Alban Arthuan at Stonehenge on the Salisbury Plain

300 sq miles of chalk grassland
Half of it is owned
By the Ministery of Defence
All of that is zoned
Eight million shells
Fired all about
Thousands unexploded
And underneath these areas
We understand its loaded

With ancient villsge sitings
And relics of all sorts
When you come to Stonehenge
What really grips your thoughts
Is the ancientness around you
Beneath your feet you feel
That energy the imagination
It just feels so real

It is a sacred landscape
And who knows whats below
The first world war tunnels
Built there all those years ago
At Larkhill
And outside the MOD land
We surmise
It is riddled with artifacts
Which I am sure most realise

Avebury and Stonehenge
And Woodhenge and we know
Long barrows and ditches
And much of it on show
What is a wild life haven
Many rare wild plants
And butterflies and birds
And insects nothing there by chance

Embrace the pre-existence
The historicity
Feel the enduring flush of those
Who lived essentially
Below our feet or around a bout
And who moved these stones to where
They now stand, for us all to see
Their aura’s still to share

Much to be discovered still
Alongside all we see
The ethereal the emblematic
And the imaginary
The blue stones from the presili hills
The sandstone sarsens too
Somehow reached the present site
And standfast good and true

Adjusted balanced stabilized
Lifted and aligned
Lunar and solar axis
A temple of the mind
Generous proportions
A venerable regard
What is ofcourse astounding
And breathtakingly hard

A Unesco World Heritage Site
Tourists everywhere
A major road with countless cars
Adds to the despair
Dwarfed by modernisation
And the randomness of now
Tuned into the cacophony
But really wondering how

Bird or beast or druid
Can sense the inner world
The spirit world the ancestors
The awen for being hurled
Into what is present day
The great commercial sphere
Alban Arthuan the light of arthur
Doth invoke a tear

Animals around us
Send their vitality
Their healing is revealing
An inner knowledge, we
Can pick up on it inside
The stones more so than then
waiting on the Road back home
The portal of awen
Is not So easily accessible
Necessarily to draw
Down into the spirit
As it was before

The wild souls that frequent
These parts
Possess the ability
Whether Buzzard or Barn Owl
That facility
The Adder or the Roe Deer
Can aurically proclaim
What is timeless and eternal
Their everlasting flame

It is transient to many
Possibly thats so
But at the ritual some will feel
The wind when it does blow
A seasonal adjustment
That continuance of course
When the nose and toes take on a chill
From A seemingly colder source

Something else to think about when you come
At Yule.

Alban Arthuan The light of Arthur
awen Inspiration