We happened to visit Nine Ladies stone circle nestled among silver birch trees in the Peak District at the same time as two older and kindly men, who proceeded to walk around the circle at leats 9 times before settling against a stone each and sitting silently for a good thirty minutes.

I had left the circle to make way for them, and sat and watched as they circumnavigated the circle, curious because I only usually walk around them three times, as is custom at the Fairy Ring here on Guernsey. I overheard one of the men ask the other whether he intended to take a photo and he responded, “No, you can’t capture an experience like this”. And that really sums up my trip to the Peak District.

Sure, I have taken some photos (although note to self, check the lens is clean), but these don’t really capture my experience, anymore than the words that I am now going to write. In many ways, it was this during this trip that I truly recognised how much language can get in the way of our experience, how words can distract and distort our lived reality, because of the influence they have on the mind.

It took me a good three days of walking and stone sitting to quieten the mind to the extent that the words were no longer getting in the way. I find it very difficult sometimes to extricate myself from the entanglement of home and working life, from the many perceived responsibilities and roles that are played, let alone the angst at leaving a crying child and the conditioning which causes the lower mind to judge and get wrapped up in emotion.

The days began to roll into one after then, another magical day spent on the wildness of the moors, surrounded by the delight of space, of the sound of nature and admittedly the background and often distant, but still there, noise of the roads and odd plane over head, reminding me that we are never far away from civilisation even out in the seeming middle of nowhere. Yet, there were moments where I was aware solely of the cry of the birds, and the rustling of the grasses, and the crunch of the dried heather underfoot.

There is nothing greater for my soul at least then merging with nature like this and immersing in the energy of stones, which have a habit of taking me to these wild and ‘thin’ places, where there is a shift in reality.

Mabon offering in centre of Nine ladies - beautiful or desecration of nature?

There was a sadness at times too, at the desecration of the circles, where passionate Christians had pushed over stones, in defiance at Paganism, and farmers infuriated by their presence, have moved and have turned menhirs into gate posts or just flung them to the side of a field. And even more lately, in 2020 arsonists set fire and moved stones at Doll Stone circle, causing serious damage to this popular and beautiful protected site.

Because what the Peak gifted, amongst many things, was a reminder of the sacred, which is so far removed from our society today, deep in Kali Yuga as we are, which is characterised by a decrease of moral values and memory and an increasing influence of darker forces such as hypocrisy, greed and delusion (interestingly the scriptures maintain that Tantra is the liberating Sadhana (spiritual practice) of this age).

Life is sacred.

The stones to me are also sacred, and while the expanse and freedom and peace of the moors touched something deep in my heart and the views at times causing me to stop and stare at the play of light and the clouds and skies above to say nothing of the softness of the landscape, there was also a heaviness at our separation from nature as a humanity.

But at the same time, paradoxically, the Peak restored some faith that I didn’t even know was lacking, around the language of nature which is heard - ironically - in silence.

And even my words now are not enough to covey that because essentially they are just noise and so a quandary for a writer!

A white bearded dowser asked me sheepishly at Arbor Low, the Stonehenge of the North, if I ever hugged stones. '“Yes!” I exclaimed, “I do”. He was relieved. “They’re like people aren’t they”, he commented. “Yes”, I agreed. “They have a consciousness don’t they”, he added. “They absolutely do”, I said. “Other people will think us mad”, he said. “I know”, I agreed, “but that’s OK”, and we both laughed before going our own separate ways.

The Peak gifted these connections, of wild souls being at ease in silence and yet gentle conversation when the moment came, to remind each other, like messengers, that we’re not alone in our love of stones and in the sacred, and this gave me hope that all is not lost, that there are many keepers of this ancient language, that may talk through rods and pendulums, and sitting quietly, and the passing of a herd of deer at dusk or the circling of a buzzard, the whispering of trees and the presence of that which cannot be named.

I won’t forget this journey to the Peak, and the manner in which it has changed things and allowed me to immerse in the delight of stone circles as well as the joy of finally living the dream of visiting Chatsworth House. I am reminded that there is a timing for everything and our dreams do come true, but in their own time, how words can easily become a distraction and how it is in silence that we hear the most.

For those interested, The Peak District is an upland area and the first of Britain's national parks in 1951, located in central-northern England at the southern end of the Pennines. While mostly in Derbyshire, it also extends into parts of Cheshire, Greater Manchester, Staffordshire and South and West Yorkshire. It is famous for its rolling landscapes, encompassing the moorland-dominated Dark-Peak and the limestone-based White Peak.

Love Emma

Stone circles in the Peak District

Bringing light to the shadows

Ayurveda and Yoga - understanding the connection