I took a look at the blogs listed over there on the side, those I follow on Feedly. There were 63. I checked them all out, and many are officially dead - either private or completely gone, or haven't been updated in years. That's sad. Some of the dead ones were favorites, blogs I really enjoyed. It's like old friends died, or simply moved away without leaving a forwarding address. The ones that annoy me the most are the bloggers who built up a base of loyal readers, then turned the blog material into a book, and when the book did not become a best-seller, they quit blogging. Somethin' kinda hissy-fit about that. Second most annoying are those who gave no indication they were quitting - just left stories unfinished and disappeared. I don't think they realize that people really do worry about what happened. Some people at least said goodbye.
So, I edited the list, and ended up deleting 31 -- half! So sad.
I came across a reference today to Avebury Henge. I've been to both Avebury Henge and Stonehenge, with Jay. They are very close together, just a few miles by car, but they are very different. Stonehenge feels strongly masculine, in your face. Avebury feels definitely feminine, it moves in on you quietly. I had no reaction at Stonehenge, beyond the generic "yeah, interesting, amazing, how?, why?" bit. I had a very powerful reaction at Avebury.
I don't know whether it was a special day, or just that it was before they roped it off, but we were allowed to walk into Stonehenge, touch the stones, stand in the center, and all that, just like at Avebury. so it wasn't due solely to propinquity. After Stonehenge we headed over to Avebury.
In case you don't visit any websites for Avebury, I'll tell a little. It was built in the stone age, before metal tools. It's older than Stonehenge, something like 4500 years old. The henge, which is the ditch and bank around the circle of stones, was dug using picks made of deer antler, and shovels made from cow shoulder bones, and it was DEEP, and HIGH, and HUGE! The outer circle of standing stones is the largest in the world. Inside the outer circle were two smaller separate circles. All three circles had a center stone.
As it probably looked then:
Believe it or not, a modern (relatively modern) village has been built smack in the middle:
When we first arrived, I was fine. There were groups of people walking around. They were chatting and laughing, taking pictures, it was a typical country outing. Me, not so much. The further into the site we got, the more frightened I got. Strong feeling of foreboding. It got worse the longer we were there.
It was the middle of summer, but I became overwhelmed by fear of the coming winter, of not having enough food. I was afraid of what we would have to do to ensure food. It got worse and worse. I didn't touch any of the stones. I was afraid to. It was like it was not me. Someone else was in my head.
We got to what was the center of one of the inner smaller circles, and I had a vision. There was a wooden post (not really, just in my vision). It was the winter solstice, I think. It was dark, after sunset. The elder women of the tribe took a baby, a female infant, the female infant born closest to the solstice, took it from its mother, wrapped it in hides, and chanting, hung it like a papoose from the pole, and then left it there. The mother knew it was for the survival of the tribe. She cried, but did nothing else. The baby was left there throughout the winter. It cried for a while, but then was quiet. This ensured good hunting and that the stored grains would be sufficient, and that illness would stay away. The vision was very strong. It was my baby. This baby had to starve so the rest of us would not. I heard it cry, and I could do nothing. It was tearing me apart.
If I looked around, I saw people on holiday, and grass, and the stones, and sun shining on everything, but at the same time I clearly saw, with the same eyes, like an overlay, darkness, packed dirt, no grass, the stones, older women with torches hanging a bundle on a pole. My bundle.
It was all so strong I told Jay I couldn't stay another second, I couldn't visit the pub or the museum, I had to leave immediately. I didn't tell him why, but I was trembling, and I think the look on my face convinced him. He was pretty cool, didn't ask. It all went away as soon as we were out of the henge.
It was like I was entered by a 4500-year-old woman, mourning her baby. I didn't tell Jay about it. All he knew was that I didn't like the atmosphere or something. I've never told anyone. Until now.
So, I see videos of modern-day Druids and people who define themselves as spiritual beating drums and waving arms and dancing around Avebury Henge in their white robes and floral headgear, and I am somehow disgusted by them. I don't know what they think they're doing. They natter on about convergence of ley lines, and powerful energies, and earth spirits, and I think they are deluded dip-shits, playing games. They don't know. They don't know how to know.