… Once, a very long time ago, they came, the people, full of murmers, and on foot, to stop and understand under the new overlooking stones.
They arrived to understand how these sentinal stones circled them without circling. They understood what it was to be moved without the stones themselves stirring at all, at all.
It was truly, truly it was, the new normal.
Then the word like seedcorn was spread far and wide. They began to arrive in this place with the new word.
They came many times, many people from wide and far. Along their hill tracks and through their wooded places. Down the generations they travelled. In the season they walked, to find uplift in the new normal.
Listen to the men talking low. Hear the women urging their children to quieten.
Great crowds in their seasons. Fires and Feastings. Music making and Solemnities.
Year after year, harvest upon harvest.
Oh, they murmured, those crowds, flowing like the sea at peace with itself.
They played simple music, like the sounds of the open-eyed laughter of new lovers.
They took themselves away and back again!
Later, time out of mind, on the grassy wooded pathways between the holding on and the letting go of memories, the youngest forgot what the oldest had spoken. So they turned and learned instead the word from the stones. The same sentinel stones.
The dancings and the silences of the stones, in a circle all around.
Every single one of those who had walked, who came and went, now are melted, gently melted under the forgiving ground.
Look. The stones are here now. Yes, in their sacred uprightness. Yes, so clear.
Stand. Listen as the stones gravely intone the awe of the worshippers. Crowds and crowds who are lying today deep in earth, far and wide, scattered and blind and deaf and dumb.
They truly are mighty, these populations under the ground, over which the silent stones are standing still, spreading their power over them all. And spreading their power over me, as I stand and stand and listen today!
The peoples of the so-called past, of the Renaissance, of the Middle Ages, the Ptolomeic, the Uyghur Khaganate, those men and women of the Indus Valley Civilization, the Jomon period generations and all of our earlier and earliest forebears, elsewhere and everywhere, including especially inhabitants during those eras named with arrogant paradox as “before history”… Not one of them is “other”.
Not one is other, nor different. And not a single one but hasn’t my heart, my soul, my spirit now and at this time of my saying-tongue and of my writing-finger.
They are the bringers of my DNA.
They said the sayings I say. I can see them, hear them, yes and converse with them, any and all of them, because they are my mother father sister brother from inception directly to my now-incadescent brain!
They are dead, but they are me in myriad form. They give, take, sing, wail, swallow, bleed, sweat, spit with me!
Their time of birth is my time of birth. We share all we are and all we any of us ever have in common.
Time, their time, my time, and yours too, does not exist. Simply put, when I drop my the guardianship of my ego, I can openly accept the origin of my sentient humanity as Swarm, as Collective.
There’s always plenty of time to waste or cling to.
But stay a most precious while among the circlestones. The Avebury, The Callanish, the great henges, the Sunkenkirks. Hear and converse with our brethren as easily as you would to your friend
~ Love is present EveryNow