I've always been drawn to standing stones. I couldn't tell you when it started or even why, but wherever we go on holiday I seem to find myself wanting to visit them. We've travelled to Orkney, Harris and Lewis, around Scotland, Wales and now Dorset, and if there are ancient stones nearby, we'll usually end up finding them. When I spend time with them, it feels as though they communicate with me in some way. I know that probably sounds strange, but it's something I've come to accept. I don't feel I have to understand everything. Sometimes it's enough simply to notice the pull and follow it.
A couple of years ago I went on my first retreat in Almeria, Spain. A friend was organising it and, although I'd never been on a retreat before, one of the things that really appealed to me was that we were going to connect with an ancient standing stone that was close to where we were staying. I was really looking forward to that part of the retreat because of the connection I've always felt with these ancient places.
When I arrived, I became convinced I knew where the standing stone was. There was a mountain in front of me and, for some reason, I just assumed that was where we'd be going. I never questioned it. Looking back, I have no idea why I was so sure because, as it turned out, I was completely wrong.
During the retreat we spent time working shamanically, and one afternoon we were each asked to go off on our own and connect with our guides. We were free to wander wherever we felt drawn, but we weren't to speak to anyone we met along the way. I spent some time connecting with my guides and receiving information that related to what was happening in my life at that time. Eventually I found myself at the top of one of the paths and noticed one of my friends walking up behind me.
For reasons I still can't explain, I suddenly felt the urge to step off the path and sit quietly amongst some bushes. It wasn't somewhere I'd chosen because it looked special. It simply felt like the right place to stop. I remember smiling afterwards because I was wearing a bright yellow dress, yet my friend walked straight past without seeing me. Even now I don't really understand that, but perhaps I simply wasn't meant to be disturbed.
I'd finished what I'd gone out there to do with my guides and I remember thinking I might as well make good use of the time while everyone else was still out walking. Quite naturally, I tuned into my father's father's lineage. It wasn't something I'd planned to do. It just seemed the obvious thing while I was sitting there quietly.
What happened next was unlike anything I'd experienced before. Up until then, the little Borrower-like ancestors that I'd been seeing climb from the bone china teacup had always emerged one at a time. That day was completely different. They flowed out of the cup almost like liquid. It all happened much more quickly than it ever had before and I simply sat and watched it unfold. There wasn't any emotion attached to it because these were ancestors from generations long before my time. I wasn't grieving them or recognising faces. I was simply witnessing something that I'd never experienced before.
Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped. I looked at the teacup and realised that all of the flowers had disappeared. The beautiful floral pattern that had covered the cup throughout this work had gone, leaving nothing but a plain white bone china cup. I didn't sit there trying to analyse it or work out what it meant. I just knew. For me, it marked the point where the major healing of that lineage had been completed.
That doesn't mean I believe the work is finished forever. Families continue to grow and change. There are always links with those who are living their lives today, whether they have any interest in ancestral healing or not. I often think of it like looking after your home. You don't dust it once and imagine you'll never need to do it again. There will always be a little maintenance to do.
It also reminds me of the Japanese art of kintsugi, where broken pottery is repaired using lacquer mixed with powdered gold. Rather than hiding the cracks, they're highlighted as part of the object's story. The pottery isn't returned to how it was before it was broken. Instead, its history becomes part of its beauty. In many ways, that's how this ancestral work feels to me. I'm not trying to erase the past or pretend difficult things never happened. It feels more like acknowledging those old cracks, bringing healing where it's needed and allowing the story to continue in a different way.
What changed that day was that the major healing of those ancestors between the ones who were already most healed and well and our generation had been completed. Everything since has felt more like tending to something that has already been restored, rather than starting again.
The following day we were finally taken to visit the standing stone. I was all prepared to head towards the mountain I'd been looking at since the beginning of the retreat, convinced that's where it would be. Instead, we walked only a short distance and there it was.
I couldn't quite believe what I was seeing. The standing stone was only a few feet away from where I'd been sitting the previous afternoon while the major healing of my father's father's lineage had taken place. Without knowing it, I'd been drawn to sit almost beside it. I hadn't consciously chosen that place because of the stone. In fact, I didn't even know it was there. Yet somehow, I'd still ended up exactly where I needed to be.
Looking back now, that's probably the part of the story that has stayed with me the most. At the time I thought I'd simply found a quiet place to spend a little longer with my ancestors while everyone else was still connecting with their guides. Now I wonder whether something much older had quietly been drawing me there all along. I hadn't made a connection with the standing stone, but somehow it had already connected with me.
As I write this, we're away in Dorset and, once again, we've found ourselves seeking out ancient stones. They've been a thread running through my life for many years and I still don't really know why. Perhaps one day I'll understand that connection more fully and perhaps I won't. For now, I'm happy simply to trust the nudge because, time and time again, it has led me exactly where I needed to be.
Image of dish credit: Ruthann Hurwitz, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.