ENGLAND 1981

London is an awesome city of tradition with a very special ambience that is in all ways traditionally British. We were only staying two nights just long enough to catch the new musical Cats, breathtaking it surely was. The next morning we rented a car and off we went on our quest seeking the myth and magic of Stonehenge, Glastonbury, Wales and Scotland. A journey that realistically would take twice as long as I had planned, but then again, I was always optimistic. Somehow I would magically transverse the motorways in record time—of course I would. On the way to Bath and Glastonbury, we would stop at Stonehenge. Ah, the plans of mice and men, somehow we ended up in Bath and came nowhere’s close to Stonehenge.

I had planned for us to spend only one night in Bath and then leave the next day for Glastonbury and it’s magical and mystical sites. I had also discovered that one of the inns in Glastonbury, the George and Pilgrims, supposedly had a ‘haunted’ room. Both Sher and I were excited at the thought of staying in a haunted room in England, especially in Glastonbury, the rumored burial place of King Arthur.

Our visit to Bath was uneventful. Sher and I both felt a hollowness of spirit as if the ‘waters’ of Bath had lost their spiritual essence of purification and health. So it was with little regret that we left the next morning for mystical Glastonbury. This was 1981 and the concept of New Age was a term seldom used, much less seldom heard. And thus Glastonbury was in my mind still ‘virginal.’ In fact, I’m the shopper of the family and I was anxious to see what ‘spiritual’ treasures I could find, and of course buy, in this town of myth, mystery and the Holy Grail.  

Glastonbury is not too far from Bath as the crow flies. But then again, the road to Glastonbury does not lend it’s self to Motorway speeds. And to visit Stonehenge we would have to back track and lose a day. So Scotland would have to go off the itinerary or Stonehenge. A difficult decision but one that turned out to be perfect; we skipped Stonehenge and headed straight for Glastonbury checking into the George and Pilgrims early in the afternoon.

George and Pilgrims in '81

Glastonbury 1981 was not the Glastonbury of 2001. (The last time we were there.) As many of you probably know, Glastonbury today is New Age Mecca, quite different from what it was in ’81 when it was referred to as England’s Jerusalem. It is still a place of pilgrimage and power but sadly it’s slowly going the way of many other sacred places around the world that have been discovered by the New Age crowd and subsequently have become popular. And with the crowds come the Capitalistic Mercenaries and the New Age gurus! Need I say more?

On the upside, over the prevailing years between 1981 and 2000, due to the influx of capitalism, I was able to discover some interesting finds as the merchants and sellers of goods and services continuously arrived to set up shop in Glastonbury. One discovery was an icon of the Archangel Mikael (Michael) holding a sword in his right hand, which is one traditional image—the other would be a spear instead of a sword. But in his left hand was a cup or ‘grail,’ often times the left hand holds the scales to weigh the souls of the dead or in some instances, a shield portraying his role as Captain Commander of the heavenly warriors. Curiously, there was moreover no Satan or serpent imagery, just the Archangel standing in an immovable posture, not on a rock, but on a cloud.  True balance was portrayed in his right hand holding an upright sword (male) and in his left hand holding a cup (female).

Interestingly enough, the icon reminded me of another one of my guardian’s—Fudo Myo-o. The brilliant Immovable Light King, Fudo, is the fiery esoteric Bodhisattva of the Japanese mountain mystics and shamans—the Yamabushi. Many times he is portrayed holding an upright sword in his right hand and a coiled rope in his left while standing or sitting on a rock in an immovable posture.

Twenty-two years ago, in 1981, the closest that I came to finding an icon was a few posters of King Arthur and the Isle of Avalon at the Gothic Image. But the few shopping opportunities were a tradeoff that I readily accepted.

As we approached Glastonbury, also known as the Glassy Isle or the Isle of Avalon, we could feel the change in energy. It was misting and we could almost feel the veil lifting between the two worlds. We were entering the gateway to the spirit realms. Little did we realize at the time, how true this was to be.

As we checked in at the George and Pilgrims, a 15^th century pilgrimage or coaching inn, we asked about staying in the haunted room. The innkeeper was a little surprised at our request and asked if we would like to see the room first. Climbing the steps to the second floor had the feeling of being transported back in time. The en-suite room overlooked High Street and was very quaint and acceptable with an armoire, sitting chair and bed. During the day, just another ‘room at the inn.’

It was still early enough to climb the Tor. Being a runner I was sacrificing a late-afternoon run for the Tor and Sher gave up having afternoon tea. But it was well worth it. In 1981 literary knowledge about the Tor was not as readily available as it is today. And, in addition, there was no Internet. We were being drawn to the Tor not because of some mystical-spiritual writings that we had read, but Sher and I were being drawn to this mystical ‘hill’ totally due to our feelings in our heart and our intuitions. At the time we did not have any knowledge of the Tor's connection to the Archangel Mikael or to Venus as the morning star. 

Sher walking up the Tor in '81

Finding our way up the Tor, as well as the walk up, was not as easy as it is today. In 1981 there were no steps or any type of formal path just a steep grassy slope, dirt path and sheep. When we finally reached the tower on the top of the Tor, the feelings were hard to put into words. In many ways it felt like a ‘coming home.’ We were the only humans around having the magic of the Tor totally to ourselves. It was awesome to say the least.

Tor Today

The tower on the summit of the Tor is all that remains of the Church of St. Michael. It is dedicated to Mikael, the Sun Archangel, known to the Celt’s as the light giver Lugh or the Sun God Bel. He is depicted on the tower weighing the souls of the dead along with an image of St. Bridget or the Celtic Bride milking her cow. There are many myths and legends concerning the Tor such as it being hollow and the gateway or passageway to Annwn, the Celtic Otherworld. This marvelous realm exists alongside but hidden from our materialistic world. However, at certain times and in certain places, the veil may be lifted and you may see and experience. The Tor is one such place and dawn and sunset are two such times.

Mikael's Tower in '81

Two thousand years ago, the sea washed right to the foot of the Tor. Ancient myth has it that here, called Avalon, where the sea met the land, was the meeting place of the dead. It was at this point where they passed to another level of existence. And it sure felt like it.

Jim on the Tor in '81

Being on the Tor we could sense this other world of existence. It was a magical experience for both Sher and I and we could easily feel the mystical power that supposedly drew spiritual/religious leaders here as far back as 5000 BCE. You could just image a stone circle or a temple built to honor the heavens, the sun and the moon. It was still misty and overcast so we were unable to see the mountains of Wales. But the tradeoff was worth it as it was perfect to be on the Tor in the late afternoon with it being so mystical and otherworldly.

We finally pulled ourselves off of this magical place and headed back to our room at the George and Pilgrims. We had a wonderful dinner at the inn and soon retired to our room for a well-deserved sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I slightly awoke due to a tickling feeling on my left inner thigh. My first conscious thought; it was Sher doing the tickling. But as I turned my head while opening my eyes, I discovered that she seemed to be asleep, lying on her side facing away from me. Ah, I thought, just my imagination. 

Closing my eyes I began to re-enter the sleep state, but before I could fall back asleep, the tickling happened once again. In that moment I could tell from her breathing that Sher was not asleep. In addition, I could tell that she was not the source of the annoyance. As I said her name, she was already turning over onto her back. In that moment, a time of no time, where time no longer exists, we both saw the ‘eyes!’ They had an otherworldly feeling, ruby red and staring at us from in front of the armoire. To say the least, it was frightening and chilling to the bone. Then a martial ‘spirit yell’ naturally escaped from my throat, a combination of fear and reflex. And in the next instance, no ‘eyes.’

The words that were next said between Sher and I have been lost to the passage of time. But I do know that we turned on the light in the ‘loo’ for the rest of the night and a sleepless one it turned out to be. (For the fans of trivia, ‘loo’ probably comes from ‘regardez l'eau,’ watch out for the water, which people used to shout before emptying their chamber pots out of the door or window.)

The next morning the innkeeper asked us how our night had been. He must have known by our expressions what our answer was to be. He explained to us that not everyone that stays in that room gets a visit from the ‘monk.’ So we could consider ourselves either fortunate or un-fortunate, whichever way we chose to look at it. It was an awesome but frightening experience to say the least. 

The innkeeper then shared with us the tale of the ‘monk.’ As the story goes, the George, as it was known when it was first built in 1439, was the primary coaching inn for pilgrims arriving in Glastonbury. Many came not only as spiritual questors but also as visitors to the Glastonbury Abbey, at one time Britain's richest and most splendid monastery. It is also steeped in much legend, myth and tragedy—a fire destroyed the abbey in 1184 and in 1539, during the Dissolution of the Monasteries, Abbot Richard Whiting was hung to his death on the Tor, resulting in the abbey being wrecked and looted. 

King Arthur's Tomb 1981

In addition, Glastonbury was at one time a great Druidic gathering place and a major center of the early Celtic Church—the Welsh Triads relate that one of Britain's three 'perpetual choirs' was at Glastonbury. Glastonbury and the abbey were also connected with the legends of King Arthur, the Holy Grail, and the boy Jesus and his Great-Uncle, Joseph of Arimathea.

The ‘monk’ that now haunts the George and Pilgrims supposedly used a tunnel connecting the abbey to the George to meet with one of the visiting pilgrims that had been staying in the room that we had slept in. How long these rendezvous’ lasted is anyone’s guess. But eventually the ‘monk’s’ escapades were found out and frowned upon by his spiritually ascetic superiors.

One night as he was making his way through the tunnel, he was confronted by his superiors and knocked unconscious. The tunnel, with him still in it, was then sealed up. Needless to say, it must have been a rude awakening when the monk finally woke up and realized that he was sealed in and faced a slow agonizing death. It seems that his soul still clings to the earth revisiting the room time after time after time.

The Tunnel

While the innkeeper had been telling the story, he had taken us down into the basement of the inn to show us the tunnel. The Glastonbury Abbot, Selwood, had built the George during the time of Edward IV, pilgrims staying at the inn could have used the tunnel for secret access to the Abbey. Conversely, monks could have also used the tunnel for clandestine visits to the inn. In the light of day, it was just another tunnel. But it did have an eerie feeling to it. Adventurous as we were, we still chose not to spend another night in the room. We needed a good nights sleep as other exciting activities surely awaited us.

Before we left Glastonbury, we visited the abbey as well as the Chalice Well—quite different today than it was in 1981. Later in our journey we were invited to be the Baron and the Baroness at a medieval banquet held in Ruthin Castle in Wales. A twist on this honor was that a Japanese film crew was filming the banquet. The ‘monk’ was not the only Otherworld visitor on our pilgrimage; Sher also experienced the ‘gray lady,’ a ghost on the ancient battlements of Ruthin Castle. And we were finally able to visit and experience Stonehenge due to our unexpected and extended visit, courtesy of the Air Traffic Controllers Strike. But those are all tales for another time.