A colleague and I were comparing notes on our separate and different experiences when visiting Stonehenge. It’s amazing how two different sets of eyes and hearts can see the same thing so differently.

He’d taken a rented car there, and as it was his first time driving UK-side on the road (with a manual stick shift, no less!) his focus was on much different things than me on my route.

I’d taken a train to get to a bus and then walked about a quarter of a mile with my fellow busmates to the spot.  So for me there were many alternating bouts of introspection and interaction with others as our joined experiences shifted about.

For my colleague, his was a battle from the start, cursing the roundabouts, bewildered by signage, and unsettled by the horrible noises coming from the gearbox as he (re)learned how to shift gears.

What did I expect when I arrived?  Nothing.

Not that I find this incredible monument to be of little value – on the contrary, this was one of the most eagerly-anticipated visits of anyplace I’ve been.  Spending summer solstice evening and then morning inside one of the world’s most fascinating mysteries?  Are you kidding me?  This is magical.

But I expected nothing – the journey was the experience unto itself.  The fact that some kid, growing up in a variety of cities scattered across a vast country thousands of miles from the place, slowly absorbing the English culture book by book, would end up here, on one of the most mystical nights of the year, was stunning.  We’ve already passed any expectation point my mind could achieve.

Making the short pilgrimage from the bus station to the Stones was so pleasant.  Families, couples, large and small groups of friends, single wanderers, all tracing a path through fields to the place we all could make out very well.  There were small, unobtrusive signs marking the way but they weren’t really needed.  Our voices carried well in the cool, slightly breezy air; various brands of English language mixed with voices speaking other languages created a quiet tapestry of sound that we rode on the way to our shared destination.

When we arrived, we joined others who’d been there long before us.  No one really made a big announcement of the new folks; we simply blended into the growing stew of humanity which was becoming more and more lively as evening set in.

Of course the first thing I did was to slowly and respectfully place my palm against one of the Stones.  I’d love to say that any reaction occurred – a spark of awareness, a humming of energy or a feeling of Oneness with the place.  No, for me it was just touching a cold, hard stone.  But that didn’t mean it wasn’t special to me.  I’d touched stones like this before on my many outdoor adventures – stones that were in places where people may have never been, where others may have slept upon, and some that had not been touched by a human hand in centuries.  Each left a mark on me as firmly as if they had been the ones touching me instead of the other way round.

These stones, it turned out, were in the company of about 30,000 of us that night.

We (the collective) chatted, sang, shared wine from flasks, slept propped up against the Stones, visited the temporary loos nearby, and generally had one of the most peaceful assemblies I’ve ever known, given that we numbered the size of a small town.

As the morning sun struggled to be seen through the dense cloudcover, we knew we weren’t going to personally see the alignment of the sunrise through the vantage point of the Heel Stone.  Not a problem – I knew the likelihood was low anyway, given that England is often cloudy.  I’d been given an opportunity to be part of this experience, and took it.  Actually witnessing the alignment of the sunrise through the Stones would have been awesome, but not essential for this.

An item of note: I suffer from an issue where I feel very claustrophobic in crowds of people (a “crowd” for me is 5 or more, including myself).  It’s like drowning at times, and the urge to break away into a run to an open space is almost unbearable.  I’d love to say that spending the night being bumped, pressed upon, guided by swirling waves of people through this experience has cured me.  Nope, it’s still there, grinning like a demon.  But I wasn’t going to let that guy stop me from doing this.

Our way back was a rewinding of the afternoon before.  I laughed to myself quietly, imagining a movie being played in reverse.

What did my colleague expect?

After going in great detail about how stressful the drive to the place was, he said simply this:

“After all that driving, can you believe it was just a bunch of rocks in a field?  No souvenirs, nothing to even say you got there.  I was so mad.  I left.”

I’m so very glad my eyes and heart saw much more than this.  These filters have helped get me through some very rough patches (some even documented on this diary) and they work as well now as they did eight years ago last week.

God’s placed magic all around us – even through man-made crafts such as this; we just need open eyes and hearts attuned to the vibration these gifts give off.

Photo Credit: Me 🙂