ST NECTAN’S GLEN, Tintagel, Cornwall
It’s not every day you get to stay overnight at a sacred place. Especially one which is also a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI) due to its rare plants and habitat. I was fortunate to have two days and two nights in the wonderful St Nectan’s Glen – based, as part of a group, in the retreat centre on site. Outside of opening hours to the public, the area was ours to explore – temporary overnight custodians and participants, it felt, to the magic, the elements and the waterfalls.
To give a taste, from the site’s website:
“Here lies one of the wildest, most unspoilt and beautiful places on Earth, poetic and coloured by legend. These waters are reputed to have healing qualities and are watched over by the spirits of past guardians and friends of the Glen.”
The highlight for most, is the 60 feet St Nectan’s Kieve which appears to emerge from the earth itself. Thundering and cascading, it fills the glen with sound and scent. Not your usual scent; more so, a mist rising through the trees and greenery – the aura of mystery and fairies and the stuff tales are made from. And, not so much a step back in time but across time into another world.
Our accommodation was high amongst the canopy of trees, so it was early the next morning I first visited the source itself. Immediately upon waking, myself and my room-mate threw on some clothes and quietly headed down to the waterfall. We had it to ourselves – the first people of the day to visit, it seemed.
Entering through the shallow ankle-depth waters to the base of the waterfall, I felt an ushered silence. A reverence … a portal … and much more. I asked, to the spirit of the waterfall, for permission to enter. Though not intending to stand under the waterfall itself that morning, we were both compelled to shed layers of clothing and stand before the spray and energy. It was magical … and not as cold as I thought it would be.
I had come for the weekend with an intention of connecting to a new dimension of nature – to experience deeper beauty, perhaps … if I was lucky. I began with opening myself to the ‘spirits of place’ and then one, who was keen to speak, shared a little with me. I had a sense of the glen ‘not wanting too many visitors’, of ‘wanting to be private’, ideally. The spirit of place I connected with reiterated this to me, I felt. A sense of ‘too many, though not all, taking too much from it’. It was doing ‘okay’ I felt, but could not last forever in this way.
I now felt compelled to give back: to offer some harmony and gratitude to it and all it represents – even though I can never understand all that it is. It is so much more than ‘a waterfall’ … but I had a felt sense it could again be ‘all that it is’. If it is protected.
That afternoon, we returned – with two more from our group – and, amongst the day visitors, we offered drumming to the waterfall. Connecting again with the guardian of the waterfall, I silently explained our intention, as I perceived it, and the spirit of our offering. Not to change it, but to offer appreciation to it and its waters which flow downstream into the sea … should it wish it. No need, just an offering. A recognition. Which created a meeting of minds, it felt. Standing there before it, our feet in the water, gently drumming, I felt it echo up into the earth itself – the vibration from our drums met and answered. I felt the acknowledgement in my bones. It was not a portal I could see, but one I could feel in my body and senses, from a dimension who heard our offering.
The waterfall needs appreciation for its subtleness and otherworldly qualities. As was pointed out to me: it is a filter to the seas of the world. And, in the overlap between the land and the air, the water and the energy passing through, it is a gateway of spiritual force. Just because we can’t see it, doesn’t mean the force is not there.
For the final morning, our whole group would meet before sunrise at the waterfall. To perform a ceremony. My intention was to immerse myself fully under the water, to commune with it, but what happened next for me was so much more powerful. In the quiet dawn descent to the waterfall, the sudden group roar and exhalations of the people already in the waterfall echoed through the glen and pierced my heart, mind and energy field. The ceremony was not towards the waters, but of physical release and letting go. Stopped in my tracks, eyes filling with tears, I felt the trauma to the land and its spirit. A split-second vision appeared before me, of an energetic opening into the land. It felt brutal, shocking and wounding – and a painful contrast to the subsequent vibrancy and post-release joy of the group when we reached them. My soul felt horrified; my energy-body shaking, I felt we had betrayed it. All I could now do, in my own small way, was to offer healing to the spirit of the waterfall and land – and apologise for the trauma we, as a collective humanity, unconsciously make. Though not enough, I felt it heard our offering of protection and abundance for it because I heard the sound of drumming echoing back.
The waterfall of St Nectan’s Glen gave me a life-changing experience. I cannot un-see what it showed me. Nor do I want it to. I had asked for a new experience and the waterfall answered. The new dimension of nature I witnessed was not a pretty one, and yet, its vulnerability was beautiful too. Sacred encounters can also be terrifying and shocking – and they can pivot our reality. They can also shake us awake into action.
The quandary I am left with is how we, as a collective humanity, protect our land and its spirit. In one person’s healing, another’s heartbreak is made. As humans, we must let go; but we must do so gently. Because nature is reflective of what we do and who we are. The crystal waters of St Nectan’s Glen – and the care shown to it by its current owners (not related to the group I was with) – are a perfect example of this.
Go quietly, but do go.
It’s more powerful that way.
Love,
Delilah
PS. I have been unsure about writing this energy reading for many reasons, but the glen has provoked an instant need in me to speak out and share what I see, and saw. I feel a sense of protectiveness towards it, and yet, it needs visitors and abundance to maintain it. The people who care for it, do so with such love (it is rare, in my experience, to see signs referring to ‘a sacred place’, for instance – which I think is wonderful. And they encourage quiet attendance). They collect the multitude of tokens, ribbons, photos and mementos left by visitors and move them to the little meditation room (in the sixth century ‘hermitage’) for safe keeping and they are protecting the surrounding landscape by planting trees and more on the adjacent hillsides. We must, must heal ourselves – and we must also help our land to heal. If this post encourages someone – or the next overnight group – to go softly where they might not have previously, then perhaps we can heal and restore more than we realise. Maybe we can see all of nature as the sacred place it is.
Visited: October 24