Music of the Spheres
I walked up the rocky hill in blackness. Only a dimmed light pointed at my feet kept me on the path. In the distance I could hear the Atlantic Ocean pounding the cliffs. Rabbits skittered out of the way and cows appeared from the inky night, barely illuminated by the muted light. I was alone, but not really.
The trail was wet and slippery as I neared the arch in the rock wall. I paused to request permission to enter the 5000 year old stone fort and felt no resistance to my being there. I turned off the faint light, walked through the threshold, and felt myself enter a different dimension, one ruled by elemental beings.
The inner circle whispered a welcome, so I walked through the lush grass and found a place to lay down in the center. The only human-created light was a buoy offshore that warned of the cliffs. Dark sky magic weaved me into its spell. But it wasn’t just the stars and planets overhead that awed me, it was everything: Earth Mother anchoring me, wild wind, waves pounding the cliff, and fire of the stars.
As I rested on my back, I felt the reverberation of the ocean through the ground as it shook the bluff. It was as if every blade of grass was vibrating the story of the sea as it embraced the shore of Inis Mor, Ireland. Sky and Earth spiraled through me as I opened to the beauty.
Old metal fence pipes, with holes drilled into them, became flutes for the wind as they stood as sentinels just outside the fort. We are like those ‘flutes,’ available to be instruments of love and light if we simply open and avail ourselves to light, to love, to the Music of the Spheres.
I think Pythagoras had it right when he said the movements of the celestial bodies create a divine, inaudible harmony. The only thing I disagree with is the inaudible part. For times like this morning, when I was reclined under the late night/pre-dawn sky here in the Smoky Mountains, I hear that harmony as it arises within me as a reflection from the heavens.
