Back to that first flight...

It took many more years for my fascination with Ravens to come back around to the forefront of my consciousness. I should probably finish this part of the story before moving on to the present moment...


I went back to England several years ago for a vacation. Actually, it was the end of a tryst and the beginning of a phenomenal relationship. My travelling partner wanted to see Stonehenge, Avebury and, of course Glastonbury Tor and town.


Glastonbury Tor is magnificent and the town itself is quite amazing. One really can feel something of the Otherworld there. It really isn't a "normal" place at all. I had never been, and didn't know what to expect. The words "sanctity", "home" and "Ravens" seemed to be never far from my mind. The feelings that swirled around me that I associated with those words were pervasive.


One afternoon, standing on the Tor, I saw Ravens all about. I had the sensation that they were talking to me, watching me and inviting me to, well, something...I hadn't really ever chatted with a Raven before!

I reached out with my Self, closed my eyes and decide to soar with them. This flight seemed quite normal and natural. I could see the surrounding area from, quite literally, a bird's eye view. I swooped around St. Michael's Tower and out over the farmlands that Pagans know as the Vale of Avalon.

Whether this was a meditation, a vision, a real flight or one hell of an imagination at work, I'll never know (and am actually not that interested in putting a label on it...it was what it was) but the experience left me connected to the Tor, to Avalon, to the Ravens and to paganism.

Bran the Raven

I think I took my first trip to The Tower of London when I was about 8. Must have been on a school outing or Boy Scout event. Living in London, as I did, afforded me all sorts of fabulous forays into history,art, culture and religion.

The Ravens at the Tower hold a special place for me and in English history. It is said that should the Ravens leave the Tower, the English monarchy would fall. Although it's not known exactly when they arrived, it is known that Charles II ordered that they be removed until he found out about the lore.

I felt an instant connection to the birds. They are huge, look one right in the eye and unlike most other creatures, they will stare right back at you. I was completely taken by their silky black feathers, dark as midnight.

What fascinates me most about the prohibition on the Raven's departure is the idea that a geasa, or magical working is still in place today and so prevalent in "everyday", modern history.

What is not so known is that Tower Hill (just outside the Tower proper) is the fabled resting site of Bran the Blessed. Bran, whose name means "Raven" was an early model or archetype for the "Arthur" myths that followed much later. And like Arthur, the country's fate rose and fell with him.

It would seem that the Ravens have been sacred to British monarchy for time immemorial. So I think my first quest is to learn more about Bran, as this is where the story seems to begin...

The journey begins...

Am I a new pagan? Am I an old pagan reborn? Have I walked this path before - countless times before - asking these same questions? The answer to these may not be known until I walk in the fields of the Summerlands and they hearken back to the ages old questions "Where did I come from?", "What am I doing here now?" and "What's going to happen next?". Phrased another way, these are the Mysteries of Birth, Death and Rebirth.



Each religion and philosophy wrestles, in their own way, to find an answer. Each crafts myths, stories, parables and lore to explain the Unknown and Unknowable to it followers. They mollify the dread fears of those who have suddenly come to the terrifying conclusion that life, at least this life, is not permanent. They dance around the questions, ever more smoothly than ice-dancers, of the Innocents who ask, with eyes wide open and minds open even wider the questions of Life itself.





I have come to my path through a long, circuitous route, as I imagine many people do. I have studied and belonged to several sects of Christianity. I spent three years studying with a Tibetan master, three years with what can be best described as a Jungian self-help group with overtones of Joseph Campbell and three years studying with a druid group whose focus was on the pre-Arthurian Avalonian era.

All of these have great, great merit. Most left left me wanting something more or, at the very least, something different. I do recognize that the longing has more to do with my lack of patience with one path or the other but ultimately, my practice suffered from inactivity.

Throughout these paths, as far back as I can remember, there have always been Ravens.

The Raven's Flight

In ancient Celtic times and perhaps long, long before that there were those who possessed the "Raven Knowledge". Roman historians documented Druids wearing cloaks made of bird feathers, known as Tugens.


In Norse Lore, two ravens would accompany Odin as he sat on his throne. Memory and Thought were their names and they were tasked with informing their Lord of all they heard and saw.

To many Native American peoples, the Raven was a trickster, a messenger from beyond, one who possessed secrets cloaked in the midnight black of his wings. His healing was from far beyond.

My Raven journey began on an ancient, cold, windswept hill.