

HER eyes opened and I could do nothing but stare into the Space of Space, the Void of the Void, the place where all begins and ends.

I awakened when and only when SHE shut her eyes. As I awakened, I was sure that I was off of the bed and in mid-air. My etheric body struggled back to the sleeping form and when we re-merged, Tamaria and Christina, we, I mean “I,” further struggled with the bedding to find nothing amiss. I was laying just as I’d fallen asleep; solidly in the bed. It was 3:30 am.