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Hidden in the Mists
Skellig Michael keeps hiding. Stark and floating in its power spot nature for a few days, completely invisible in the mists for a few more. It makes me wonder if part of the basis of the legend of the Avalonian mists is this behavior. Sometimes, when the mists lie thick and heavy on the water, a brutal strain and squint reveals just the outline of the fortress-like island. Then, of course, the mists retaliate, another big bank rolling in to obscure whatever is wanting or needing obscuration.
I find I am phasing with the island. Doing my mentor work some days, flowing with the mists on others, I ebb and flow with the sacred site. It is delicious. It is breath-taking. It is time at a power place on the sea. The sea that moves as SHE does, HER heaving breast sheltering, comforting and confronting as the swells roll by.
Parting the mists of Avalon was always about creating a clear channel, a doorway between realities. And yet, finally, Avalon disappeared into the mists. Allegedly until the world would once again be ready to honor HER. “Oh, please, are they not ready?” HER child within me whispers.
SHE laughs, in HER guise as Brighid, as we walk together here. A Celtic Wisdom Goddess, Brighid shows up for me along the Celtic leylines. HER waves of amplified life force ripple through this area, HER vortex of earth-sky-sea.
