Chapter XIV: “MY LOVE IS LIKE A RED, RED ROSE...”

My love’s like a red, red Rose that’s newly sprung in June;
My love’s like the Melodie that’s sweetly play’d in tune...

Robert Burns.


I inherited the fiery spirit of the Celt through the blood of forefathers who had once sailed the trade winds from Albion’s shores on serendipitous adventures to the far East. And from devout Sinhala grandmothers I was granted the gift of the Buddha’s most serene grace.

Now the Celtic heritage began to burn brighter as I my steered my own little spiritual vessel over inner seas. Living archetypes and myths that never died, the inner wisdom held within the eternal circle of the cosmic zodiac, ancient star temples, the Shining Ones — all these awaited the delight of my rediscovering them as a birthright. Through the knightly order of Avalon, the Lord of the Sun had answered my prayer with a vision of King Arthur’s return.

Unrepentantly the romantic, I saw myself travelling to all the Celtic lands to announce the great news. But what did a rootless Eurasian migrant know about the western mysteries? Wasn’t my reverie really about a greater awakening in a time when the song of the immortal spirit, whose melody had been almost lost among the noise and smoke of satanic mills, was heard within our hearts once more?

I had dreamt of travelling deep into mountains full of red heather. I recalled the scenery of the Tywi valley in the Cambrian hills where my son, two friends and I had struck camp, living like sun browned aborigines under a burning Welsh summer. After years of political activity and protest marches it had been good to return to the loving arms of Gaia. Journeying into my feminine, intuitive self I had embarked unwittingly on a great inner adventure which had taken me to the north of Scotland. There we joined others who had been attracted by the magical energies of the north eastern Peninsula, flanked by the Great Glen’s volcanic rift valley to the west.

Here angelic forces of light whose impulse, it is said, had helped to establish the Findhorn Foundation shone down, each day through relatively unpolluted skies. The entire Moray coast felt, to me, to be full of old folk sagas and Earth memories of Pict, Celt and Norse settlements. Memories that had lived on through Scotland’s troubled times were regenerating, bringing to the northlands others who were being led here through the guiding voice of Spirit.

It was perhaps no coincidence that my wild dream of taking the good news to the Celtic lands should have been fulfilled when, one day, BBC Radio Scotland ‘phoned, inviting me to speak about Harmonic Convergence. Though I had been on radio before, I felt nervous about the whole thing, wondering how I could explain the vast meaning of a galactic event in eight minutes! And, being of a somewhat circumlocutory nature, I had never felt at ease with the adrenaline pace of talking on the radio.

Nervously, I accepted and, on the day after Harmonic Convergence, turned up at the offices of BBC Radio Highland at Inverness for a link-up with the Jimmy Mack Programme in Glasgow. I was ushered into an empty studio with just a microphone and a headset to keep me company. Jenny sat outside the glass partition and tried to smile encouragingly in my direction. But, as well as the Beta waves being whipped up by my own breathless apprehension, I could feel her nerves on the other side of the sound-proofed screen.

My mouth began to dry up. It was challenging enough to be on the air but what could be worse than having to respond to a faceless being speaking through headphones into a huge studio where I sat alone. I removed the small pewter Celtic Cross from around my neck and began to rub it for comfort and inspiration. Imagine then the irony of being told by Jimmy Mack that a church minister in the Isle of Lewis had condemned Harmonic Convergence as ‘satanic’ and ‘not of Christ’s church’.

The paternalistic intolerance of the old Kirk had not disappeared from its Highland fastness. My mind raced in search of conciliatory words as I wondered how to deal with the reverend gentleman’s fiery denunciations. Two centuries ago I might have been pronounced a witch and sent rolling down Cluny Hill in a burning barrel of tar. Thank God for evolution! I thought, managing somehow to find some suitably ecumenical placations which I suspect fell on the deaf ears of the stern Calvinist.

Just before the interview, Jimmy had played a song by the folk group, the Clydesiders. It was a modern, musical adaptation of Robert Burn’s beautiful poem, My Love is like a Red, Red Rose. My nerves calmed down a little as I felt Swami’s gentle reassurance manifesting itself through a synchronicity of the kind he had told me through the inner voice to expect during those eventful days. Far from being ‘satanic’ I felt God’s presence very much with me in that studio. The lyrics of the song couldn’t have been more appropriate applying, equally well, to the changing planetary harmonic and the promise of the Creator’s eternal and unconditional love for each and all of his children ...”and I will love you, still, my dear ‘til all the seas run dry. ‘Til all the seas run dry.”

Unto the end of the Earth...

I could feel a powerful spiritual bond between Robbie Burns, the universe and little me. I knew that his noble soul would have understood the meaning of the galactic event.


Just before our journey to the south and India, Sir George visited us again at Woodend. He told us what a great event Harmonic Convergence had proved to be in Glastonbury where he had read out the Rainbow Meditation to a gathering. I told him how, after receiving the meditation, I had been troubled with so much self doubt and how he had taught me confidence as well as humility through his own enthusiasm.

“I would like to read to you a letter I received three days after Harmonic Convergence from a friend of mine who is a very respected clairaudient,” he replied.


Sir George at Woodend

The letter had been received as a message from the higher world by Lady Cynthia Sandys — a very advanced clairaudient who is able to attune to her friends on the other side. One of these, we were told, was Wellesley Tudor Pole. Immediately I knew why this letter was to be read to us. For it was not long after the lighting of our little amber light at Woodend that I had received the Rainbow Meditation.

After thanking Sir George for his participation in the events on the Tor on 17 August, T.P. described the great transformation that had taken place.

“I had no idea that we would be able to use that ancient site of grey magic. It is now completely converted and the forces of negative power who were in command have acknowledged Christ most willingly and happily. This was a most amazing outburst of Light and Power seen by us on this side and many on yours.”

It was a wonderful reward to receive confirmation of the accuracy of Jacob’s’ message.

“I am absolutely nonplussed by the force which is being used to bring this about,” continued T.P. “The richness of colour, the depth and beauty of the music coming out of the hill itself half frightened us. It was so strong and conquering in its potential force.”

I thought of the Vision of Sagittarius.


“Light, Music and Joy Eternal greeted Him
As the Mother released her celestial energies,
Bathing the Vale of Avallon and all the Planet
In Her wondrous Dance of Creation.”


It had happened in the way that Baba had revealed. The holy spirit of the Creator had entered into the Planet. The Christ was reborn.

“If the Christ figure had not been visible to nearly all of us,” T.P. continued, “I think we should have become almost maddened by this high vibration that was being exerted and brought down to our level. I see the same results have taken place on many holy sites. Iona was redolent with glory and the old saints were seen and heard in many places.”

He went on to make an observation concerning the double-edged effect of the rays and leylines. The Michaelic force in particular contains two extreme, polarized aspects: one benevolent and harmonious, the other warlike and destructive. Dragon energy is raw, neutral, electromagnetic power. No wonder earlier messages had advised us not to get sucked into disturbing patterns. Madness had struck at a village community not far from the dragon line of St Michael warning humans that, as the vibrations are raised, so must we raise ourselves from our lower natures.

“I see the planets catching fire with excitement,” T.P. ended before handing over to Fr Andrew Glasewski — an old friend of Sir George who had been active in the New Age movement while in his earthly body. Before continuing to read the letter, Sir George remarked that T.P had signed-off as ‘Tudor’. This was unusual because he had always been known to everyone — including Lady Cynthia — as T.P. It was of particular significance as he was descended from King Henry VIII whose crest bore the Welsh Dragon. Perhaps T.P. had chosen to emphasize this symbol during the time of the reawakening of the planetary dragon lines...

Fr Andrew took over, observing how the crust of the Earth was breaking and the Light was shining through. “How exciting to be in the physical body at this moment!” he exclaimed. The sacred island of Iona was wreathed in Light, “and all the holy sites trembling with power. We must work with it and I know we shall succeed.” Offering his spiritual services from the higher world, Fr Andrew requested others to call upon him, “in the name and vision of Christ...”

“This IS a great awakening!” he ended.

Sir George put the letter aside and peered over his glasses at me. “So here’s your Triangle. I think you’ve got something there!” he exclaimed. Jubilantly I shouted my thanks to Baba. At last, I began to break through the barrier of self doubt.

After tea, my son and I took Sir George to Inverness Airport. As we drove through a steady, grey November drizzle he told me that, just two weeks before, he had experienced a regression. Through it he had established a connection with Elizabethan England during the time of the battle of the Armada. Sir George’s great-great-uncle had been the historian-poet, Lord Macaulay, and since childhood, Sir George remembers having had the romantic notion of “lighting spiritual bonfires on the crown of the holy hills of England.”

Thus, in 1588, the news of the coming of the Armada had travelled throughout Britain. Now a new kind of fire had begun to shoot across the Planet. And Sir George had played a vital part by inspiring and focusing the energies of those, in Britain and elsewhere, who took part in the events at Harmonic Convergence.

There were a few minutes before the departure of his flight so we walked into the Airport lounge and sat down for a coffee. I asked Sir George to repeat, once more, the famous lines from The Armada. Looking into the distance, as if into another time, he recited solemnly.


“All night from tower to tower they sprang, they sprang from hill to hill,
‘Til the proud Peak the flag unfurled o’er Darwin’s rocky dales,
‘Til like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales,
‘Til twelve fair counties saw the flame from Malvern’s lonely height,
‘Til streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin’s crest of light...”


I sat watching this amazing man. In his words I could hear the ringing tones that must have inspired Drake’s men as they had set sail to engage the great Armada. I sensed the daring spirit of a young England and, in his eyes, saw the bright beacons that had burned over the hilltops that fateful day four hundred years ago. Here, in this old campaigner — now in his eighty second year — was the eternal vision of Spirit. The same Spirit that had inspired William Blake to write his Jerusalem. I thought of my own naval ancestors who had fought that day.

In the shining eyes of this white maned prophet of contemporary England I saw the Christ child born. We seemed to have travelled beyond space and time to find ourselves as beings of a greater destiny each playing their role in the creation of a new world.

Around us a busy, mundane world went about its business. Then a bell chimed, announcing the London flight. Sir George bade my son and I goodbye.

“And give my love to Baba when you see him,” he added. “Tell him that I’ll come and see him one day!”

Then he strode away towards the aircraft waiting outside. We returned to our car to see the jet ‘plane take off and gracefully wing its way south. Silently, I wished him Godspeed.


Some days before Sir George had visited us, I had taken some pictures of the farm to take with me to Swami who I hoped would accept them and bless the vision of a place of healing dedicated to Sai at Woodend. It had been a bright autumn day. I had been working with some large scale maps of the area, looking for leylines. Finding one such possibility I traced it over several maps towards the east before going outside to photograph the house and to inspect the field through which I guessed the leyline must run.

As I searched for the approximate spot where the line approached our house I saw a bright orange light flash from one of the upstairs bedroom windows. Focusing the camera’s viewfinder I closed the shutter hoping to immortalize the magicality of the sun’s message of light. Perhaps it was for this reason that I had been drawn to the spot.

I guessed that the orange flash must have emanated from a cut glass crystal hanging in the window opposite, pointing to the south west, which had caught and refracted the light of the sun. That was the rational explanation. I moved back into line and took another photo. But now the light had changed to green.

On the prints obtained from these two pictures the orange light presented itself as a perfect, six-pointed Star. The green light, however, had remained a hexagon. It was clear to me that the orange light -with the sign that represents the House of David, an ancient and universal symbol of the Divine- had been given by Sai whose robes are the same colour. And the green light was that of the Nature Spirit's blessing.

Then I had another dream where God called me to go with him. I felt myself leaving Woodend for a desert place, near a kibbutz, before two flag poles. The one on the left stood empty but the other on the right flew the flag of Israel with its Star of David. When I woke up I asked myself what it could mean. I wasn’t travelling to Israel and I had no plans to join a kibbutz. Again, God had asked me whether I would leave everything behind to go with him.

There had been another dream of a constellation of stars which I felt were the Pleiades. Since my ‘twenties I had been aware of a mysterious connection with a star called Aldebaran, ‘the Eye of the Bull’ in the Constellation of Taurus. Then I discovered that the Amerindian people claim that their angelic ancestors had travelled to Earth from the Pleiades.

I believe that, all over the world, there are those with this kind of spirit link who have chosen to incarnate in this time — that they have come to be present at the moment when the Fifth World ends and the Sixth begins.1


The day arrived for our journey to the south. I walked to the back of the farmhouse to take one last look at the Moray Firth. On the horizon the mist and clouds of a wintry afternoon in late November rolled over the mountains of the Highlands. I listened to the wind sighing through the Culbin forest. Everything became dreamlike. I felt myself floating through the surrounding countryside, feeling so much love for this place. Its silent, timeless atmosphere drew out all the tensions and healed the mind and body. It was a good place for that.


Hours later we were on the London bus. I couldn’t remember feeling so sad to leave anywhere as much as I had Woodend. Since my childhood I had got used to making moves and desensitizing myself from homesickness. Jenny and I waved goodbye to Jan who stood outside the bus, trying to put on a brave smile. For the same reason I was making silly faces at him. I hoped he would manage alright without us for the next two weeks before going down south for Christmas.

The bus sped out of Inverness and through the Cairngorms, into the dusk and rain. Tears welled up into my eyes. It felt as if I was leaving a whole lifetime behind in the Highlands. Before us lay the gateway into something new and unknown.


© RW 1989