The Divine Feminine Journey, France, October 2013 part 6 (conclusion)

Part 6 (Finale)
Day 6 – Saturday 12th Oct 2013
Limoux – Notre Dame de Marceille

Saturday was a day of cloudless sunshine and we decided not to be too ambitious but to spend the morning at one place: the church of Notre Dame de Marceille in Limoux.

There is not much in the way of official history of this impressive building; other than it seems to date from the 14th and 15th centuries and is in the Gothic style. It’s on the Sacred Feminine tour map of the region because of its famous Black Madonna and its sacred well, reputed to have miraculous healing properties.

There are many churches in the region called “Notre Dame”, which would have been assumed by the Vatican to be dedicated to The Virgin Mary. But was “Our Lady” sometimes the other Mary – especially in this region where she is reputed to have lived? And what about the mysterious Black Madonnas, what are they all about? The Vatican doesn’t like to talk about them and they are thought by some historians to be a continuum of the images of Isis holding her son Horus, thus pre-dating Christianity altogether.

We made our way to Limoux after cooking ourselves a leisurely full-English breakfast and when we found Notre Dame de Marceille we soon saw that apart from us three, the site was tourist-free. We were so privileged on this trip at every single site we visited to have this extraordinary peace and quiet to soak up the atmosphere and energy.

The church is very large, almost like a mini-cathedral. The interior is absolutely beautiful, obviously much-loved and recently restored – like a bigger version of the lovely little church of Rennes-le Chateau.

I made a beeline for the Black Madonna, now incarcerated behind a heavy iron grille due to having been stolen in the past. Here she is:

Photographs are always disappointing – in photos I think she looks like a slightly tacky child’s doll and it can be hard to understand why she is a sacred object of veneration. But the three of us stood around in the deep silence, with the sunshine slanting in through the stained glass windows – and I am now seriously challenged to find the words to describe our experience. Afterwards Jenny and I agreed that we both had been deeply and emotionally moved – to actual tears – by the energy in this place. Claire likewise was in awe of the powerful energy we felt there.

I’m not even sure how much time we spent in there, but after we’d had our fill we wandered out into the sunshine to seek out the alleged healing well.

As we sat in the sun on the stone seat by the well we noticed movement in the nearby pine trees. A glossy red squirrel appeared a few feet away running down the trunk of a pine tree. Her mate followed her and they scurried up and down the trees collecting winter nesting material. They seemed strangely unbothered by our presence and we were able to enjoy quietly watching them for a good ten or fifteen minutes.

They were the only squirrels we ever saw during our week, so again this felt like a special moment; another gift from the Great Mother. Interestingly, as we watched them bustling around there was a sudden commotion as a huge buzzard swooped towards them from the meadows beyond the pine trees. He missed by inches, and the squirrels didn’t even seem to notice him but carried on about their business.

I’m still pondering on the meaning of that episode (it being my belief that nothing in the universe is random) and what the symbolism might be. The most obvious interpretation would be the relentless attacks of the Patriarchy on the Feminine.

A unanimous decision was made to spend the remainder of this perfect day lying in the glorious sun (storing it up for the winter) by our pool and reflecting on the morning’s experience.

Day 7 Sunday 13th October 2013
Minerve

Our final pilgrimage was to be to the spectacular village of Minerve, a nearly two hour drive away to the North East of Carcassonne.

Minerve perches on a limestone outcrop surrounded by a deep gorge on two sides, filled with two converging rivers in winter and almost totally dry in summer. The village is another picture-perfect medieval jumble of pale-grey stone, and is on the tourist map big-time. Even so, on such a sunny Sunday the place was not too crowded; cars are banned in the village, and we enjoyed wandering the usual maze of tiny streets, looking at art galleries and restaurants with gorgeous views.

Our reason for pilgrimage was partly that it was in antiquity named for its temple to the Goddess Minerva, and also once again to connect with the story of the Cathars. In 1210, when it was a Cathar stronghold, the infamous Simon de Montfort besieged the town for ten weeks, and he and his troops and their catapults won. When Minerve finally surrendered, the Cathars still would not give in, and so 140 of them were burned on the village square. Legend tells they leaped into the fire, singing.

You can find out all about what happened in the village museum – but we were not at all fascinated by the details of the siege. We were looking for the curator of the museum to check out the rumour that if you asked her very nicely she would fetch the key of the always locked church and give you a private viewing. (It was a proud moment for me as I made our request entirely in French). Sure enough, she agreed on condition that we all paid the museum entry price, and after we waited for some other tourists to finish looking at the exhibits, she locked up the museum and took us outside and around the corner to the church.

In the picture you can see the ancient church wall to the right, and the monument on the left, “The Dove of Minerve”, which was made by a local sculptor in recent years to commemorate the martyrdom of the Cathars. He is quoted to have said the best way to represent the peace for which they stood was to make the dove shape “out of light”.

The church was beautiful in its ancient simplicity. There are two Roman altars in it; one claimed to be the oldest altar in Europe. I wondered if this altar pre-dated Christianity, and therefore, being Roman, what exactly it had been used for. The attentive lady from the museum was full of informative chat and it was difficult to tune in to the feeling of the place properly.

The day was amazingly hot for mid-October and we didn’t have the energy to explore the surrounding area to locate the dolmens we’d heard about. Instead we opted for a picnic lunch and to get the long drive back to our house over with so we could spend what was left of our last afternoon in France meditating (okay there might have been some snoozing) in the sunshine by our peaceful pool, before flying home to England the next morning.

On our way back to the car we passed The Candela, a tall octagonal tower which is the last remaining ruin of the ancient fortifications of Minerve. How cheering to observe this symbol of war and oppression now abundantly colonised by swifts which nestled in every crevice among the wildflowers that also now adorn the old stones. Clouds of birds swooped around the tower and our heads, filling the air with their squeals.

You can just make them out below sitting on the ledges.

I guess you can always rely on the Great Mother to have the final word.

The Divine Feminine Journey, France, October 2013 part 5

Part 5
Day 4 Continued
Thursday 10th Oct 2013
The Seat of Isis – Rennes-Les-Bains

After enjoying an outdoor picnic overlooking the fabulous scenery from the hilltop village of Rennes-le-Chateau we drove for 20 minutes or so and found ourselves in the very different landscape of Rennes-les-Bains, a little town in a river valley, surrounded by steep wooded hillsides. The shift of mood was heightened by a change of weather which was now building up layers of dark and threatening clouds, some of them foggily obscuring the tops of the higher hills around us.

We had not much idea where this strange artefact was to be found; I’d assumed there would be signs or people to ask. I did know that this was a very small town and that the Seat of Isis was said to be on a wooded hillside on the west side of the valley. We drove through the town, its mediaeval jumble of houses clinging picturesquely to the river banks, and parked near the river where we thought we could see a path leading up the hill into the woods.

No signposts to the Seat though. We went to peer at a nearby sign with a map on it. It didn’t help us either and we began to worry that we wouldn’t find the path before the rain started. A man who was sitting on a stone beside the sign then asked us if we needed help. On asking where the Seat of Isis was he confidently pointed to a path across the road which we’d thought was a private driveway. Thanking the Goddess for sending us this helpful guide, we charged off and were soon climbing a steep path above the village and entering dense woodland of mainly sweet chestnut along with other deciduous trees.

After only about ten minutes hiking through the woods, we found ourselves in the clearing of the sacred spring, “Source du Cercle”; a spring flowing out of the ground into a carved circular stone bowl, and a few yards away we finally saw the mysterious seat, hewn out of a natural boulder by unknown hands at an unknown time.

The seat faces East across the valley to the neighbouring hills, but the chestnut trees have grown up all around it and there is not much of its former view visible today. There are esoteric symbols carved in the back of the seat including the Templar Cross.

We took turns to sit and meditate in the chair, and the two not sitting in it would retreat further up the path to give the sitter some space. Once again we had the place magically to ourselves for the whole time that we were experiencing it.

When my turn came I was surprised at how comfortable the seat is – it supports your arms and even your hands and you can rest your head on the stone back. I settled into it and closed my eyes. Immediately I felt I was within a powerful swirling vortex of energy – and it was pink!

I remained still, meditating within the column of intense energy for about ten minutes, wondering, as you do, whether what I was experiencing was “just my imagination” or was I genuinely tuning in to a vibration connected to this site. Then we heard some people approaching up the path so we decided to move on. We thought about exploring further up the path which wound enticingly up through the trees towards another site we’d seen signposted as La Roche Tremblant (the trembling rock), but the clouds were coming lower and lower, chilly fine rain was setting in and we were curious to find out if we could access the famous thermal baths of Rennes-Les-Bains.

So back down the hill we marched and drove back into town to try to find the baths. Enquiries in one of the hotels told us the only place to swim in the waters of Rennes was in the outdoor municipal pool, adjacent to the river. They assured us that the water was fed by the springs and was naturally heated from the source. But alas, on entering the pool we were overwhelmed by the smell of chlorine.

It was nice to swim in warmish water with our heads out in the cool drizzle, but the charm stopped there. You cannot dump litres of bleach into healing spring water and expect it to retain its benevolent energy. We exited the pool, tried unsuccessfully to shower off the stink of chlorine, and went in search of tea somewhere dry and warm.

We were heading for a large, pink hotel perched on the edge of the beautiful river thinking it would be nice to have tea while looking out at the water flowing past the picture windows, when we spotted a group of people in swimsuits, lounging in a shallow pool at the river’s edge, right below the walls of the hotel. There was official-looking orange striped tape around the bathing area they occupied, as if people were supposed to keep away from this bit, but they didn’t seem to care. We wandered down to have a closer look. They seemed very relaxed, lying in (apparently) warm water, not minding the chilly drizzle, and were enjoying wine, tea and cake while they wallowed and chatted.

How jealous were we! There wasn’t room for anyone else to join them, besides which we wouldn’t have wanted to crash their laid-back party. We concluded this must be part of the ancient Roman bath area that had been cordoned off for (presumably) “health & safety” reasons – possibly just as spurious as the sinister goings on to prevent access to the waters of Alet-les-Bains.

Either way, these happy folk were lolling in pristine, thermally-heated, spring water without benefit of any “improving” chemicals. Feeling a bit cheated of the authentic Rennes healing waters experience, we continued into the hotel where we had some tea, enjoyed the view and chatted over the day’s events (and non-events), followed by a cheering (and excellent) dinner with Finbarr and Seraphina at their Hotel in Alet-les-Bains.

Day 5
Friday 11th Oct 2013

While Claire had a day off in solitary retreat at the house, Jenny and I went back to Rennes les Bains as she had lost some precious jewellery and we thought she must have left it at the pool when we went swimming. The weather was much better and we wanted to explore the area again. Happily the jewels were retrieved from the pool attendant and we set off to find La Roche Tremblant and revisit the Seat of Isis.

We hiked up the winding path for about twenty minutes and came out onto a wooded flat area at the top of the hill. The first thing we saw was a troubadour sitting on a rock among the trees playing a guitar, a few feet away from his tent. We looked around for this so-called trembling rock but couldn’t see anything but trees and shrubs. Then we met a lovely couple from Connecticut who pointed out the direction of the rock.

A few yards further along the trail we found the mighty pile of megaliths. While the top rock is certainly amazingly balanced, we couldn’t move it at all. No trembling whatsoever, but a lovely place.

On the way back we saw the guitarist had been joined by a large grey cat which sat upright beside him on the rock, staring intently at us. It seemed very strange to see a cat in the woods, far from houses, and I couldn’t help but think of a cat as a symbol of the Goddess. We set off back down the hill, and collected some fat chestnuts on the way.

When we reached the clearing of the Seat of Isis, we once again found ourselves miraculously alone, and each spent another ten minutes or so in the chair. This time I felt completely different. No thunderous, swirling energies around me; instead I felt as if the seat was simply holding me lovingly, emitting gentle, healing energy. Afterwards I felt energised and refreshed. I haven’t been able to find descriptions of people’s experiences of the chair online; I would love to know what other people have felt there.

We drove around looking for somewhere to eat lunch and ended up back at Rennes-le-Chateau at a hilltop restaurant which made up for its not great food with a truly fabulous view.

After lunch we went to visit the tiny, ancient hamlet of Arques, where legends have it that the Gospel of Mary Magdalene, was written. We climbed the 13thC Donjon at the Chateau d’Arques and found it a stunning building (it has been immaculately restored) but mainly associated with war and not at all spiritual.

We sought tea and a beautiful healing meditation at Lorrie’s Angel Gallery at Alet, – where we ran into Seraphina and Finbarr AGAIN – and rushed home for a delicious pasta dinner cooked by Claire. (The chestnuts were also delicious – what was left of them after we managed to explode them in the oven).

The Divine Feminine Journey, France, October 2013 part 4

Part 4
Day 3 at Montsegur continued

We separated and wandered off to explore on our own and tune in to the feel of the place. We’d all expected to feel sad here, but on the contrary we only felt peace – and even joy and happiness. It seemed to us that this had been a happy and loving community – and this uplifting energy is the legacy that the Cathars left behind on Montsegur, rather than the feelings you might expect from the hideous massacre that ended their stay here.

After the perfect length of time to have our fill of the peace and the magnificent views, some other people began to trickle into the entrance to the chateau, so we started on the steep hike back down to the car, where we had an excellent picnic lunch of local cheese and bread before driving off to Mirepoix.

Mirepoix is absolutely gorgeous – a picture-perfect little medieval city with a beautiful cathedral – our first destination on arriving there. The outside is bristling with gargoyles – I love gargoyles; seeing how the mischievous stonemasons enjoyed themselves with their outlandish creations. Inside (after our eyes adjusted to the deep gloom) we were excited to see a framed photo on the wall of a labyrinth. I’d not heard about this in my research – one of the most important symbols of the Feminine right here under our noses. But we searched in vain throughout the cathedral for the actual labyrinth – it was nowhere to be found.

While we were sitting in the square having some tea, Jenny spied the priest coming out of the cathedral and rushed off to question him about the mysterious labyrinth. He told her that it was inaccessible to the public being part of the floor tiles on a balcony high up inside the cathedral. Moreover it is apparently extremely small and therefore not a labyrinth that you could walk – presumably having been made more for contemplation and meditation by the occupants of the private balcony.

Our lovely afternoon in Mirepoix was ended by a superb curry cooked by a middle-aged French hippie in his little vegetarian restaurant in the square – it’s called Cardamom if you ever find yourself in that magical little village-sized city….

Day 4 – Rennes-Le-Chateau and Rennes-Les-Bains

We set off for the infamous hilltop village of Rennes-Le-Chateau – about which there is so much to say that I could write pages. People flock to this lovely place by the busload because it is the location of a genuine mystery concerning legendary treasure, as well as those of a more esoteric persuasion such as ourselves, in search of the spiritual mystery that exists alongside the material one. The famed treasure is the presumed fortune that one time priest of Rennes, Abbé Bérenger Sauniére, apparently came into from an unknown source. Speculation rages about how he came by his sudden massive wealth, and the luxurious house he built himself with the money is now a museum dedicated to telling his story.

More of interest to us is the fact that everything in Rennes is dedicated to Mary Magdalene – the church, his house – Villa Bethania (Mary Magdalene is also known as Mary of Bethany), the folly in the grounds is called La Tour Magdala. We’d arrived at Rennes fairly early in the morning – a must if you want to avoid the bus tours which descend daily upon the little village. Our first destination was the church, lavishly renovated by Sauniére and crammed apparently with occult clues as to the source of his wealth. You can research the stories of Rennes to your hearts’ content as there is so much written about it – there is even a society in the UK called the Sauniére Society which is constantly exploring the mysteries – but I’ll confine myself to our own personal experience. We didn’t find out anything new or spectacular in the church – but simply enjoyed it as yet again the Universe had arranged for us to have it entirely to ourselves (a recurrent theme in all our visits on this journey) which is so vital to being able to tune in to the atmosphere and spirit of a place.

The church is small and very pretty inside in the tradition of theatrical Catholic churches with lots of lifesize, brightly-coloured, carved figures of Mary Magdalene and others. In the photo you can see one of Rennes’ famous anomalies – the demon Asmodeus who holds up the stoup of Holy water. Unusual and creepy though he is, the church for us felt light and very much a loved place. Our peaceful communion was interrupted by the arrival of the first tourists so we headed next door to the Villa Bethania which is now the museum. Having spent an hour or so absorbing all the information (there’s really a lot) we went outside to see the formal pleasure gardens and orangery that he created, and went with great interest into the small belvedere or folly that Sauniére called La Tour Magdala.

As you can see it has glorious views and was Sauniére’s study and office. After the Church relentlessly investigated him and his fortune, and then stripped him of his priesthood, he became ill and was actually found dead in his study which is the lower floor of the tower.

Once again, despite the strange and rather sad history of the place, we felt nothing but peace and a happy atmosphere here. It is a beautiful place and you have to say Sauniére knew how to spend his money in order to appreciate it even more.

As for the esoteric mystery – the question of whether Sauniére got paid to keep quiet about information or evidence that he had found regarding the true relationship of Yeshua and Mary Magdalene – we left Rennes-Le-Chateau none the wiser. But we had spent an enjoyable morning getting the feel of the place, and I do believe this location has a deep significance contained within the land itself. The hills in this area are all limestone (similar to the areas of Avebury and Stonehenge in England) and all have ancient histories as sacred sites, with more recent stories of UFO sightings and strange lights and beings appearing. One of the hills surrounding Rennes-le-Chateau is called Pech Cardou and has so many stories and legends about it that I was very interested in looking at it. I got my wish as we drove right past it on the way to our next site. Interestingly, along with Mt Bugarach, it alone of all the hills and mountains that we looked at on our travels around the area had Griffon vultures circling its peak.

Our next destination was Rennes-Les-Bains, a short distance away, where we would be seeking the healing thermal waters, and hoping to find the Seat of Isis, a mysterious carved stone chair in the woods above the town, known locally as Le Fauteuil du Diable or Devil’s Armchair (of course it is; demonizing the Feminine and the occult as always).

The Divine Feminine Journey, France, October 2013 part 3

Part 3
Day 2 continued
Mount Bugarach
All three of us had been reading the books of Claire Heartsong; Anna Grandmother of Jesus and Anna the Voice of the Magdalenes. According to these books (and many other sources) the extended family of Jesus all came to Gaul after the crucifixion and settled at a pre-existing Essene community at Mount Bugarach. There are caves within and beneath the mountain, some of which are allegedly Essene initiation caves.

This alone would have attracted us to make a pilgrimage there. But there is more to the legends of this striking mountain than that. It is renowned for UFO sightings and said to be an inter-dimensional portal where people have experienced powerful energies and strange experiences. I heard that as 21.12.12 was approaching, extra gendarmes were brought to the area because of the rumours that large numbers of New Agers would be flooding to the mountain, expecting to be lifted from the top by spaceship. I later heard that nothing very dramatic happened (surprise surprise).

Bugarach also is supposedly the inspiration behind the shape of the mountain in Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Comparing images of the two, you can sort of see the resemblance; it looks as though Spielberg may have taken and exaggerated one feature of the mountain top – that tall tower-shape you can see on the right:

and here is Spielberg’s mountain from the film:

So, bristling with anticipation we approached the mountain – the road that winds towards it gives you lots of lovely views and angles of it from a distance; and of course our eyes were glued to the skies around it in the hopes of seeing something otherworldly (as you do). We drove through the village of Bugarach and on towards the mountain, hoping to get as close as we could by road and then see if we could walk any way up its lower slopes. We wouldn’t attempt a proper climb as we’d been warned not to do this without an experienced guide.

Eventually we found a place where we could safely leave the car, beside a rough track that seemed to lead up towards the thickly wooded lower slopes. We picked our way up the track, but the going was rough and we weren’t wearing the right kind of footwear. We found our way into a pleasant meadow with an excellent view of the stony crags of Bugarach towering above us. We sat down in the warm sunshine and enjoyed the remains of what must have been a stunningly diverse display of wild flowers in the summer.

Claire and I lapsed into a silent and meditative state while Jenny set off on her own up the track as she wanted to see how far she could hike. We lay in the grass and enjoyed the clouds of butterflies dancing in the meadow, and watched the sunlight moving on the strange stone shapes that make up Bugarach’s broad top. We observed buzzards drifting around above the surrounding meadows. Then we spotted a pair of what seemed huge buzzards cruising around the mountain top. I figured after a while that they must be Griffon vultures – which I knew existed in the Pyrenees but not so far seen by us anywhere else. The pair was then joined by a few others until there was a small flock of mighty vultures circling the mountain. Then they all seemed to vanish again, leaving two who came gliding down towards us, one flying directly over my head and the other over Claire’s, before soaring away to some distant hilltop.

(sad to admit this is a library image – we didn’t manage to get a photo of them)
In the same way that I feel the presence of the Goddess through water; moments in nature such as these also felt like poignant signs from the Great Mother that She was acknowledging our pilgrimage and connecting with us through her creatures.

We heard a shout as Jenny reappeared from the woods above us, so we started back to meet her on the track. On our way Claire (highly intuitive and a great spotter of things) spied an amazing Wasp spider down in the grass by our feet. I’m not the biggest fan of spiders to say the least but this was a beauty (for a spider anyway). Jenny had walked for quite a while through the woods, but decided she would be unwise to keep going as there are wild boar around and also distances on mountains are deceptive – the peak being a lot further away than it looked.

We left mount Bugarach wanting a much closer encounter with it than we’d managed on this occasion, but felt that we had made its acquaintance and a small start towards exploring its mysteries.

We drove home via the hair-raisingly beautiful Gorge de Galamus – a tiny winding road clinging precariously to the sides of a massive limestone gorge with a river flowing far below. Without exception the most terrifying few miles of driving I have ever done – but I felt very empowered when I got to the end of it without killing us or even scratching our pristine car.

Day 3
Montsegur

Montsegur is another mountain in the area to which tourists flock – renowned for its very sombre history as the site of the most infamous siege and massacre of over 200 of the last of the Cathars in 1244. It seemed appropriate that the sun had disappeared on this day and the sky was filled with grey and gloomy clouds. I had mixed feelings about going to this site; it was somewhere I so wanted to explore but I also felt some fear of how it would feel to connect to the energies of so much sadness and trauma. I’ve also heard several tales of people who have found that being on the mountain triggered past-life recall of their having been Cathars at the time of the massacre.

As with Bugarach, you get lots of distant views of Montsegur as you approach it along the winding roads – the drama of its silhouette reminding me of Glastonbury Tor only quite a lot bigger. We drove up and up towards the peak, getting as close as we could by car before setting off on foot to climb the final slopes to the top (a climb of maybe three times the height of Glasto Tor?).

Our timing, as with every single site we visited, was awesome in that a noisy busload of tourists was just making its way back down the hill to the road, so that when we (breathlessly) arrived at the top, we had the entire place to ourselves.

Most of the hilltop is now covered in the ruins of a fortress, “Chateau de Montsegur” that was built at a later date upon the remains of the Cathar castle that once stood there. There are also vestiges of stone buildings around the chateau which once supported various wooden huts and barns belonging to the community of 500 or so Cathars that lived there with their livestock.

We walked through the roofless ruin of the chateau, and through an arched doorway set in the far wall – and our jaws dropped at the panoramic view that met us beyond.

The Divine Feminine Journey, France, October 2013 part 2

Day 1
Jenny, Claire and I arrived at Toulouse airport and I managed to get the hang of driving on the wrong side AND changing gear on the wrong side, and get our shiny new rental car all the way to Carcassonne (about an hour) without mishap. Carcassonne is astonishing – an apparently perfectly preserved walled mediaeval city; the surrounding wall punctuated with round towers, each with a pointy roof in the style of the chateaux of the Loire in northern France. It is the most stunningly picturesque place. Alas, if you do a little research you find that it was the subject of a massive restoration project in the mid-19th century and a fair bit of romantic and artistic license was allowed. It’s not as authentic as the French tourist board would like us to think. Apparently those pretty round turrets belong only in the north of France and were never actually the style in this area. Indeed, once you cross the amazing drawbridge and get within the maze of tiny alleys, it does strongly remind me of Eurodisney. (It is rumoured actually to be the inspiration behind the original Disney conception of Sleeping Beauty’s Castle.) Still, the sun was shining and we managed to find a nice lunch in a restaurant that wasn’t too much of a fleece-the-tourist variety. If there is a deeper spiritual experience to Carcassonne we didn’t find it on this occasion, and we hoped to come back to explore further another day.

It was on the itinerary because of its outstanding wow factor, but also because it was a major stronghold of the Cathars (“the pure ones”), and Cathar history was also a part of what we wanted to explore. There is no obvious link between Mary Magdalene and the Cathars, a people who were exterminated by the Inquisition in the 13th century (this episode is also known as the Albigensian Heresy). However some believe that they were part of a continuum of the Essene teachings of Yeshua and Mary Magdalene, and that this is why they were so viciously hunted, tortured and massacred.

To this day, if there are people who consider themselves “Cathari” (and we heard that there certainly are), they will never admit it, and all the official literature claims that they were effectively rendered extinct.

The rest of the afternoon was spent hunting out our lovely house in the middle of absolutely nowhere, and failing to find a supermarket on the way so that we could get supplies. The afternoon was so gorgeous that we all flopped by the pool, enjoying sunshine that kept its warmth til after 6pm – a real treat coming from England in October, where sunbathing is becoming a distant memory by this time of year.

We were obliged to head out again in the evening as we had no food and went to discover the ancient cité of Mirepoix where we found a shop open, and a restaurant in the old square with outdoor tables – another treat to have supper outdoors so late in the year.

Day 2

We set off for Alet-les-Bains, another picturesque mediaeval village that was once a city and a Roman Spa among other things. We looked around the (deserted) little town, with its tiny narrow alleyways, and noticed ancient carved symbols such as templar crosses and pentacles carved on the house beams. We also saw the ruins of the abbey and its 12th century cathedral – said by some to be the most beautiful ruins in France. It had the most spectacular six pointed star windows; the symbol of perfect balance of masculine and feminine – interestingly in India it is the symbol also of Shakti and Shiva. The cathedral was destroyed in the religious wars surrounding the Cathar purge in the 13th century and has remained pretty much untouched since.

Apart from the healing waters of Alet – on which more below, one of the main reasons we wanted to come here was to find Lorrie Coffey’s Angel Art Sanctuary. Lorrie is from Ireland and she has been drawn to this extraordinary place where she has established a gallery with a permanent exhibition of her beautiful angel paintings. We found the gallery located in the old “Salon de thé” – a 19th century building where people used to come to take the waters from a little fountain in the centre of the salon – which is still there. Sadly the water is not currently flowing due to what sounds like sinister dealings between the Mayor of Alet and certain interested parties (possibly from the arab world) who have their eye on the rights to bottling and selling the precious waters of Alet.

On our way to the gallery we passed a large stone sculpture of a lion with the town seal carved into his pedestal – a very esoteric mix of symbols – angel wings, two five-pointed stars, the templar cross, and the Masonic handshake.

The first part of the angel art sanctuary that you see is its pretty outside terrace and garden with tables and chairs where you can have tea. Then we went into the shop and met Lorrie and her partner Eugene. Lorrie looks a bit like an angel herself – she has the most extraordinary eyes. Soft-spoken Eugene is also from Ireland. From the shop a door leads into the gallery.

If you have a look at Lorrie’s website you’ll have some idea of what her art looks like http://www.lorriesangels.com/
– but there is no way to describe the impact of walking into the beautiful exhibition rooms. There is a very, very high vibration in there that made me want to spend a long time just in contemplation of the images. Unusually, the spacious gallery is full of little purple armchairs so that you can indeed spend time in comfortable communion with the angels.

I was drawn to a particular angel (the angel of Exploration) on a purple background. The image seemed particularly striking in its power and I was interested in a faint image of the Templar Cross on the angel’s chest.

Another Irishman appeared in the gallery and started telling us about this painting very knowledgeably, and I asked about the symbol. He said Lorrie hadn’t put it there but that it had slowly appeared on the painting by itself. He then pointed to a similar equal-armed cross around his neck and I exclaimed “Oh! That’s the New Age Cross I’ve seen on a chap called Finbarr Ross! Do you know him?” To which he replied in some confusion,
“What? I’M Finbarr!”

I should point out here that I don’t know Finbarr that well and hadn’t seen him for some years. Plus he was now sporting shoulder length silver curls and a beard instead of the short haired, clean-shaven look he used to have! We explained who we were and he remembered Jenny and me from previous meetings at various conferences. I exclaimed that we were in France on the Divine Feminine trail directly because of him – so the synchronicity of this meeting struck us all as truly extraordinary, especially as Finbarr lives in Colorado.

We all went out into the sunshine and had tea on the terrace with Finbarr and his travelling companion, an American lady who was experiencing and exploring her past life recall as a Templar Knight in this area. Finbarr is an ordained interfaith minister and spiritual journey leader with vast experience of this part of France so it was a real gift to have some time to bombard him with questions, and Eugene also came out and gave us some good tips, such as where we could fill our water containers with the natural spring water in the one place it could still be accessed.

After our goodbyes and arranging to meet for dinner a few nights later, we set off for the ancient washing house where lots of taps still poured the healing water forth in such abundance that the townspeople used to be able to do their washing there in big tanks – and perhaps they still do. There was an elderly couple of locals filling huge containers for their drinking water. We filled ours too – the water is just beautiful to drink, and sat and bathed our feet for a while in the shallow pool. The water is thermally heated but at this place comes out slightly tepid rather than hot.

For me the most potent way to connect with the Goddess is through nature in general – and water in particular, long held to be an aspect of the Divine Feminine. Being able to drink and paddle in this extraordinarily pure water was one of the peak experiences of this trip, simple though it may sound.

As it was now early afternoon we decided to take our leave of lovely Alet-les-Bains for now and head for the next destination – mysterious Mount Bugarach.

The Divine Feminine Journey, France, October 2013

Part 1

Introduction

Just to fill in the picture a bit for anyone who doesn’t know about my work with The Goddess, I want to try to express why this is so important to me.

If mankind is going to make any sort of evolutionary step, it seems to me that the age-old imbalance of masculine/feminine has got to be put back into balance – to put it another way the Patriarchy needs to be healed – so that it stops being a Patriarchy and becomes – a what?  A Divine Partnership?  Maybe just WHOLE?

The distorted energy of gender imbalance globally seems like the elephant in the room – so large and ever-present that no-one really sees it or talks about it. I don’t believe it has always been this way and I don’t see that it always needs to be this way.  Becoming conscious of the Divine Feminine – the Holy Sophia Wisdom, seems to me to be an intrinsic part of the awakening of humanity.  And perhaps recognition of the problem is an important step along the way – understanding what I call the Mother of all Conspiracies. Consequently I love to give talks and workshops to awaken this consciousness of the Divine Mother in all her many aspects, and in particular for the western, Christianised world I like to awaken people to the significance of Mary Magdalene as the Feminine Christ, the equal, beloved partner of Yeshua and the mother of his children.

This great Conspiracy of Conspiracies that I refer to is the systematic and deliberate destruction of the very concept of the Sacred Feminine across the globe and down the centuries. This has been so successful and thorough that in the developed Western world at least, in my experience most people look at you blankly if you refer to any of the terms I’ve already used here – the Sacred Feminine, The Goddess, The Great Mother – even The Patriarchy (the what? Huh?).  She has become so far removed from our collective psyche that she can only be sought and found in the very depths of our unconscious – which is why one of her most potent symbols is the mermaid – relegated to the dark deeps of the sea, far from the light and the land.

I went out to lunch with some women friends a couple of days ago and the conversation turned to my recent journey to France in search of the legends of Mary Magdalene.  I was trying to explain as briefly as possible to them the nature of this sacred quest and was struggling to find words they could relate to, when one friend said in a dismissive tone – “Oh Mary Magdalene – wasn’t she the TARTY one?”  I gave up the unequal task of trying to convey anything of Feminine Sacredness to these women – their eyes were glazing over anyhow; (I think they were afraid I was becoming religious) and the conversation reverted to TV shows and food.

So this is what we are up against. Massive ignorance and indifference. And of course I used to be exactly that way myself.  Then came Dan Brown and The Da Vinci Code!  Thanks to that book, the world maybe is beginning to wake up now, at least to the Great Lie within Christianity (or that which calls itself “Christianity”) itself – the intrinsic inferiority of women.  My passion for the theme of the true role of Mary Magdalene though was born when I went to a Divine Feminine Conference (a rarity in itself – how often do we see conferences on this theme?) organised by an extraordinary Irishman called Finbarr Ross and featuring as its keynote speaker Margaret Starbird, whose books and research formed the basis of Dan Brown’s book.

After that seminal experience, I began to work at consciousness-raising, giving talks about Margaret Starbird’s research and theories and doing day-long workshops on Awakening The Goddess Within.  Then in 2012 I was invited by a company specialising in travel to sacred places – Spiritual Quest Journeys – to be the spiritual leader on a trip to southern France in search of the legends of Mary Magdalene scheduled for May 2013.

That trip was postponed until Autumn 2014 when I am invited once again to lead it (if it happens). In the meantime two dear friends of mine asked me to create our own private version – so I got to work researching and arranging things.

I booked us flights to Toulouse in early October and rented a beautiful old house in the foothills of the Pyrenees, with a swimming pool, acres of land, gorgeous views and no neighbours for miles.  It is incredibly peaceful there, no noises, no light pollution and the stars are amazing.  The house is located about halfway between Limoux and Mirepoix.