In the early weeks of 2018, the open ground of the far South West was about as moist as anyone can remember, and the all-but-saturated moors of exposed Penwith were no exception.
Looking for something meaningful to do to celebrate a birthday, which also included sacred sites, a bit of fresh air and, maybe, a bit of dowsing was a challenge in itself. However, as any dowser will have come to understand, if there is stuff you need to absorb, the universe has a way of getting you to it.
Using the not-to-be-forgotten rational approach, the Merry Maidens Stone Circle, a few miles occidental of Penzance, and conveniently sited by our forefathers close to what passes as a main road in these hallowed parts, seemed to be a credible possibility. The comprehensive mud-pad of a car park looked iffy, but proved to be just passable for two not-too-well and distinctly ill-equipped explorers.
My first tentative attempt at discovering something new was spectacularly successful. I revisited one of Hamish Miller’s trademark pictograms in the light of Ros’s revelation that a pictogram can have several layers, quite possibly based on whichever chakra or wavelength you choose to use to examine it. The first foray found a Celtic-style cross in a roundel. This dowsed as being the green (heart) chakra representation of the image. A second scan, asking to use the red (base) chakra, produced an icon of a similar size, but with blunter and squared- off arms. The violet (crown) chakra version seemed to be virtually round, with just a pronounced nick out of the circle where the arms of the cross had formed in the other ‘grams. I then took it into my head to dowse for the lowest/longest wavelength and came up with a much wider circle with flattened serrated edges – apparently this was some way beyond infra red. The other end of the spectrum produced a tight circle/sphere with deeply inset serrations – a bit like an over-engineered cogwheel. I smiled that I had been given a piece of grass to work on that was conveniently to the side of the more muddied centre of the circle.
However, under a darkening sky, I cut through most of the rest of the niceties, Billy Gawn style, and asked for the most important thing for me to find that day. I was directed to a stone from which a line of some kind headed off to the west – right through another stone on the other side of the group. It was nowhere near the centre, and it had me looking round for an alignment of some sort on the horizon. Silly me, the object that was in a direct line to these two stones was the pale, watery winter-afternoon sun. Was this some sort of time/calendrical alignment? – apparently so. Why anyone, even in the mists of pre-history, would want to know it was 3.30 on what we now define as January 24th is beyond me – but I feel I was just being shown another concept, another layer, yet another purpose for erecting the silent sentinels in this precise format.
Just for good measure, I returned for what was intended to be the last few minutes to look at grid lines, and those pesky Benker cubes in particular. I duly found the Benker matrix crossing dead centre within the Maidens. Did the constructors know of the existence of this grid? – straight ’yes’. Hartmann lines seemed to go through some of the stones, but I was unconvinced – Curry came up with nothing of note. Different time, different culture, different purpose.
With the afternoon clinging on to that enigmatic quality of light you only ever find in Penwith, I had another inspiration. Was there a grid with a larger spacing even than Benker? Apparently so – and the nearest arm of it ran straight through the centre of the increasingly mysterious Maidens. At over 90 paces across, it is significantly more sparse that any of the better-known grids. Following one line of it from the centre to the next intersection, I found myself out in the long grass, but with no apparent object of alignment in sight to either horizon.
By now, another couple were picking their way through the soggy tufts and towards the circle – a daysign that it was almost time to head back for a cup of tea and a piece of cake, to take stock of the afternoon. I tried one last pass, finding the crossing point of this new grid beyond the other end of the megaliths. This time, as I raised my sight from the rods, I found I was pointing directly at that most significant of West Cornwall churches – St Buryan. Hmm . . .
The following day, we tried our luck again – this time tiptoeing through the saturated moorland at Chapel Carn Brea. My initial request to be shown the most important feature for me that day took me deep into the grasping gorse in decidedly inappropriate footwear (be careful what you ask for!)
What I was actually shown was that several prone stones had once been erected in a row, and formed part of substantial ley. I also found that one of these fallen giants hosted an energetic pattern, which we have come to describe as a propeller – an infinity symbol rotating on its axis. This was the first time I had found it in a place that never been enclosed. It was also smaller than anything of its type that I had encountered before – so small in fact that it could not have been traced using rods when the stone had been erect. More food for thought.
Going back to the grid work of the previous day, I again found crossing Benker grid lines running through the tiny circular chamber of the hermitage/chapel. The nearby remains of a covered passage hosted or marked a ley, but no grid lines. Again different interpretations for different worldviews, yet utilised by generations of humans aware of the powerful energies at such a sacred location.
I searched for the widest grid that had been shown to me the previous day – and found it crossing close to the summit of the Carn Brea cairn, albeit well away from the chapel site itself.
Whilst you can indeed find many of these features in your own back garden, the sheer profusion of meta-physical and energetic patterns around the precious places of our westerly outcrops and nodal points, inevitably creates virtual honeypots for the non-physical investigator.
Nigel Twinn dowser and author 