Medicinalmeadows

THE PLACE WITHIN


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The Quest Beetham Church of St. Michael and All Angels

Part 2- Story of the Knight’s journey up the coastline of Cumbria

The ceremony lacked the expected level of union for his liking. Godfrei felt depleted in the effort to give their companion and teacher due solemnity and observed rites of parity. He could sense the weight of disappointment.

The Chapel now felt empty. It might have been fatigue, or the grief that hit them so unexpectedly. They wouldn’t have been surprised if their elder had passed away in his sleep in Spain, but he had regained his strength and resolve before their last voyage, determined to lead them to deliver their charge.

The brother of this chapel stepped forward, they could not linger here. The all-night rituals had been conducted at the expense of rest and nourishment. It was now time to depart. The brethren spent the entire night coordinating their plans with the changing tides. The brothers, overwhelmed and jaded, agreed to trust their long-held friendship with the villagers. Other boats awaited to take them a short journey up the coast then inland, so they pressed on to Beetham.

The Lord of the Mosses received notification yesterday and subsequently prepared the new resting place under his protection. Although the Church was cold and damp, the setting sun streamed through the high windows. Provisions, including food, wine, and bedding, were offered and a safe place to pray before they rested.

The lay sisters convened to perform the Liturgy of the Hours, as they prayed and rested. They remained cognizant of the villagers’ efforts of heightened security surrounded by daily activities. The reasons for these measures begged further inquiry, but the hymns soothed their tiredness to sleep.

When Godfrei awoke from his bedding mat on the ground he felt inspired by his brothers’ actions. He saw two of them praying in the Lady chapel and decided to join them. He seemed to drift easily into the liminal space of Sanctuary. The singing of the sisters, the soft light of the candles, the sweet smell of the cooked loaf and the warmth of his new clothes lulled him inwards.

Word finally came in the evening light. A soft rap on the wooden door, then voices, stirred him from the cushion on the chapel floor. Had he drifted back into sleep? No, he had gained his direction from his curled position, but it was not sleep. He had finally been able to rest, eat, and gain enough strength to enter the realm of guidance.

He got up and approached the doorway, dubiously not from fear but the strangeness of the light. He knew before he entered in the conversation, passage north was possible. But the conversation brought more difficulties to the journey ahead. Dacre’s man had brought word.  Safety for their vessels was always paramount and raiders where in the waters around the coastline. The route was now over land.  They were so close to the Abbey, but this meant the Abbey was also at risk.

The delay now appeared intentional.  The death of their Elder, the overnight Rituals, the stay at the church were all keeping them hidden from the coastal route. All these delays were divinely guided.

This was the very quest undertaken by their predecessors, and now it was their turn.

St. Michael and All Angels Beetham Church

The church is on the south border of Cumbria into Lancashire just off the A6 at Milnthorpe. The tower is an old Anglo-Saxon structure, with extended church aisles dating from the 12th century and full restorations in the 18oos. There are many interesting features to the exterior including a sundial to the right of the priest’s doorway.

The church was first dedicated to Saint Lioba, the 7th century Benedictine nun from Wessex. The daughter of a noble family and related to St. Boniface. She was educated at Wimborne Minster, probably skilled in the fine ornamenting of scriptures and needlework that created the embroidery of wall hangings of Europe’s great houses. She is well known in Germany as an Abbess in the convents of St. Boniface. She was known to frequent the royal courts of Charlemagne and to have performed miracles. Miracles that the Monk Rudolf of Fulda claimed continued to work from her grave tomb.(Wikipedia). I found the anchoress’s cell up the road from the church the most honourable dedication to one of England’s saints the most precious sight in our times. The stain glass windows within the church depict Lioba with Wessex royal Saints Ethelburga. She was the 7th century daughter of King Æthelberht of Kent and Queen Bertha. In 625, she married Edwin of Northumbria as his second wife. A condition of their marriage was Edwin’s conversion to Christianity. Here she is pictured also with Saint Osyth. She was born in Quarrendon in Buckinghamshire. Her father was Frithwald a Mercian sub-king of Surrey and her mother was Wilburga, daughter of King Penda of Mercia.

The stain glass windows to early Christian saints are delightful in the church. They are full of vibrant colour and contain the apostles including Mary Magdalene.

There are fragments of medieval glass in the Lady Chapel. These depict King Henry IV, fragments of Christ the King, coats of arms thought of the Stanley family, who were given lands of Westmorland, including Beetham, after the Battle of Bosworth.

(thanks to the websites of Beetham Church and Wikipedia)


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The Quest to St.Patrick’s Chapel and St. Peter’s Church

The Quest

This series of blogposts combines historical sites in Cumbria and the Borders with personal reflections. I am on a quest, a Calling, to go visit the paths of the Templars, Mary and Magdalene Way. I am trusting my intuition, the sights and signs I find as I go and the Earth’s grid that connects me to land, place, and space across past, present, and future. These posts document my journey and the insights I uncover within myself. The writing is a blend of personal insights, historical findings and storytelling. I feel I am one long storyline unfolding with the next steps.

The Calling presents the Quest,

and the Quest propels the Way.

AI generated with CoPilot Microsoft
AI generated with CoPilot Microsoft imaging

The Knights Templar’s Crossing

As they neared the coast, their safe harbour that had been established more than 400 years prior was in sight. Their course had been maintained throughout this journey, guided by comforting signs, the swans nearing the coastline, the stars, their Stella Maris.

This time the crew felt the pressure of their final departure. They had nearly completed their mission, at least by sea. They observed the prominent chapel on the coast and expressed gratitude to St. Patrick and St. Martin of Tours. The ship groaned against the waves, but predominantly, they heard their own voices in adoration, as they chanted together through these final moments to shore.  

The chapel came into view, followed by the lights along the shore. They had entered safe waters, and the sight of the Bay served as a reassuring indicator of their proximity to Sanctuary, a place they now longed for. The Brethren on the sandy shore were prepared to extend a warm welcome, offering necessary care and support, especially given the near completion of their mission. The promise of rest was both a source of nourishment and a reminder of their fatigue. Their bodies instinctively recalled the safety of the Abbey, lulling them into premature rest. They had to summon inner strength to keep moving forward.

The sky resembled a velvet canopy, with stars lighting their way to the shore. She remained their reliable guide once again. They travelled when the moon was waning, navigating through the night under Her starry cloak. Upon anchoring on the shore, they discovered that their elder companion had passed away. The movement of the ship and their voices in prayer had gently carried him into eternal rest.

Suddenly they realized this changed everything. It demanded a delay to their journey for another day and night. The following period would be dedicated to honouring their long-time mentor who had guided them since the beginning. One of them took responsibility immediately and could be heard speaking to the Brethren on the shore. The others all silent onboard, now below deck. When they all raised their gaze at the same time from their beloved elder, at peace, they realised this wasn’t just about the Rites of Parity, but a successor.

They all felt the same rise of notability. The one who was to be given the keys. They all shared the same thoughtful consideration for the individual who was to be united with the formal rites of the keys, who was not yet aware of the important duty he was to undertake. His life was about to change with the formal transfer of authority, marking not just the departure of his elder brother but also the transition of responsibilities into his hands before proceeding to the Abbey. It was necessary to conduct this ceremony with due solemnity before handing over the charge in their hands to the guardians of the grail.

History of the Chapel

The ruin dates from the 8th or 9th century and is built of sandstone. Near the chapel is a group of six rock-cut tombs from the 11th century and a separate group of two rock-cut tombs. Each group has an associated socket probably intended for a timber cross. The buried skeletons uncovered were dated as no earlier than the 10th century. 1,200 artefacts were also recovered, which showed that the site had been occupied about 12,000 years ago (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Patrick%27s_Chapel,_Heysham).

Archaeologists found that the cemetery was split into a large central area with two smaller sites in the east and west. Bodies were placed on their backs, in a traditional Christian east-west orientation (with their heads pointing towards the west). Some had their arms crossed, which was also an early Christian practice. A mix of women, men and children were interred. Perhaps surprisingly, ten people, two of which were children, were buried under the floor of the chapel itself. Around eighty-four individuals from the community were buried on the site during its use, with an even split between males and females. They are reburied in the church yard at St Peter’s church.

Of particular significance was the burial of a woman who was placed close to the south door of the chapel. She had been wrapped in a shroud and to the right side of her pelvis was a curved ‘hogback’-shaped bone comb of Anglo-Scandinavian design.

Heysham also has a Viking age hogback stone in the nearby St Peter’s Church.  

It is not known where or when St Patrick was born but, historians place him sometime in the 400s. In recent years, two places have been put forward for his place of origin, Ravenglass in Cumbria and Birdoswald near Hadrian’s Wall. After six years in Ireland, he escaped and returned to England. It’s not clear where he made landfall – local tradition holds that it was at Heysham (https://lancashirepast.com/2024/11/30/a-history-of-the-rock-cut-graves-and-st-patricks-chapel-heysham/).

All photos by Janice Turner Salmon


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The Sacred No

Do you remember a time when you were absolutely raging. Like you completed hit boiling point and a full on deluge poured and a bit of spit came out of your mouth?

Now imagine that boiling point in front of the folk that your Mam knows, the neighbours and family of all ages, including your peers from work and your friends next door. Imagine that amount of visibility.

There’s a  passage written that speaks to that amount of breaking. Here I wish to speak into that description, of that scene, but with volume. I want you to imagine the sound. Imagine the inner crumbling of the contained composure in a very public, the most public place possible, the sacred place within the heart, the mind and the entire shaking and trembling body parts. The heart would be pounding, sight distorted, and sweat would be stinking over the back, as well as pouring over the face to further intoxicate, from the top of the head to the feet below. The outer world would be ablaze with a piercing din. The atmospheric pitch would be ringing throughout the place from the shattering volume of pottery and metal smashing on the stone floor.  The high ringing would ricochet off the walls and back and forth disorientating the inner ears time after time after time, in a never ending dissonance and then the roar from the people in disarray. Human voices adding into the overwhelm of discord, aggression and shock of what is a crucial breakdown of order, and decorum.

My thoughts here are to provide a description of the noise, the internal and external breaking open to bring forth a sacred No. When boundaries have been crossed into the personal, the sacred inner temple of ones heart, when Love has been trampled on, repeatedly, we have this internal roar that can not be melted away but is brought forth to crack us open. This sacred moment, is as ugly and sullied as it sounds. It brings a clear and creative moment that unblocks the clenching emotions to the ignorant to reform the imposed and repressed moment.

Sometimes the thundering clatter of a Holy No is necessary. Because the edge of our being can not be crossed over and over to the detriment of our hearts, our minds, spirit and biology, yes our biology!

When I consider my boundaries are just like the cells inside of me, the membrane that has the most wonderful, discernible boundary that is at work day and night, I remember my physiology is the most sacred thing I can have here on earth. My humanness is showing me since the day I was conceived, my boundaries are charged with a sacred no and a sacred yes. This inner working has the most helpful insights. When I say yes and when I exercise a worthy No, my body responds, my mind responds, if the boundary is broken, repeatedly, the most sacred act I can do for myself is to sound louder and louder until it is heard.

Until I Am Heard.


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Embodiment of the Menopausal Mystic

Artwork by Lisbeth Cheever-Gessaman @shewhois

Lately I have been trying to extrapolate the words that describe overwhelm, anxiety and exhaustion. This all weaves into my 50 life as menopause. But on a deeper exploration, these words that are often spelled-out towards me just seem to be off centre. You know, like an arrow shooting off to the side…that sense of not landing!

You see I had what I will call an overspilling of tears last week and I didn’t feel anxious beforehand, or let me put it a bit more accurately, I didn’t think anxious thoughts, I didn’t have worries in my mind. What happened was a bodily response to the situation I was in. It was biological not mental or emotional stress I was experiencing. I was embodying a sense, not thinking one.

This overspilling today has circled me back round to the 50 life. And here is my story for today. My body is experiencing a 50 year old life, my biology is taking me on a journey exploring the world with a new perception of the macro and the micro, the inner and the outer field of my soul as I learn from it all.

My biology has danced a wheel of hormones from my teenager years. It has been delighted in summer and been restful in winter. My biology is nature and my cycle is natural. This change takes my exuberance in a proliferative spring like energy and oestrogen productivity into a decline. My body is looking for the spring and summer phase, for the dancing to begin, for the days and nights of energetic pulses to regain a sense desire, excitement and focus. Like long summer nights of activity and the enthusiasm for diving into the pools of that which lights me up.

Today I am sitting with the body longing for the light of my passion. My body may well be grieving the loss of these phases that rise of the oestrogen that gives life to energetic delights.

So where do I now find my oestrogen-like joy? That ecstasy of life when the follicular phases has left. The oestrogen has wanned so where can I find the fullness of the moon without the bright light of the ovum to bring creativity into this world? In my 50th year what am I looking for that has the power and potential of a fertile egg to resurrect my entire being into a new life?

What has this world to offer in the current climate of birthing and creative and weaving together with all those who have sat in life’s journey so far?

What wisdom is missing from a world where creating life is at the core?

Where can I replicate my passion in the winter of age and what appears to be winter of all seasons on earth?


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The Way

Most of you know I have a prayer practice, a daily routine, a trust in this infinite thing called the unseen. I believe it is an ancient, the first in fact, mystical practice humans used to connect to everything. My belief is that prayer is not a religious practice, or part of an institution, but goes back to an instinct of a higher power and something bigger than ourselves.

My belief comes from my imaginal space that I have known since, well, forever. I remember at school I would be gazing out the window and in my mind I would talk to the vision of the comforting person near me, have a conversation, discuss something bothering me. As I developed a spiritual practice 10 years ago I began to understand that way of seeing. I had been given a key to unlocking the door to the unseen realms around me. But that’s a story for another day. Today I wanted to tell you about my current purpose.

After struggling to build a spiritual practice I have been called to write about my experiences of the spiritual field as I perceive it. My story starts with utter exhaustion and collapse. This instigated my quest for meaning, and I found I already had the key to the door within me. I found that my calling and my career couldn’t compress. I had to leave my nursing career due to exhaustion, the mix of spirituality and energy work and a busy hospital job was too much on my physical health. On my days off I would sleep the whole day, feeling cold and strung out on anxiety. At work I would be witnessing the movements of the unseen helpers and have subtle messages to pass on, but I didn’t know how to convey it all! I guess these days you would call it medical mediumship, but this was then and not now.

I left to build my spiritual practice as a reiki practitioner but struggled to get clients and ended up seeing an advert that took me to the role as reiki practitioner in a hospice. My sense of spiritual guides, my team if you like, were sending me on a path of schooling. When I first walked up the path to the hospice in my imaginal space, my third eye, I was seeing the sphinx with pyramids, from this I knew, my guides were communicating that this experience was a mystery school teaching. During my years at the hospice I witnessed guides, and healers of the imaginal realms. I received insights to healing energies, watched as the energies weaved in relationships, activated teachings and so much more.

The most frequent of the spiritual teachers that came to me was a Pink light describing herself as the Pink Ray. She came overtime, until it was clear She was the Teacher that had lead me to this school. She gradually introduced more about herself. She was first the Pink Light then Pink Ray, describing healers of the old ways in forms of colour energies, such as the blue rays, the pink and green and purple, if you know angelic rays and archangel frequencies you know what I mean. She then gave me a name which sounded like Hannah, which later came in as a very soft “H” to Anna.

The Pink ray introducing herself over time as Anna, was a woman from Christianity that many will recognise as Grandmother of Jesus and Saint Anne. This introduction was just the beginning, I was later introduced to other energies in this realm that are connected to this earth and still wish to be in relationship to healing, “abridging” to those who wish to call on them. I now know them as “The Way” you may know them as Jesus, Mary, Mother Mary, Saint Anne, (to me H-Anna), Mattais, John, Elizabeth, Susannah, Johanna, Salome. More commonly know as the Disciples. I received not only their messages but their images. I began to sketch their faces as they appeared to me, a form of spiritual artwork.

They are present, and they wait to be called, in relationship, in prayer, in healing practices or just for a conversation, they listen…..and they connect.

This is why I have developed a prayer practice because I trust the Christ Light abridging the earth as the Way. If you feel called to talk, they are listening, this talking….I call prayer…


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Earth at my feet, Sky in my mind….

I am She of sound

On this dust and bone of Earth

As the sound plays from nature

The world goes quiet and song plays on

As the world goes quiet

And the song plays on

When you listen …..

When you go beyond the tongue

When you look inward and

See the sound…. does play on

When you look deep into Heart

You hear it…….

Feel the dust and bone at your feet Dear One

Feel under your soles

The Sky above

Let the Earth respond

At your Heart, at your mind

Let the Mind go beyond

Let the Mind go quiet

 And you’ll feel where you belong

With the Earth at your feet

And the Sky at your mind

Let the Earth engulf you

So you know you belong

Within Her now

Let the song play on

Singing the song to you

And see you belong

With the Earth at your feet

The Sky in your mind

And the song in your Heart

Let Yourself be held,

You are right where you belong


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We are Equal, we are as One….

The author Cynthia Bourgeault says that any discord in the ranks amongst the apostles is simply silenced in the canonical gospels. It is when we look to the gnostic writings that we see a lack of harmony amongst them. Here in the Gospel of Mary Magdalene we see that Peter and Mary are far apart rather than side by side in their perspectives. We see Peter looking on, clinging, it appears that Peter is stuck and Mary is free. When the gnostic scriptures, the Nag Hammadi, were discovered didn’t leaders and academics say these same things about Yeshua’s teachings, sounding strange and not fitting with the other recordings of his ministry. And yes, I agree that the Gospel of Mary is so much more a metaphysical account than a retelling of the life of Yeshua. The core message I receive in the present moment about this passage, (page 17 and 18) is that she names him, “My Brother Peter”, my equal, As Yeshua named them My Brother’s and Sister, there is no hierarchy amongst them. In the eyes of their Saviour and in the eyes of Mary, they are all equal, Brother addressing Sister, Man and Woman.

What do you see between the Mind of Peter and the Heart of Mary?

The Gospel of Mary – pages 17 to 18. The final pages and the interaction between Mary and the Apostles.


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She wept….

We are approaching the end of the Gospel and now we see the disciples doubting her experience of the vision with the Saviour. She is challenged by the other Apostles, and she wept. I talk about the breaking down, as the breaking through, as Mary stands fully in her Power. We are taking a step towards the Bridal Chamber, as Mary’s Gospel is paving the way for this to be the most critical teaching……

In this video I am reminded of being fully witnessed brings us completely central in our truth. I see how being seen is a powerful, and a result of circle practice.


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Thunder, Perfect Mind

Last night I listened to Dale Allen Hoffman reading Thunder, Perfect Mind, his translation. I sat, took a few deep breathes, opened my heart and listened. I have read this scripture hundreds of times, I have share it for others and every time I am moved to a deeper aspect of connection to the feminine.

Last night this translation connected me those parts that are blocked, that sit in the shadow,  the shadow of the feminine. By that I don’t mean the woman. It is the feminine aspects of our human existence that intuitively greets us, holds us. The aspect that remembers the soul and connects to all our passages of time, in this lifetime and others. The pushed down, held back shame of youth, distorted blame, and misguided realms we have walked.

I believe to truly know the deep feminine aspects of ourselves until we can sit in the dark, sit in our shadow, and listen with an open heart. The feminine is longing to be heard, with wisdom and knowledge to break through ❤ and come rolling into us like a thunder roll over the hills.

The shadow is dark and can bring forth the night that brings forth the day.

Here is the link to the scripture on You Tube – Thunder, Perfect Mind


#thunderperfectmind
#guidance #intuitive #feminine #scripture #naghammadilibrary