After a rainy, cold, and jet-lagged filled first few days in London, I was excited to arrive in my destination. Glastonbury. A small, English town, with ancient roots as the Isle of Avalon - the island famed in stories of King Arthur, and the Mists of Avalon. I was called there, to steep in the energies of the ancient Priestesses and Druids who trained on the lands. But here I was now, a modern day woman, getting off a very modern day bus, being dropped off in the centre of this bustling little town.
The bus dropped me off right in front of a raw chocolate shoppe, which I, of course, had to enter. I treated myself to a ceremonial “welcome to Glastonbury” chocolate, eyeing the sacred geometry clad clothes, and superfoods in the corners, but shooing myself out of the store, so that I could find my Airbnb.
I went the wrong way at first, and had to get help from some friendly locals, who pointed me in the right direction, up 2 hills, to the left, right, and left - and then, I was there. I would be staying as a guest in a woman’s home, my bedroom, having a view of the legendary, Glastonbury Tor.
As I settled in, I felt the stress of being in London fall away, as I allowed the healing energies of Glastonbury seep into me.
My first priority was to gather spring water. There are 2 main springs in Glastonbury, a red one - named for the high iron content and ability to make anything turn reddish brown over time - and a white one, named, in part, for it’s high calcium content. Where these springs rose from the ground, had long been sites for ancient ceremonies, rituals, and initiations. So not only was the water pure and fresh, it also came from places of potent magic and mystery. Clearly, I had to get some, straight away!
After consulting my map, I headed out, walking through charming English backroads that reminded me of the movies. As I passed a farmer’s field, I heard some voices. Taking a peak, I saw a group of women in a circle, with their arms raised high, chanting “Hail the Moon Goddess, Hail the Moon Goddess!” I had arrived to Glastonbury on the the Full Moon, quite synchronistically. And here I had stumbled on a ritual of women celebrating it, and bringing in the lunar energies. Everything about the scene - the farmer’s field, the devotion of the women, the circle they raised their arms in - came together perfectly to elicit tears. I felt the ancient magic, alive and well.
I continued onto the springs, with every intention to turn around, once I filled up. I was still really jetlagged, and nursing an injured knee. But once I filled up with the water, mixing the red and white springs, and offering my gratitude to them, I felt the energy of the Tor pulling at me. St. Michael’s Tor (named for Archangel Michael), is built on the top of the highest hill in Glastonbury, and was the site for many ancient initiations. I hesitated. Should I go back and rest, or should I climb the hill? I asked myself. The lure was too strong, and despite my best intentions to take it easy, I found myself climbing.
As the Tor came into view, I can’t describe what came over me. Something ancient. A recognition. A meeting of my lineages… I felt Isis, I felt Archangel Michael, I felt Mary Magdalene, I felt the ancestors, I felt more than I can describe or understand with my mind. And I started to cry, from a deep place. People were coming and going in front of me and behind me, so I tried to save my bursts of tears for when the coast was clear. I’m all for crying in front of people, but this felt like a sacred moment, my moment, and I wanted to keep it for myself. I thought to myself, “I can’t believe this place exists!”
Once I got to the top of the Tor, I sat to watch the sun set. There were many people there, who were meditating, or doing ceremony, or just talking, spending time with their friends and family in that beautiful moment. I sat there for a few moments, and then heard drumming coming from inside the Tor. I curiously wandered over, and found a man beating his drum, while a red haired woman danced, her flaming curls spiralling around her body as she moved. 'She looks like Brigid herself’, I thought, an ancient Celtic Goddess of healing and fire.
After taking in the scene, I moved to the opposite side of the hill, preparing for the moon rise, knowing that the Full Moon rises exactly opposite where the sun sets, I chose my spot. After waiting patiently, the moon appeared, as a luminous yellow orb, moving upwards in the sky. The air was full of magic, as I recognized that everyone on the Tor was there for the same reason - to honour the sunset and moonrise as a time to connect spiritually, as a sacred moment.
And that’s when I heard singing coming from inside the Tor, to compliment the drumbeat. I started humming along - ever the singer, music always comes out of me when I hear people making it. I witnessed myself quietly humming to myself, and I witnessed the longing to be louder, and sing the melodies that were coming through. A part of me tried to get myself to sit still, to watch the moon, to just enjoy listening. But a bigger part of me squirmed, and asked to go ‘play’ with fellow musicians. I recognized a moment to open my throat chakra, and I left my moonrise spot, to join the group.
I started singing along with would-be Brigid, who it turns out, was the one singing. She enthusiastically welcomed my voice, and we started playing off one another, as the drum beat. A crowd had gathered round, taking in the song. And that’s when I just let it all come out. I let the land move through me, I felt Archangel Michael and the ancestors of the place, pulse inside of me, and I sang their vibrations through me. The frequencies took turns between wildly loud, guttoral and primal, and angelic and etheric. My soul beamed as she was able to express what was inside of her, and what was inside of the land.
I stayed there for a few songs, offering the melodies that came though me, and enjoying the beating drum, and the atmosphere. But before long, jet lag crept up again, and I felt it was time. I’d had an amazing night at the Tor, and silently said thank you, before making my way down.
On the way back to my Airbnb, I continued to sing. I sang to the trees, and the ancestors, and the moon, and I felt the spirits rise up in thanks to greet me. The land loves to be sung to.
And that night, as I crawled into bed, I knew I was in the right place. I gave thanks for the synchronicites, and as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was fast asleep, joining the ancestors in the dreamtime.