My Beltane Pastlife Memory

Do you believe in past life memories, I do, for when they occur they are more real than real!

In the English county of Somerset there is an enigma known as the Glastonbury Tor, a man-made hill that holds deep and ancient significance, a place of great spiritual power that according to legend is the main portal into the world of the Fay. The actual reason for its construction is uncertain, though dating to the Neolithic it is thought by archaeologists to be a sacred site and many excavations have been undertaken in attempt to glean knowledge. Back in 2002 , on the summit, archaeologist found what they believe to be the footprint of a round temple. However it was undoubtedly a sacred site long before anyone built upon it, a temple in its own right, a Goddess sacred island, the element of earth encircled by water. Originally, this 500 foot hill was an island of ‘terra firma’ within a tidally affected marginal marshland, only connected by a narrow strip of land, thus affording both safety and seclusion. Nowadays the hill sits in the middle of a lush green valley because over many generations the area was systematically drained to gain extra farming land; only recently has it been recognized as heritage and gained protective legislation against further destruction of ancient landscape.

Though it has been accredited with Arthurian connections, and during the time of Saint Patrick was used by Christian monks the Tor dates back into the dark depths of the Neolithic when humanity worshiped the Divine Feminine, so why I am writing about it?

Well I have from a past life, a clear and distinct Beltane memory that involves the Tor:
We were the local women, of assorted ages, probably about thirty of us; I think I was about fourteen or fifteen, and dressed in pale blue wool, with flowers were in my hair, I sat amongst a group of similar girls at the base of a nearby hill. We were all transfixed watching the Tor, which rose out of a sea of swirling mist, with almost magical appearance. The men folk were gathered across the way, older women were laughing and singing, then with the sound of a horn the men set off in a race to see which of them could reach the summit first. The excitement was infectious, we were now on our feet shouting and leaping up and down as we tried to see who was in the lead.

I remember thinking, ‘he will be the finest man of all; how happy I will be happy if he picks me’, I know that those of us in pale blue were the village maidens, and the race was the annual event to see who amongst the young men was this year’s alpha male; for this was the celebration of Beltane and the time for partnership, to leave behind childhood and move on.

Who won? And what happened next? Sorry, I don’t know, the memory ends with seeing the men silhouetted against the skyline, with the light gradually paling as the sun sinks.

Blessings, Eve.