Hunting the Stones #3

On 10 July 2006 we visited the delightful village museum of Dornoch. Unfortunately it was near closing time, but we were still in time to pick up a map of the Pictish Trail. Since it was midsummer and still sunny we decided to embark on a Stone Hunting Expedition.

# 16

St Demhan's Cross at Creich near Bonar bridge. The Fair of St Devenic was still held there until 1630 AD.

#14


Clagh Biorach or 'The Sharp Stone" at Eadar Dun (Edderton) Still has Pictish Symbols

#13

Churchyard Stone at Eadar Dun (Edderton) No Pictish Symbols left - Overcarved with Celtic and Latin Symbols. What is surprising about all the stones is that, even though they stand in full view, it is not easy to find them.

#12

Following our map we came upon the Village of Tain. Here we had a Brigadoon moment. Very much off the beaten track, it's inhabitants seemed to awaken just long enough to observe us. We encountered some very inebriated teeny boppers, eye-candy for some equally inebriated middle-aged men. As we found our quarry and were excitedly hanging over the barrier fence protecting the Ardjarghie Stone, one of the girls shouted suddenly "What are they looking at? That's just fooking rock, for G*d's sake!" And so it was. I wonder if she realised that if it wasn't for this fookin rock nobody from the outside world would probably ever visit Tain at all! Pictish symbols are faintly visible.

#9

The seawards Clach a' Charaidh (Stone of the grave plots), or the Shandwick Stone, is a landmark for passing boats. It is now protected by a glass shelter and the Pictish scenes and symbols are still intact.

#7

Clach a' Mheirlich or Thief's Stone at Alness on the Invergordon Road. By now it was becoming quite dark. It was around 11pm, but my camera, still in SA mode, recorded it as the next day.

Pebble Beach at Ardersier 2006

Among the rubble (Philip de Bruyn)

Today the holding on became
Too much - bedevilled mind let go
Of will, and heart let slip its wants
I fell to what seemed nothingness......
But landed - soft - and found to my
Surprise, my fall arested by
A dear green, single shoot of love.

Sign in a loo at Avebury

As one travels the highways and byways of the world you often need to make use of some really decrepit facilities. Avebury was no exception, but this sign put a humoristic slant on it.

Hunting Stones #2 Avebury 2005

The "Stones" series will not be sequential. I must, perhaps write in the dates, but that may not be so important.

In September 2005 my sister and I travelled off the beaten track from Bath to Windsor, when suddenly she noticed a Standing Stone. We looked around and we were indeed surrounded by standing stones. We had stumbled by some intervention (because I don't believe in coincidence!) on the mystical town of Avebury, and that on the most of auspicious days: the autumn equinox. It was a mystical, wonderful day.

We first noticed the Travellers, with their colourful caravans.

Terry Dobney (Keeper of the Stones at Avebury) Although the stones are much older than Druidism, and Druidism is actually a tree religion, The Arch Druid Terry Dobney is nonetheless seen as the most knowledgeable person regarding the Stones.

A panoramic view of the Avebury Stones

The houses of Avebury are set amongst the stones.

Most of the stones have faces.

Hunting Stones #1 Balnuaran of Clava

Balnuaran of Clava. The Clava Cairns.

In a book about hidden Scotland I found in our lodgings at Ardersier it was written that it was a brave soul indeed who would enter the haunted grove of the Clava Cairns on a late summer's evening. Which is exactly what we did, and, although no bravery was required, the experience was mystical and the memory lasting.

New Days

At some stage I should start to write something, but I know that, comes the next, I'll just wipe the slate clean again, as I do in real life. I exist neither in past or future. Every day is a new beginning........ Every sunrise is an opportunity to start afresh and even if I make soup of the whole shebang today, that too will pass. The sun will set, the night may be long and wakeful, but with a new dawn starts a brand new day. To mess up. Ad infinitum, ad nauseum.

A little Tinker Barbet has heralded the dawn outside my bedroom window for many years now, long before the sun rises. I often hear it after a wakeful night and know the new day will start soon. Is it the same one? I'd like to think so. Some continuity at least!

Stigmata

Stigmata (Philip de Bruyn)

We hear of holy images
Whose plaster eyes shed tears,
Of painted Sacred Hearts that yield
Actual drops of blood.
So too are there human hearts
Bereft of human love,
Which may seem healed or turned to stone -
Yet suddenly gush blood.

-----oo0oo-----

Go man go

Dynamic Earth Exhibition 2006 Edinburgh

Go,man, go.... Philip de Bruyn

No more must my heart quicken to
The beating of the drums. Each time
I've danced the frenzy has been worse -
Or so it seems to me. Perhaps
it's growing tiredness - or age;
But be it as it may - each time
I've danced I've fallen down, and with
Each fall I've found it harder to
Recover from collapse, No more
Experience - hell, no, I've had
Enough of life, of living so
Vehemently that I at times
Have been reduced to nothing but
A melted blob, spread shapelessly
On people, places, things, Yes, now
I'll plug my ears - and concentrate
Myself into myself - and no
More listen to those dreadful drums.

Ah, God, now what is that I hear?
Oh, there they throb, they call again!
Say, could these drums be in my heart,
And earplugs so to no avail?

-----oo0oo-----

Adenia Pechuelli

Adenia Pechuellii

In 2005 I was taken on an amazing trip to the desert by my mentor, friend and gracious host, James Marais. We travelled great distances and deliberated life, death, life after death, quantum physics and electricity, albeit sometimes with the aid of great quantities of Old Brown Sherry, to keep our brains from freezing in the desert's harsh night air. On one of our peregrinations we came across this Adenia Pechuellii. It is a medicinal plant that suffers greatly so that others can live, and reminded me of the next two poems.

In the Desert - (Stephen Crane 1871-1900)

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter – bitter", he answered,
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart"
--------oo0oo----------

The heart is mute (Philip de Bruyn)

The heart is mute, it has no voice.
In pain its speech is tears. A heart
Can be so agonised that could
It play some instrument, the cry
It would produce could pull the stars
Down from the skies. It could reveal
Such pain that Hell itself would be
Distressed - and turn it's face away
-------oo0oo----------