THE SONG OF THE STONES

Today is the anniversary of "One small step for [a] man, one giant leap for mankind." The Day The Man Landed On The Moon. I woke up that day, quite unaware what was going on up there on the Moon, because down here I, (by chance, as we say in Middle Earth), was in a strange new land waking up to new, unexpected, practically unimagined wonderments.

I had the great good fortune to be the first grandchild on my Dad’s side and was taken along to England and Ireland by my paternal UK grandparents to meet family--and, it turns out, much more.

I was 11, going on 12, and wearing my first brassiere--that magical changing time of early puberty. I was a suburb girl from just north of Toronto. Curbs. Dainty flower clumps. Backyard pools. Shrubs. I was quiet, introverted, a reader, a lover of legend and of movies of heroes and heroines and wizards and talking animals. The Hobbit had just entered my life, too. And here I was going on an unexpected journey.

It was the summer of 1969. The peak of the Mod Revolution on the one hand and of Flower Power on the other. I listened to pop music and watched tv. The British Invasion had happened. The Beatles were tops. Dylan had long since gone electric (oh I remember my uncle GustarandWeststrate's dismay!!!!!!). Joan Baez and Joni Mitchell sang in flowy blouses. Twiggy models strode the runways and Yardley Girls in mini skirts and fishnet stockings and floppy pigtail hair sported Slicker cosmetics. All these shaped a young girl’s fashion sense.

And then the girl was dropped in England and London and villages in Northern Ireland and great empty hotels in Victorian Belfast and Dublin. Suddenly, castles weren’t only in myth, Twiggys weren’t only on tv, Paul Revere And The Raiders clones walked the streets with Slicker girls, drawbridges and moats opened stone archways and turrets and mysteries to the girl. This was the land where myth and history meet, thought the girl though not in those words; this was a land of magic.

So that day, we woke up and I asked Grampa, in the quietly excited way I had back then, “Where are we going today, Grampa?” He answered, “Stonehenge.” I asked what that was and Grampa said, “It’s a bunch of stones in a field.” Well. Had I been a current 12 year old, I might have said, “Whatever,” with a pout and a snear; but I was, as the English elders called me, A Model Child—a quiet introverted (actually quite scared of life—of people) girl who minded her p’s and q’s and spoke only when spoken to and sat very still most of the time. So, off we drove to the country.

Long drive. Grey day. Quiet view. Fields. Lots of fields. And then Grampa said: we’re here. I looked around. No neon. No flashing lights. No Coke or Pepsi. No Slicker Girls. Just a wee kiosk, a parking lot, and a few cars. And…there it was: a pile of stones in a field.

Grampa and I got out of the car and Nana stayed in to my memory. She was probably in a snit. She was often in a snit. They had probably been bickering. They were often bickering. And Grampa and I headed to the Stones. Yes. There was no rope fence back then.

Well, long story longer…Grampa went one way, I went another, the Stones got bigger and bigger, and I got more and more impressed. These weren’t just a pile of stones in a field. I could tell they had been shaped and placed. A few people milled about.

So I moseyed about. Then I climbed on a stone. And I stood there, looking around. And Lo! suddenly, I heard, well, I felt, well, I heard and felt a hum and a vibration. It was in my feet and my ears. A most gorgeous rich sonorous thrum. I listened. I felt it. I tuned in. the thrum grew in my ears and rose up my legs. I really tuned in. All other sounds tuned out. All I saw was the great mighty grey stones. Until the thrum encompassed me. And I could see no-one else was having this experience. And I sensed, felt, heard the thrum moving round and round the stones. It WAS inside me…and it was outside me…in the Stones, in the Earth.

Anyway. I wasn’t afraid. I was…mystified, enchanted, very very interested in this pile of stones in a field. Then, I saw Grampa just beyond two great standing stones (though I didn’t know this language at the time). He came walking through with his camera dangling around his neck. And just as he entered the ring of stones, the vibration stopped. Abruptly. I felt a bit wobbly. The sounds of the day rushed in. All crackly and hollow like the sound of an old time ham radio set, so…superficial after the rich sonorous song of the stones. Grampa took a picture. I jumped off the stone and began to babble: Grampa, what are these stones what are they for who put them here when what do they do why are they here? the sequin style suitable for bridesmaid prepared for wedding

Grampa said he didn’t really know but he would buy me the pamphlets. I read them both in the car. I read them again. Then again. Was I missing something? were the writers missing something? I mean, I learned all about the Midsummer Sun calendar and a bit about people called Druids, the quarry in Wales, the Blue Stones, the Aubrey Stones, outer circle, inner circle, rolling huge honking stones on moving corduroy roads hundreds of miles, raising great big huge honking stones into upright and capped positions with mere rope pulleys and wooden scaffolding…and nothing about ley lines…

I mean, like, I was almost 12 and knew nothing…but I scoffed at the learned inside myself: Really? You expect me to believe that? No. No way. There’s something more.

So we ended up back in London. I collected all the newspapers for the headlines for my Dad: One Small Step For Man And One Giant Leap For Mankind (Dad loves historical stuff). And I thought about it all…but didn’t investigate, I didn’t really go searching for information, I wasn’t trained to initiate, I was trained to wait…

Anyway…The Lord Of The Rings then took me away for a few years. Then the drunken dismal depressed late teen years of highschool dropout, binge eating, gruesome rage and remorse cycles (lots of stuff deep down inside that I couldn’t access, eh…lots…). And then I got myself on track (upgrading, university, long story…)…and bits and pieces about Stonehenge would find me.

For example: it’s also a Moon orbit calendar and can predict the elliptical distances of the Moon around the Earth.

But most importantly: in the mid late 80s, with my beloved Paddleman up at the cabin on an island in Algonquin Park those glorious summers…he was into Carl Jung and Emma Jung’s book The Holy Grail had come out. I had read some Jung at Trent for info on symbols and such, and I had studied Arthurian Legend…so we were reading avidly. A dense book. A hefty book. A hard slog of a read. And I got to a page with a page footnote—I swear had it been an endnote at the back of the book, I may not at all have gone there. But there it was.

And Emma was writing about The Merlin, The Mythrynn, the druid wizard of the Welsh. Our Merlin is a composite of the Druid Priest who was always called The Merlin. And she was mentioning him in relation to Stonehenge, song, and chant. And the footnote said: Legend has it, that Merlin raised the stones at Stonehenge with song.

Well, I closed the book. That was all I needed. It confirmed my sense of it all. Song. Sound. Intentional, focussed chanting. Maybe not one merlin. Maybe a group of trained Druids or whoever…maybe even some rope pulleys and wooden scaffolds to help direct…(maybe a technology other than ropes and scaffolds …perhaps lasar…though I didn't know that then in the 80s), but the magic of sound moving the stones made a lot more sense to me, especially since the Stones themselves had sung to me that day.

So I don’t really know how those Stones got there. Levitation through sound seems a most plausible possibility, much more than mere manpower with rope pulleys and wooden scaffolds. But I do know, and I did know then though I said nothing about that experience back in that time of the quiet girl afraid to say boo for fear of all that recrimination and sarcasm and shut up tactic around me, that those Stones hold or held great purpose and are the remnants of a great culture of scientist priest/esses magicians who understood the Stars and honoured the Earth and knew the power of energy lines and song and celebration--and other worlds.

Magic happens. Unexpectedly. And leads you onward…if you let it…

So sing on the Earth, dance on the Earth, give up the fight…and live….

(facebook graffiti drawing by Jalene J)