Author Description

This was supposed to be a simple Journal about having picnics on the ornamental White Horses that adorn the hillsides of Wiltshire. These hill figures were fashioned by locals centuries ago, by removing the turf to expose the chalk below. I thought that this would be a nice, gentle, summer project, in a county that I adore, and that I might – somehow - be able to bring the goddess Rhiannon into it. Instead, during a short holiday in the Gower peninsular in Wales, these ideas and perhaps Rhiannon herself were speared from within by a shamanic figure known today as the Red Lady of Paviland, who lived 34,000 years ago. So my line of thought and enquiry got deflected. Then not so much deflected as skewed. And after that no longer skewed but twisted. And finally the twists became spirals that revolved into wormholes, and by the end the anticipated White Horses had all galloped off and left me amid old bones in the dazzling darkness of a cave in the depths of pre-history. Did I achieve a valid inner contact and get meaningful insights from this red-ochred figure from the times before Time began? Yes. Yes, I suppose I did. But not at all in the way I expected...