Star Woman in Love

by Piera Sarasini

  We reached the Stone. We circled it three times clockwise and three times anticlockwise. A family of German tourist were in the meadow and stared at us with curiosity. They couldn’t see our royal companions. I kissed the top of the Lia Fáil. Then you placed your right foot and then your left foot on it. The meaning of our ritual is clear to those who possess the Knowledge. Three is a divine number. The circling in the two directions is a reminder of the ability to go in and out of time. My kiss on the Sacred Phallus marks the Holy Bride’s acceptance of the Divine Groom. Your feet on the Stone signal your vow to walk on the path of Sacred Maleness, on the Path of the High King. The Stone roared in delight. The sound expanded across the valley to the four corners of the Earth. You were the High King and I was your Divine Queen. The German onlookers didn’t hear a sound. They also didn’t see anything apart from a young couple in love messing about with quirky pagan lore.

  * * * *

  Newgrange, 21 December 1995

  “Polly, turn right here. See the little country road that goes along the river? Follow that, please!”

  “Okay, Oscar. Bit of a detour, eh?”

  “Keep going, you’ll see why later...”

  Your voice woke me up. I was lying with my head in your lap in the back seat of the car. I had been asleep as it was just after eight in the morning. You caressed my face when I opened my eyes. I sat up and saw the windscreen wipers working over time, trying to fend their way through buckets of rain.

  “I’ve just seen a crow fly in that direction,” you said, “looks like we have a date at Newgrange.”

  The Morrígan was guiding us to the sacred site aligned with the Winter Solstice, which happened to be that day. Polly was driving and Sam was sitting next to her. My two friends were now boyfriend and girlfriend. They were our guests during the Christmas holidays. We had spent the weekend in a spa hotel near Drogheda. Polly was adamant that we should leave in good time. There were severe weather warnings and she wanted to be in Dublin before the rain got any worse. An early start to the journey would also allow them to drop their bags at our place. Then we could head for our lunchtime appointment at a renowned fish restaurant in Dun Laoghaire.

  The sun had not yet risen in that infernal sky. You and I had been very busy in bed the night before. We were both a little worse for wear at breakfast that morning. I thought we were going straight to Dublin and I could catch forty winks on the journey. But you saw a crow fly in the direction of Newgrange and we had to detour there; it didn’t matter that we were in the middle of a storm.

  We drove past the Visitor’s Centre. It was closed at this time of the year. A small group of people wearing plastic ponchos waited in the lashing rain next to a minibus. It didn’t look very inviting out there, I thought. You must have read my mind.

  “It’s only water, Cassie,” you said.” Water is always a blessing...”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Then we are very blessed here in Ireland.”

  We reached the nearest access to the site and parked the car. The gate to the grounds was open to welcome visitors for the Winter Solstice celebrations. It was still dark but the sun was starting to rise in the East. A mystical silence enveloped the place. As we were walking towards the Passage Tomb, the rain eased off significantly. But the wind turned even more blusterous and horrid. You put your arm around me to shelter me from the elements. Our friends didn’t seem too happy to be there. Polly’s tiny frame was shaking in the harsh Irish weather. Sam held her hand to encourage her. Some people were already outside the entrance to the Tomb. We joined them as they listened to their guide. She was describing the archaeology of the place in great detail, explaining how passage tombs like Newgrange incorporated both rituals of death and rebirth.

  “This is a Marriage Chamber, Cassie,” you whispered.

  I knew. It is also a time-travelling and dream-magnifying temple. I wanted to remind you so when I got interrupted by someone calling your name.

  “Oscar, fancy meeting you here today! And what a great coincidence it is!”

  The man who approached us was the poet, Kenneth Drury. In his late sixties, he looked remarkably energetic and healthy.

  “See these people here? We are this year’s Newgrange Lottery winners. You know, the only way to get into the Chamber to admire the first Solstice sunrays is by entering a lottery draw. I’m one of the lucky winners. At last, after forty odd years trying! Well, guess you are even luckier than me, my son. We’re about to go inside. Sunrise is expected at 9.02 am. Four of the winners didn’t turn up because of the weather. And guess what? Oscar O’Leary and his three friends appear at the right time to replace them! Come this way, squeeze in!”

  Our magic had worked to gain us priority access to one of the most sacred power spots in the land. Something was calling us inside the chamber that morning, to witness the revered ritual. Something higher and undimmed by time was enticing us to be present, with the frequency of our Union, at a very portentous space-time junction. We didn’t quite grasp the scope of the event at first. But the solemnity of the moment became apparent once we entered the dark gallery.

  Seventeen people in a line walked into the tumulus, one by one. You led the way before me, holding my hand. The long entrance gallery is a very narrow and low corridor. You had to bend not to bang your head. It was pitch-black inside, bar the guide’s torch that flickered through the shapes of the bodies making their way towards the chamber. When we got there, we were asked to stand in silence with our backs to the walls. The guide reminded us that the monument dated back five thousand years to a time before the pyramids at Giza or even Stonehenge in England had been erected. In ancient times, at Newgrange, or Brú na Bóinne as it’s known in Irish, pilgrims would come from all corners of the land to worship the Light winning over the Darkness on the shortest day of the year.

  “The poetry of this site is unbeatable,” you said in my ear. “It’s death and rebirth, it’s the primordial womb of the Mother gestating the Sun god, it’s the Alchemical Marriage in all of its beauty.”

  “Shhhhh...”

  The guide reminded us to be quiet and let Nature do all the talking. Then she switched off her torch. Seventeen individuals stood in complete silence in the temple. You put your arms around me. Everybody was trying their best to make their presence inconspicuous. We stood in the darkness for what felt like eons. Our heads were turned towards the little roof-box at the entrance. The sunlight would enter from there. Your breath and mine synchronised. I could hear the prayers and dreams of the ancestors who had come here to sing their songs and play their drums to the Life Force. They had also made love; the Kings and the Queens of old consumed their Sacred Union here. You and I felt the frequency of their ancient alchemy, just like our own.

  A feeble suggestion of light appeared in the distance. A sunray stretched its lazy fingers through the gallery, inch by inch down the nineteen meters until it reached the chamber. The Light of the sun filled the space, illuminating our solemn faces. It revealed a multitude of symbols that decorated the walls around us, and quartz fragments contained therein. Awe filled our souls as we beheld the changing of the season. I looked up to see your face. When our eyes locked, we found ourselves elsewhere in space and in time.

  * * * *

  “Welcome to my home, Twins.”

  Our eyes almost popped out of their orbits with surprise. We were in a room full of strange ornaments. The scent of myrrh filled the air. The walls were carved out of crystal. A bat of an eyelash earlier, we’d been staring in amazement at the first ray of sunshine penetrating the darkness of the Newgrange chamber. Now we were in paradise. The tall lady with long dark hair who was talking to us had led us there. Why, we didn’t know yet.

  “I am the Morrígan. But you can call me Morgana as I’m better known these days. You are most welcome visitors in Shambhala, the White Island.”

  We were speechless.

  “Don’t be so surprised! You have been here many times before in your dreams and in your visi
ons. We all know you very well here. We hadn’t managed to get you past the Gates of the City of Light for long before, but now you’re fully grown up in your love. The frequency of the feeling you have for each other is the Key that opens the Gates. You wouldn’t have been able to enter without that strong tie that now binds you.”

  Morgana clapped her hands and three crows flew through a big patio window that opened onto a square. As we turned to look at the birds, we noticed many trees in blossom outside the house. There were buildings made of many-coloured crystals shining in the sunshine and reflecting a multitude of rainbows across the air. The crows turned into middle-aged men dressed like the Knights Templar.

  “Cassandra, these are your guides. Alongside me, they will accompany you to the Crystal Waterfall. They are at your service and will answer all your questions. Just make sure that you ask the right ones as they will not offer any information otherwise.”

  I couldn’t contain my excitement at meeting them. The gentleman to the right was Hugues de Payens, the co-founder and first Grand Master of the Knights Templar. Next to him was Godfrey of Saint-Omer, another founding member. Hugues and Godfrey had been so poor that they had only one horse between them. Indeed, the famous image on the seal of the Templars, with two men riding a single horse, was inspired by them. To their left was Phillipe de Plessis, famous among other things for helping uphold the treaty between Saladin and Richard I. To the sound of crystal laughter, an elderly man appeared in the room.

  “Greetings, Twins! I believe you’ve just arrived from Brú na Bóinne, the place that was once my home. I am the Dagda, though in more recent times I have become known as the Merlin. Young lady, you were absolutely right when you tuned into the frequency of the Sacred Union in the temple. That was the Marriage Chamber where I laid with Elcmar. There we conceived Aengus, the god of love. Morgana won’t be too happy to be reminded of that. The Phantom Goddess is not that fond of physical reproduction,” he said, winking at me.

  “I’m here to guide you to the Fairy Lake, Oscar. The way is difficult and we won’t be treading it alone. Here are my faithful assistants.”

  To a clap of his hands, three white horses galloped into the square. When they arrived at the door of the house, they turned into three men. The Merlin introduced them.

  “You must have recognised these renowned Masters of the Mind, dear Twins. Meet Leonardo da Vinci, Sigmund Freud and John Lennon. Oscar, they are here to ensure you will make it to your appointment. As I said, I’m coming along as well. You may ask us any question to your heart’s content. But beware we’ll only answer with riddles.”

  We left Morgana’s house together and entered a multicoloured dream. My senses were tuned into the environment and those who populated it. I was at home. You were, too, at last. We reached a bifurcation in the road that stretched from the city out into the countryside, where we kissed and parted company. You went along with the Merlin’s retinue and I continued my journey with Morgana and the Knights. What were we to expect next? When would we be returned to our normal lives on Earth? Our first official visit to Shambhala was going to be a feast of learning. Yet all information was to be kept in our subconscious minds until the time was ripe for it to be put into action.

  * * * *

  Uisneach, 1 May 1996

  Darkness covered the hill. The light would soon come to bless Bealtaine, May Day. The bonfires lit during the previous night were now flickering embers piercing the morning mist like cats’ eyes. Dances had been woven around them. Couples had let their hair down as their loving ways unfolded, covered by blankets under the stars. The night was dedicated to the Sacred Fire, the Light of the Life Force itself. For centuries, fertility, union and growth were celebrated on this date. These ancient rituals had stood the test of time. Like at Samhain, the doors to the Otherworld flung open at Bealtaine.

  Holding torches to find their way up the hill, the party of Light Workers wove their way to the ancient site that marked Ireland’s mystical navel. Two good friends of Cassandra’s were among them: Maria-Carmen and Lydia. The group positioned themselves around the Cat’s Stone. Holding hands in a circle, they formed an unlikely patchwork of people. Some were old and looked like respectable middle class pensioners in tweed jackets and wellies. Others were younger and of a more colourful hippy stock. From their encircled voices, a chant of harmonic sounds bridged dimensions and reached their guides in Shambhala.

  Nature listened in, waiting for the arrival of the new day with infinite stillness. Idle cows mooed. Dawn’s rosy fingers tantalised the shadow in a foreplay that culminated in the appearance of the sunrise in all its golden glory. The voices of the Light Workers rose in volume and pitch. Their vocalises contained a secret code, a mystical frequency. Their song grew into the climax of the perfect sound wave. Elsewhere in space and time, the lock of the Gates of Shambhala clicked open, and Cassandra and Oscar bid farewell to their friends in the Diamond City. In their astral bodies, they had gained easy access to the place the night before as they slumbered like lovers do after joining their limbs in Sacred Union. Now it was time to return to their physical bodies that were fast asleep under a blanket on the Hill of Uisneach, under the still starry sky.

  The campers started to stir in their sleeping bags. Dawn was upon them, tickling their dreams with its light. It was time to arise and partake in the blessings of May Day. Following an ancient propitiatory custom, people washed their faces with the morning dew that is known to have powers of rejuvenation on Bealtaine. Others wandered around the hill to collect flowers and boughs from the mountain ashes or rowan trees, to be later hung across the doorways or on the outside of the windows of their homes. Coffee, fruit and biscuits were shared in the usual tradition of hospitality and generosity associated with the festival.

  Cassandra and Oscar woke up in each other’s embrace. Sparkles came from their hands. To their amazement, they were both wearing a Claddah ring which had not been there when they had fallen asleep. They remembered that they had held an impromptu mock wedding ceremony on the Hill the day before. Now their true vows had also been sealed in Shambhala. Cassandra put her hand on Oscar’s heart as a promise to love and respect him forever. No words were spoken. In silence he swore to love and honour her until the end of time. They could by then read each other’s mind with great ease. Then they anointed each the other’s forehead with the morning dew to symbolise the eternity to their bond. Sacred Marriage vows can’t be broken. Most importantly, they can only be made in heaven.

  * * * *

  Uisneach, 30 April 1996

  It was three years exactly to the date we had met. You were never one to remember such trivialities. But I, being female, remembered. Of course, I know time doesn’t really exist; it’s a human construct designed to map out the stories of our lives. Time travellers, however, learn how to use dates as signposts to return to specific space-time junctions from their escapades into eternity. That’s why I always insisted that you should focus on the coordinates of the events constellating our existence together. One day in the future we might want to revisit them. Your artistic disposition made you reluctant to agree. My female ways helped me change your mind.

  You were not in bed when I woke up. I walked downstairs and found you in the garden. It was our favourite place in the house, apart from our Bridal Chamber. The trees were decorated with ribbons which we left as messages to the Faeries. That’s how we communicated with them. We would think of the information we wanted to convey to them, speak their name on the ribbon and then tie it to the tree. Plant life is a generous vessel of the Life Force, so that it can be used to deliver thoughts across dimensions. The watercourses of the Earth fulfil the same function with equal effectiveness.

  “Good morning, Cassandra! Happy, sunny anniversary!”

  The table in the patio was laid with a champagne breakfast to celebrate the occasion of our encounter. You had remembered. We fed each other strawberries and basked in the sunshine. The morning was warmer and more summery than it
would have been assumed from the actual date on the calendar. You asked me to follow you to your studio. There was something you wanted to show me.

  With champagne flutes in our hands, we went to your artist space, the big two-floor gatehouse at the far end of the garden. It was covered in ivy and had a thatched roof. I always thought it looked like a fairy house, and that’s what I used to call it. We passed through the reception, then along the gallery room where your most recent work was on display, and finally to your studio upstairs. You had the top floor converted into a single room with plenty of light coming from the big windows on each wall. Your ‘sleeping area’ was one level up in the attic.

  Your latest oil on canvas was unveiled. The subject was powerful in its simplicity. Your characteristic nervous strokes seemed more relaxed. A long earth-brown road stretched from the centre of the picture through a shady forest full of eyes. A single small dot of bluish light pierced through the top right corner of the composition. However small, it commanded total attention. As I stared at it, the perception of my body became liquid. It was a sign that my cells were tuning into the frequency of Shambhala and my spirit was being called back Home. You had created a piece of art that was capable of connecting our here-and-now dimension to the one we ultimately called Home. One of your Guides, Leonardo, had taught you the technique. Now it was time to reveal the Great Work you were doing to the rest of the world. I couldn’t have been any more proud of you, any more in love with you, and any happier.

  After lunch, we headed for the sacred site of Uisneach where we were going to spend the night before Bealtaine. Many friends and acquaintances would be there. The Irish branch of the Godhead Society had organised a concert featuring international renowned musicians. Information had circulated at grass-roots level. The main performance was on the night of the 1st of May, but rituals were also going to take place on the eve of the festival. The Society had managed to ship over some eminent guests: a tribal elder from Australia, two medicine men from Mexico and North America, and the renowned crystal healers from Scotland, Maria-Carmen and Lydia. Only people whose souls were in tune with the Earth’s soul and her tides were invited. Light Workers, energy channellers, healers, shamans and druids were expected to turn up that night. Thanks to your reputation as a shamanic artist, you and I were top of the guest list. Apart from the two of us, in those days nobody was aware of the full scope of our joint powers.