Recollection of the River Rheidol
When I was four or five years
old, my Grandparents took me on holiday to Wales, to a cottage as I
recall, nestling in the piquant green hills of Cardiganshire. It was
here that I received my first ever sense of Britain’s Dreaming,
small and unformed, my mind open to the voices of the Ancestors before
modern mores had had a chance to close my inner ears. I remember
sitting on the bank of a noisy river, my head in my hands, I was
mesmerised by the burbling and gargle of the rushing waters, I watched
for what seemed like an eternity, the water slip over rocks in its
path, frothing and popping with joy. To me it was completely alive and
conscious, as aware of me as I was of it. I became aware too, that this
was the voice of the river, although I didn’t understand its
language, I knew it communicated a deep and profound sense of love if
you spent long enough in its presence. I have never forgotten that
river and am sad to think I don’t know it’s name or
location now, it is one place I feel instinctively, I might in an
ancient time, have been required to honour with my gratitude because it
spoke to me in its Ancestral form. Many times since, I have come to
sanctified places with an open heart and have heard so many Great
Ancestors whisper to me, the green ones and four-legged, the very wind
itself and my heart has burst with love. I have offered my tears of
devotion as a prayer – for prayer is not simply petition, it is
honouring and it is connecting, it is the act of loving, it is the
living depth of beauty and truth which sings to the soul. I thank that
river which I believe fed a huge waterfall, with all my heart, for She
took me in her arms and unfolded to me my destiny, calling me back to
the old ways of my beloved Ancestors.
Liz Bradshaw
Back to MENU
