I have just read the following sentence in a book of stories by David James Duncan: “I’ve heard that migration has been defined as a bridge—a bridge that birds, animals and nomads cross as the world behind them becomes uninhabitable. A bridge that vanishes behind them as they go, leaving them no choice but the far side…”
That speaks to me as our world becomes ever more difficult to live in, and I wonder where it might make sense to migrate to—in the world, or out of the world—to other galaxies, for example? Or are we humans supposed to stay in place and try to heal the ‘home’ we know, restoring it to the beauty it once had because, in fact, there’s really no other world to go to other than our own?
Wherever we go, there we are…
Years ago I spent some weeks on the south coast of Brittany, in France, living amongst the megaliths at Carnac, those mysterious alignments of massive standing stones—12 rows across— that march for miles like an army across the countryside by the sea. Sheep grazed amongst them and as, at the time it was not yet a tourist destination, I was mostly alone wandering the ancient alignments and ‘dolmens’ and stone-circles dotting the coast.
Day after day I walked and meditated and wrote amongst these silent witnesses to an era long gone, trying to understand what these long-ago people knew that we of the modern world had forgotten? Who were they, when had they lived here and whyever had they gone to so much trouble to place massive, shaped rocks in this place by the sea? And how come almost nobody now seemed interested?
Each day I selected 3 sites to visit and settled in amongst them, learning how to listen for their silent messages, taking notes and naps and following where they led me, from the snaking stone rows that went on and on, and then up the hillside to a water tower peeking out from trees. There I came upon an ancient chamber, called Kercado, hidden deep in a forest above the town on private land and I snuck in. A small notice at the dolmen-chamber told me I was welcome if I kept the site pristine.
Every day after that, I found my way there either at dawn, mid-day or early evening, learning how it felt at different hours and weathers, and wondering about its history. It felt familiar, somehow, as if I had been there before. I was almost always alone there, except for a sweet white cat who often kept me company, and yet I often sensed that the stone on top of the mound was trying to say something to me, especially when I sat with my back against it.
Gradually, weird as it was, I tried to ‘listen,’ but not with my ears and indeed I began to gather meaning, despite myself, and the quieter and more receptive I became, the more I learned how to take in what was trying to come through me.
Inside the dark chamber, alone in the utter silence, I gradually got past my own fear in the pitch darkness and this weird thing that was happening, and I began to relax and listen for whatever was coming through. It came as both images and feelings, sometimes all but ringing with a stream of sound and image like a subtle film of sensation in motion; I received it whole, like a dream-story received while awake. It felt like my whole self—body, mind, heart, spirit—was receiving a download of information about the multi-dimensionality of the world. Swirling colors and subtle sounds showed me how all form was born of consciousness—not the other way around.
Life was a dance of being, forms in motion shot through with light, and love was the glue that held everything together. Not one thing, not one moment was left out of the Whole Thing through Time and Space and Beyond, and I was part of it All. Of course!
Even after my death. There was nothing to fear because there was nowhere else to go but here; there was no ‘other’ place to migrate to.
Living and dead, we were all here. Infinitely. I was not ever alone, and neither was anybody else.
Emerging from the darkness of the covered mound, totally shaken each time but sensing I was supposed to be here and was safe, I would climb to the top of the dolmen and, leaning against the standing stone there I wrote down everything I could remember. As I scribbled quick notes, now in the light of day, images kept expanding in my brain like water on a thirsty plain. Emotions and sensations flowed like braided streams joining into a sheen of water sinking into dry earth and flowing underground towards an unseen sea.
I wrote down every single thing I could remember.
I realized that when I was inside the womb of the chamber, the information came to me as if I was the receiver, but out on top by the stone I was like a transmitter of what I had received! Like a radio but without the wires!
I heard the message clearly as if the stone spoke to me and the ‘voice’ felt female.
‘It is time to let people know. You are one carrier.’
Odd? Well, yes, but there it was and apparently, unbeknownst to myself, I had chosen to come to Brittany to do this task, like a transformer carrying energy and information at the right time and place, and in a language understandable to others like myself.
All I had known was that I had to go to Brittany, in France, and I went.
Anyhow, I tell this story because on my last day in Carnac, I went back to Kercado after dawn to say my last farewells to the stone I now thought of as a teacher, and alone on top of the dolmen in the early blush of morning light, facing the stone, I cried for a while and spoke in a choking whisper,
“I have to leave now but I will be back. As soon as I can, I promise.” Tears flowed, I bowed deeply (to a stone!) and immediately heard in my mind,
“Absolutely not! Do not come back! This land is the old world; the new world is where you are needed! That is why you were born there! Go back now! GO!”
I was shocked and have to admit that I felt rejected, and a bit the over-dramatic fool, but by the time I cycled back into town I took the admonition seriously, cancelled the next leg of my trip to Glastonbury, took the afternoon train to Paris and flew home as soon as I could book a flight.
I have never gone back.
I stand by the information, and the subtle warnings I heard during those weeks about the major changes we would all soon be witnessing, and that we had to hold on and learn from everything, including our fear itself and of the coming changes we would all be experiencing. That we had been born for these times—all of us—and that our work was to accept the reality of Now, and neither reject nor fear it, but to live it well, digging willingly into the intensity of our own experiences.
But that is what life is all about, is it not, turning whatever is given to us, however terrifying, into the refining fire of our particular lives on Earth? This is ours, right now, and it has the power to turn us into gold, I believe, even if it hurts like Hell. We are the ones who were born for this time and every one of us must try and make a difference for good, recognizing it is ours to do. To not do so we would miss our opportunity to do what we came here to do—and Lord knows, every one of us is needed!
One way or another;
whoever we are;
whether we believe we can;
or not. Breathe…