by Florence Ondré- 11/29/00
The day was gray and cold. Wind cut through layers of clothing.
Who cared? This trip of a lifetime was incredible and had presented itself in a most curious set of unfolding events.
First there had been the the fleeting thought of possibly going to England for Valentine’s Day. That idea had been scotched when we lost everything in the stock market crash.
How could we even entertain being so frivolous when we had no idea how we were going to live this coming year?
Then Tom found the vouchers for airline tickets in the back of the file cabinet. They were from a trip that had been botched for us last year and had to be used by the end of February or be lost. Free tickets for a trip to somewhere. Great but what would we do when we got there? Where would we stay? We’d been told that the tickets were for travel in the continental U.S. Upon investigation, Tom found they were transferrable for travel to the U.K.
England danced in our dreams again. Not London of last year, but the Arthurian and Celtic countryside of Glastonbury and Stonehenge I’d always dreamed of seeing.
With his usual trust-in-the-Universe optimism, he said, “Hmmm. I can’t see how but maybe there’s a way we can go.”
“Out of the question,” I said with practical opposition. “Surely this is a time of tightening belts, bucking up for a tough climb out of the hole and work, work, work. No time for fun.”
That’s what I learned in my childhood. Seeing is believing. If it can’t be seen, it isn’t real.
As I sank back into fear and depression; just when the cloud over us looked blackest; when my brain was screaming, ‘what are you crazy?’ the call came from London.
Our travel-guide friends were going to be filming in Egypt in February and they offered us their home in the countryside- 20 minutes outside Bath, half an hour from Stonehenge and an hour from Glastonbury.
“Just look after the plants for us.”
Wow! Ok, there were the airline tickets and where to stay, all for free, but how would we be able to afford a car? Rentals’ notoriously expensive and gas prices through the roof in Europe.
“No. We can’t go,” I stated; still the practical parrot.
Tom was not dissuaded.
After a few inquiries, calls started coming in like a bidding war for our business. Messages on our answering machine sang out bargain prices that plummeted from $300 a week to $150 with free mileage no less!
“Yes, we can do that but where was the money for daily needs?”
No sooner than I’d asked the question, two clients paid their overdue bills out of the blue and there was enough cash to carry us through a week’s stay. All that was left to worry about was being up to the adventure of driving on the left hand side of the road.
The house in Midsommer Norton turned out to be a wonderful greystoned estate. Our thoughtful friends had left food for us, drawn maps of the surrounding areas, jotted down clear notes on how to find everything we might need, from petrol to marketing, and left stacks of books out for us to peruse for history and traveling.
In the town of Bath, after visiting the ruins of the Roman pools and lingering over clouds of clotted cream on scones at late afternoon tea, theatre tickets popped up for us at the very last minute before show time.
In Glastonbury, being part of the filming of an historical reenactment of the Passion play at the ancient cathedral where, Peter’s tree bears white blossoms from Jesus’ rood and King Arthur and Guinnevere are buried touched our former lives remembered with incandescence.
Climbing round the Glastonbury Hill beyond the running red sacred waters and sitting atop the windy Tor, treated to an impromptu, sunset didgeridoo concert; echoing inside the tower, while hawks circled and sheep ran round the steep, grassy slopes, more than fulfilled our dreams.
In each place,we met wonderful people who welcomed us and felt like dear friends and family. Serendipity was everywhere and time seemed to blur between past and present.
We chose to spend Valentine’s Day going to Stonehenge and Avebury.
For the past 20 years walking into the center of Stonehenge had been off limits. For protection of this wonder of the world, a pathway many feet away from the circle had been constructed so that people could walk around the circumference to look but not touch.
Some time ago, we’d heard a whisper that it might be possible to get special permission to enter but we couldn’t remember who to contact. We’d read it was open to Druid gatherings at Solstice but you had to know one of the Druid priests to be invited as a friend of ours had been.
I would have given my eyeteeth for that experience.
Before we left NY, Tom had called the tourist board and any office he could think of to find a way to gain us entry- all to no avail.
We inquired at the National Heritage office in Bath and they’d never heard of any such thing.
“No. That’s been ended for about 20 years now, dears.”
The London office was called to make sure no stone had been left unturned as it were.
“Sorry, no not possible anymore,” was the answer.
“Any other places to call?” asked my determined Tom. Got to give him credit for stick-to-it-tiveness.
“No, see here, the rules state ‘off limits to the public,’ luvs.” She kindly held up the directive for us to see with our own eyes.
Ah, well, just being there would have to do and at Avebury we could actually walk amongst the giants encircling the little village. A woman in Glastonbury said that simply putting your hand on them was an incredible experience and since we were sensitives and the energy so great, we’d be able to hear them sing.
I walked on air at the mere thought.
On February 14th, as we crested the hill to Salisbury Plain, it seemed to me that the hugeness I’d always read about had shrunken to a small group of grey hulks, huddling together on a flat stretch of land with a few mounds in the background.
“It’s dinky,” I said, “I can’t believe how much smaller it looks than in pictures.”
“It’s Stonehenge, honey!”
“It’s dinky,” I replied.
From the parking lot we could see lines of people stretching before us to a little ticket booth.
“This is gonna take forever,” I moaned. “We can see this from the roadside. No need to pay to not even be able to get close to it. Let’s go on to Avebury where we can hug those stones.”
“We’re here, honey. Let’s just check it out,” Tom encouraged.
Off he went to the front of the line, poked his head in the window and asked if there was any way to get in to the center of the stones.
“No. Next.”
Onward my man went to a uniformed guard with the same question.
“Go see the gent in the office over there in the back corner,” he whispered as he quickly motioned us away from the crowds.
A knock on the weathered, grey wooden door brought a silver-haired gentleman into view as the top half swung open like a portal from the Emerald City in the Wizard of Oz.
Again the question.
We were informed that we’d have to read the quite strict rules, fill out proper forms to request permission and state our purpose. “What month & year would you like to apply for?”
Omigod! We can actually get in?
Filling out the paperwork in shock at having finally gotten an affirmative answer and writing the single word, ‘spiritual,’ under the heading marked, ‘Purpose,’ Tom replied, “Today, please.”
With a soft chuckle and a kindly smile reserved for maiden aunts gone round the bend, he gently told us that people like scientists, historians and filmmakers generally reserve months to years in advance. To give us a visual confirmation, he hoisted a huge, ancient, dusty green ledger out to show us the pages filled with appointments for the coming years.
“See, here’s today’s date. There’s a party of two.”
“Only two people? Do you think they’d mind if two more joined them?” I asked.
“Oh, no, Miss, that’s not possible. Just the people who’s names are in the book are allowed to go in at 4 PM, after closing, for a single hour’s time. Even if there were one name, only that person alone would be allowed. Sorry.”
Barring some miracle from Heaven, this was obviously not going to happen.
He took our application and, as we disappointedly began to walk away, Tom turned with one last ditch effort and asked, “Do you ever get any cancellations?”
My immediate thought was, “What? Are you out of your mind? What do you think this is? The Holiday Inn?” But the gentleman took pity on us poor foreigners and said , “Well, not really but you could give a call around 3 o’clock… to see.”
“Great. We’re outta here. Off to Avebury and we’ll call later to see if we need to come back,” said I, not wishing to miss getting up close and personal with ancient stones.”
“Well, we’re here. Why don’t we just pay the admission, go through the tunnel under the road and across to take a quick look-see at Stonehenge,” offered my dear, Tom.”
I acquiesced.
Nothing prepared me for the energy that took me in like a kid gazing at the magic kingdom. It held me in its thrall at every angle. On each inch of that walkway, I was mesmerize; pinching myself to belief that we were actually looking at one of the most historic and enigmatic wonders of civilization that we’d only seen in films or books. Tom couldn’t pull me away. My feet were numb with cold and Avebury was forgotten. This was more than enough. I felt grateful to my core for this opportunity as one of the guards described her experiences with the stones. This was her last day and she generously shared facts and stories with us.
I asked, “What was your favorite time of day with them? Sunrise or sunset?”
Her answer was, “When the mist rises off the moor and rings the stones. It’s magic.”
“Ooh, I wish I could see that,” I sighed, “That would be my favorite too.”
Feeling blessed and radiant, as we returned to the entry gate, the keeper of the Register, came running up to us.
Visibly out of breath, “Oh good you’re still here. I’ve been looking for you,” he said as he motioned us out of earshot of the human herd.
Back in the private office, he opened the ancient ledger.
“See here,” he pointed to today’s date and then flipped the pages two weeks forward. “This never happens. The names are the same and I’ve no confirmation for today’s appointment, so I’m putting you in for today.”
He scratched out the other names and wrote ours in beautiful flowing inked script.
“You must be ready for the guard to take you over at precisely 4 o’clock. If you are late, you will lose your time. You’ll have one hour alone in the center of the stones and he will come again to collect you and bring you back.”
Stunned we paid the fee and went to sit in the car.
Tom was taking no chances of driving anywhere with the possibility of getting lost and losing this amazing miracle.
We sat for hours in a pool of wonder and joy, feeling the incredulity of the miracle which had just come to pass.
‘Breathe,’ we reminded each other as tears of gratitude flooded through us as we sat in the car looking out at the barrows in the surrounding countryside.
I wished I had brought my silver Celtic love knot ring to energize here. Tom had given me one of a matching set. Well, at least he could soak up the energy for the two of us. He always wore his.
I glanced over and noticed his empty ring finger. He told me he’d left it in his suitcase.
‘Nevermind,’ I thought, ‘We’re here together to experience this magical Valentine’s Day. That’s what counts.’
Then at 3:30 it started to afternoon drizzle. We watched people baggy up to go see the stones and run back as it became a steady rain.
‘Oh, no. What’s the purpose of this?’ I silently asked the Angels. ‘Why give us this opportunity only to turn the weather foul?’
Umbrella at the ready, we would go no matter what. Cameras were loaded, video charged, extra film stuffed into carrying case and fresh batteries and tape put into the tape recorder. I would get the fantastic opportunity to channel a meditation from the consecrated center of Stonehenge. My skin tingled with excitement.
The car park emptied and only a few hardy souls hung around the outer fence across the road at the henge.
We tugged on layers under our raincoats and went out to meet the guard who silently escorted us under the roadway tunnel through the gate to the other side of the fenced in span of earth and stone.
We cleansed our energy, took a deep breath, and as we stepped over the rope of the outer pathway, touched the heel stone and stopped in awe as the reason why rain had fallen became apparent.
Before our eyes, the downpour stopped and the mist rose from the ground, just as had earlier been described as magical; ringing the stones with the ethereal quality of another time. The hair stood up on my entire body.
Voices of people behind the fence gasped as we smiled at each other, joined hands and began the long walk up the avenue of grass to enter the hallowed hall of Stonehenge much as we realized we’d done lifetimes ago.
There was familiar sense of ritual as we chose to enter through different linteled uprights and we gave each other time and personal space within the ring, to simply be. We felt the awe of being alien and the sense of belonging all at the same time. Tom’s walk from stone to stone was the grace of a silent prayer. A mantle of serenity descended upon him like invisible royal robes. After completing the entire inside circle, being afraid to touch yet unable not to, I stood still at the fallen altar stones sunken in the middle ground. The amazons’ energy vibrated and sang their tones into the air and into our being. I sank to my knees and channeled a meditation of peace for the world from that sacred center.
And when I finished, my dear Tom came to me, gently lifted me up and knelt at my feet; his palm open; our two silver Celtic love knot rings shining there, as he whispered the words, “I have loved you for lifetimes. Will you marry me in this one?”
Tears of surprise and love splashed a cascade of ‘yes, I will’ down my cheeks onto his face to mingle with his own liquid prayer.
He had surprised me again and been prepared; believing without visible proof that we might see this moment.
After setting our rings upon the grass to be blessed and thanking God and the Angels for making possible the great gifts given this day in so much love, we placed the rings on each other’s fingers.
Now, here we were standing on the wind swept plain of Sarum with the saracens of Stonehenge drawing us into the magical energy of their ancient circle; shielding us from the cold.
Knowing the full truth of Believing Is Seeing, we held each other and sent the warmth of our love and appreciation out to light the world.
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