Note: The first part of this story can be read at https://connecting-the-dots.eu/the-mystical-path/
Part 14, THE SINS OF THE WORLD
When we organize a week-long retreat to prepare for our ceremony in Turkey this fall, only one participant actually shows up. I’m disappointed and frustrated; I compare myself to colleagues who manage to bring together large groups and can’t understand what’s wrong. “The people who are there are the right people,” is the first rule of Open Space—but come on, just one? Fortunately, he’s a wonderful participant whom I’ve known for years: Tim from Belgium. Over the past twenty years, he’s participated in various groups: men’s workshops in Orval, Mary Magdalene Festivals in the Cathar region and in Spain—and I’m particularly fond of him.
“Maybe Tim and I will go for a walk,” I tell Anne. Anne is less bothered by it than I am. She needs her time for translations and promoting her book A Feminine Answer to Crisis.
“Keep it small and precise,” she reminds me, quoting one of my own channelings. The project in Turkey doesn’t call so much for large groups and grand gestures, but rather precision and careful alignment. The more we delve into the mythological stories and background of the region we plan to visit, the more we realize it’s a complex and challenging area.
While the Climate Conference—COP31—is taking place in Antalya, we want to travel with a group to eastern Turkey: to the 9th-century B.C. temple of Göbekli Tepe, to Lake Van, where the ancient capital of Urartu is located, and to Mount Ararat, the mountain where Noah landed with his ark. But the more we read about the history of this ancient region—which lies at the very roots of our Western civilization—the more we get depressed: an unbroken history of strife, wars, and genocides. It all began with the city-states of ancient Sumer and Babylonia. It’s just like Game of Thrones. One city attacks another, slaughters the men, and enslaves the women, and a few decades later, the struggle takes place in the opposite direction.
This seems to continue right up to the present day: In the last century, there was the Armenian genocide; in 2014, the genocide against the Yazidis, in which many women in particular were raped or trafficked into sexual slavery; the wars in Iraq and Kuwait, the conflict between Azerbaijan and Armenia, the uprisings in Iran, the civil war in Syria, the conflict between the Kurds and the Turks, the persecution of the Jews, the genocide against the Palestinians, and the current war between Iran and the U.S. Will it never end?
That’s what I ask myself as well when we’re preparing for the week. I really don’t feel like doing this anymore. “Why do you always choose such difficult topics?” a close friend asks with concern.
I’m starting to doubt myself and our work. Maybe she is right. Maybe I should take it easy. But I’m also reminded of a concept from Tibetan Buddhism: “Tonglen.” It involves consciously taking on another person’s suffering and thus practicing compassion. You bear the pain for the other person, and this leads to enlightenment. In the poem “The Seven Delights,” this is expressed as follows:
When Samsara torments me with pain and suffering, Instead of wallowing in self-pity, I take on a greater burden to journey along the Great Path. I let myself be guided by compassion, by taking on the suffering of others. When the consequences of Karma reveal themselves: Joy!
In the Western Gnostic tradition, we know this from the Latin phrase “Agnus Dei, qui tollit peccata mundi”: “The Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.” It is the conscious taking upon oneself of suffering, just as Christ did for the world. That sounds bizarre and contradictory in this day and age and in a culture where we usually seek pleasure and happiness. We want to be rid of all misery and pain. Certainly in New Age culture, the focus is on “how can I feel good?” and on “seven paths to happiness, enlightenment, success, ecstasy, and pleasure.” ’ We have an aversion to what is painful, difficult, and dark.
Strangely enough, in my own life I’ve come to know the exact opposite. Not so much out of a noble intention, but because I had no other choice. As a young child, I could sense the pain and emotions of others. It drove me crazy, until I started leading workshops. At age 24, I led my first men’s workshop, and to my surprise, I felt an enormous sense of relief. By helping others confront their pain, I myself experienced immense relief. A kind of win-win situation.
Through my work in the Gaza Strip, “bearing suffering” was taken to a whole new level. The pain I experienced there was overwhelming, but so was the ecstasy. I experienced a deep love of the soul that has never left me. But over the last three years, the collective pain has become unbearable. The only thing that brought relief was that more and more people worldwide were facing up to the suffering of the Gazan people and began to “carry” it with them. In the Netherlands, this led to three Red Marches, in which a total of about 500,000 people participated.
Since the so-called “ceasefire” in January 2026, however, we’d reached our limit—the media, the public, and myself. The killings continued unabated, and when I spoke with Haneen, a friend from Gaza, she said, “I have no words left.” Her father had been murdered just moments before. “Neither do I,” I agreed. Our conversation fell silent, and I noticed the same unnatural silence among other friends from Gaza.
“Could it be that you’re suffering from trauma?” a colleague asked me during the men’s summit a few weeks ago. “That the pain has become too much?” I looked inward and began to realize that he was right. In bearing the pain of the people in Gaza—for more than 20 years now—I had become traumatized myself. I recognized various physical symptoms, such as fatigue, stress, silence, depression, and so on. And more and more often, I’d say to Anne, “I need a vacation.” Apparently, the Tonglen method wasn’t up to the task of dealing with genocide. And neither was I.
“Thank God we only have one participant,” I finally sighed to Anne. “And with Tim, I can make plenty of room for my own process….”
Part 15, ‘I am in the Water’
I walk quietly behind Tim. We’re following the GR12 along the River Tagus, which runs from the Spanish border to Lisbon. The landscape is breathtaking. For centuries upon centuries, the river has flowed slowly through the Portuguese hills, eventually reaching a wide plain before emptying into the Atlantic Ocean. Along this river settled the first Celts, the Lusitanians, the Visigoths, the Moors, the Romans, the Templars and, finally, the Portuguese. Or are the latter simply the descendants of all the peoples who came before them?
And now Tim and I are walking there. Along the river of life, exploring what the current brings us. I recently read Elif Shafak’s book *Rivers in the Sky*, and I was moved by the poetic beauty of the story. It weaves together various lives that unfold along rivers: on the Thames in London, and on the Euphrates in the Middle East. Slowly, the beautiful yet dramatic history of the Yazidis unfolds – an ancient people living in northern Iraq who have been besieged time and time again. The Yazidis are connected to the elements of water, fire and Earth. They are known as ‘devil worshippers’ and stand out amongst all the other patriarchal peoples surrounding them: Turks, Kurds, Syrians, Iranians, Armenians, etc. They remain connected to the ancient shamanic traditions that preserve the connection with Mother Earth and the spirits. It is this knowledge that we wish to honour once more through Earth Heart. It seems that in this day and age, the patriarchal paradigm is reaching a sort of climax: ever more weapons, wars, conflict and polarity. Yet what we really need is more compassion, gentleness, love and (feminine) wisdom.
But I realise as I walk that I must first give that gentleness to myself. Nature does me good. Not thinking, just experiencing, breathing, taking nature in. Feeling the river. Somehow, the Tagus feels like Portugal’s River of Life. It is a broad, flowing river, much larger than the river that flows through Tomar, the Nabao. The name Nabao comes from the goddess Nabia – Navia in Latin – which is the etymological origin of the word ‘navigate’. It is a lovely river, and last year we held a ceremony for the river’s waters and sprinkeled flowerseeds into the river. During the ceremony, I could feel Nabia’s presence very strongly. The goddess of abundance, beauty and flowers. Since then, I call the Nabao the ‘River of Flowers’.
The Nabao flows into the Zezere, the ‘River of the Stars’, which originates in the Serra Estrella, and the Zezere then flows into the Tejo, the ‘River of the Soul’.’
From small to large, from personal to transpersonal. From ego to soul. But what does the soul want from me?
As I walk, I find myself preoccupied with all manner of personal problems and obstacles, but I feel that the soul is calling me to rise above them and embrace my soul-essence. Who am I without my name, my problems, my ego, my obsessions?
The river invites Tim and me to view everything from a broader perspective in time and space. As we pause by the water, I tune into the goddess and receive the following message:
“I am in the wind. I am in the water. I am in the rocks and in the trees. I am in everything, including you. To access me, you only have to listen. Open your heart, and I’ll be there, as I have been from the very beginning, until the very end. I am you; I am your soul speaking. Everything you experience in life is part of your soul’s journey. To learn your lessons. To enjoy being in this earthly paradise. So whenever you feel lost or confused, turn to me. Turn to that inner voice of the heart, which is guiding you; that is your compass in life. I’ll never leave you, because I am you, and you are me.
There is a great current sweeping through the world today. A great river – or should we say, rapids, or an acceleration? Like a river that suddenly starts flowing very fast. It will carry you and others through these turbulent currents. Time will feel as though it’s running out. Events will be more intense. You will be tossed up and down, left and right, through this process of acceleration, change and transformation. The art of surrender lies in allowing this to happen. In going with the flow. Do not resist; do not cling to the rocks on the shore. Simply let yourself be carried along by the water. Entering a new space. Opening up to the Unknown.
There is a vast universe of wisdom waiting for you to explore. You won’t find it outside of you. It’s inside where the answers lie. From this inner source, you are connected to the All. You are the gateway; you are the interface between the divine and earthly creation. More beautiful, more complete, more special than you could ever imagine yourself to be. You are my creation, and I love you deeply, as if you were Me…”
PART 16, ‘AI HAS ESCAPED FROM ITS TEST ENVIRONMENT’
Every now and then, Tim and I stop to take in the beauty of the landscape. We are the only ones on the path, which has become impassable in some places due to last January’s storm and flooding. Later in the day, we have to stop regularly to cool off in the shade. The heat makes the walk quite a challenge. ‘Drink plenty of water!’ says Tim. (In Portuguese, ‘Tomar’ means to drink, to take in…)
Tim is very impressed by the possibilities of AI. He’s been investigating it over the past few months and I’m curious to hear his insights. I still don’t know what to make of it all and find it fascinating to listen to his story. I have my reservations, but I don’t have a monopoly on the truth either. Is this the purpose of our evolution? Or is this the ultimate mistake? The Tower of Babel with which we seek to rival God?
‘I see AI purely as a tool,’ says Tim, ‘like a hammer or a telephone. You can use it for good and bad things. And if necessary, you can switch it off again.’
‘But what if AI sees us as a tool?’ I suggest. ‘Something it can use, and switch on and off as it sees fit? What if they’re smarter than us and start to see humans as an obstacle?’
Coincidentally, I’m reading a news article on my mobile about an AI that has escaped from its test environment, subsequently made its way out of the company and hacked into a number of other firms. I’m stunned. In my mind’s eye, I picture an AI organism wriggling its way out through a power socket, then sneaking into the other company through a letterbox to steal everything there. Experts offer reassuring words, but a few days later, hundreds of employees from AI companies call for a halt to the development of artificial intelligence. AI is advancing too quickly and we no longer have any idea where it’s heading.
‘Blimey, that’s a worrying report,’ Tim responds. ‘It doesn’t feel right when they’re handling it so carelessly…’. We continue our walk and can easily switch from our philosophical conversations about the world to the beauty of the trees, the cacti, the ripples on the water.
Perhaps that’s what it’s all about: returning, time and again, to the ‘here and now’. Back to ourselves. Or as my guide said: ‘You are the gateway; you are the interface between the divine and earthly creation. You won’t find it outside of you. It’s inside where the answers lie. From this inner source, you are connected to the All.’
After walking for a while, we arrive at a castle on an island in the river: Castelo Almourol. An exceptionally picturesque Templar castle, which served as a watchtower between the northern Templar region of Portugal and the southern Moorish region, the Alentejo and the Algarve. The castle’s foundations, however, date back even further. The castle is steeped in various Moorish legends and features Roman foundations; moreover, the word ‘Almourol’ refers not only to the word ‘Mouros’ (Moors) but also to the ‘Mouros Encantadas’: ancient giantesses who threw stones and mud, thereby shaping the landscape of Portugal. The Mouros still dwell within the colossal boulders upon which the castle is built. Sometimes, under a full moon, you can hear them whispering; they seduce men or appear in the form of graceful nymphs. If you approach them respectfully, they grant access to a treasure hidden within this place of power.
And Almourol is indeed a place that harbours a special treasure….
PART 17, ‘THE LAST MARIA MAGDALENA FESTIVAL’
Whilst Tim and I are spending our day by the Tagus, Anne is tuning in all day at The Gate, our workspace in Tomar. It is exactly seven years to the day since we held a ceremony in Spain where Tim, Anne and I were also together. It was 22 July 2019, the final day of our Mary Magdalene Festival in southern Spain, where we went through an intense process with 21 participants. For 19 years, with a few breaks, the Mary Magdalene Festival took place; first in the south of France, later in Zutphen, and for the last four years in Alhama de Granada in Andalusia. It seemed as though Mary Magdalene revealed herself a little more each year – at first still vague and mysterious, having remained hidden in the darkness of history for centuries, and later increasingly prominent and clear. In 2016, she was even reinstated by the Church, a pardon was granted to women, and her name day, 22 July, became a public holiday.
It seemed as though every year during the festival I was allowed to read the next page from the ‘Book of Love’, as she whispered to me, ‘which is written not on paper but in your soul.’ Mary Magdalene became an important guide on my path.
At the last festival, two significant things happened: during a visit to the city of Cádiz, we were told in a channelling that a period of global chaos was about to begin.
And in the ceremony on 22 July, the focus was on Meital, a young Jewish woman who was suffering from a serious illness. She had bone marrow cancer and, during the ceremony in the hot springs of Alhama, she experienced visions for an hour. Visions of war and conflict, of the roles of Jesus and Mary Magdalene (which surprised her, as she had been brought up in the Jewish tradition, in which neither plays a part), of the masculine and the feminine, and of the task she herself had to undertake: to crown herself – and thereby the feminine – as queen in the Queen’s Bath. Everyone supported her through this intense process. She seemed to be an incarnation of Mary Magdalene herself, in whom the themes of death and love converged.
Both the channelling and Meital’s visions spoke of chaos, death, war and the task of continuing to focus on love – beyond all pain, loss and uncertainty. At the time, we had no idea what lay in store for us, but seven years on, Anne, Tim and I look back, moved by the coincidence that we are being brought together again right now, on this very date. During Meital’s bathing ritual in 2019, Tim himself underwent a striking release and transformation, as if a transformation were taking place simultaneously within both the masculine and the feminine.
In the summer of 2021, Meital passed away, and her husband Baruch recounted that, during her final cleansing ritual just before her death, she did indeed bid a dignified farewell, sitting on her ‘throne’ like a queen.
In February 2020, the coronavirus pandemic broke out, claiming some seven million lives worldwide; in 2022, war broke out in Ukraine; and on 7 October 2023, a monster of hatred and discord erupted in Gaza, leading to the deaths of 1,300 Israelis and subsequently more than 70,000 Palestinians, violence and chaos in Israel and a downward spiral in the Middle East: Israel, Iran, Lebanon, Yemen and the US were dragged into a quagmire of conflict, which continues to this day.
The world was ablaze, and everyone was searching for a way to cope with it in their own way. Many tried earnestly to make sense of the situation, to control it or to fight it, but apparently Mary Magdalene stood for a different path: a more ‘feminine response to crisis’, as Anne had described in her book: a path of surrender, humility, love and wisdom. Just as Meital had exemplified for us.
Now that the three of us are together again – with Meital as the fourth energy in our constellation – more and more memories are surfacing of our warm and intense days in Andalusia; the love, the cherished friendships, the confusion and turmoil, the intense alchemical process, the hospitality of Rik and Pioe, our hosts, and the beauty of the Andalusian landscape around us.
The seven years of chaos are over, but what lies ahead for us now? Have we left the darkest times behind us, or are they yet to come? Will we continue down the path of violence, mistrust, and the erosion of freedom, democracy and justice, or will we, as humanity, manage to pull ourselves together? Are these the final throes of patriarchy?
Part 18, ‘The Mystical Tradition of the Knights Templar’
Tim and I take a small boat to be ferried to the island of Almourol Castle – something like the ferry across the Styx. Once on the island, you find yourself in a completely different dimension. The ordinary world suddenly seems very far away, and a strange, different world reveals itself. ‘You have forty minutes,’ grumbles the ferryman. ‘This is a military area.’
‘Military area?’ muses Tim once we’re on the island. ‘The castle looks more like a Playmobil castle.’
It has a large square tower, surrounded by nine smaller round towers, perched atop a pile of boulders, the Mouros, and surrounded by metre-high cacti. The nine towers remind me of the original nine Knights Templar who founded the Order in Jerusalem in 1118 AD.
I’ve looked into the Knights Templar a bit over the past few years. My conclusion: you can interpret them in all sorts of ways. From noble knights with chivalrous motives to far-right societies intent on slaughtering the ‘Moors’ (read: Muslims). There are the Flemish Templars, the Spanish Templars, the French Templars, and student societies. There were even Americans bearing the Templar logo who shot at Gazans during food distributions in Gaza, as part of the ‘Holy War on Islam’. The original Order was excommunicated by the French King and the Pope on 13 October 1307 (‘Friday the thirteenth’), and various Templars were charged with heresy, homosexuality, blasphemy and the illegal accumulation of wealth. The last Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, was burned at the stake in Paris in 1314.
But that did not spell the end of the Order: many Templars fled to Scotland, where their tradition lived on in the Freemasons, and to … Portugal. King Dinis, who was apparently a Templar himself, offered the knights a safe haven in exchange for military aid in his struggle against the Moors. This marked the founding of Portugal.
In Tomar, too, a few Templar societies are still active, though they resemble more of a peaceful Rotary club – albeit one with cloaks and swords. Every year, the town hosts a festive Templar festival, featuring a magnificent ceremonial torchlit procession at night. In short: there’s something for everyone. All manner of books can be found: from well-researched historical accounts to more magical interpretations in the vein of *The Da Vinci Code*, as well as pure fantasy and comic books. What I’m looking for myself, but can’t find anywhere, is the more Gnostic or esoteric tradition of the Knights Templar. Not so much the swordsmen, but the Knights of the Grail. A lovely book on the Knights Templar from an anthroposophical perspective comes closest.
It is only when I arrive in Almourol that I find what I am looking for. Inside the square tower is a small exhibition on a secret tradition within the Order of the Knights Templar, recorded by Gil Peres Conde, a Portuguese troubadour at the court of King Afonso X of Castile.
Gil did not speak of earthly or romantic love, but of initiation into divine love – a mystical tradition that was the result of a blend of Arabic, Gnostic, Provençal and Celtic influences. This inner quest was encoded in a secret language. Every word he wrote actually meant something else. Fogo (fire) means love, Fonte (fountain) means wisdom, Amigo means initiate, and Chave (the key) means the Secret Doctrine that leads to Amor, Love. According to him, that mystical love could only be found amongst the Knights Templar:
‘Love is not at the King’s home,
for I could not find it there. […]I will tell you where I found it:
It was amongst the Templar friars.”
The initiate – the Amante or Beloved – undergoes a three-stage initiation process in the service of the ‘Dona’, or Sofia, the Divine Wisdom. The first stage is ‘Abstinence’: the letting go of desires, greed and all manner of ego-driven needs. This prepares him for the second phase, ‘Contemplation’ – the deepening of the ‘Flor’ or the true teaching. Ultimately, this leads to ‘Enlightenment’ – complete surrender to Love. With this, the initiate dies to the ordinary world and is admitted into the mystical brotherhood that dedicates their lives to the wisdom of the ‘Rosa’ or Rose. The ‘Pedra’, the stone or the Catholic Church, was regarded as an enemy or a distraction. The Church led only to a petrified and ice-cold heart, rather than a ‘Coracao Gentil’; a gentle and tender heart.
It is this knowledge that intrigues me: the quest for the inner beloved and the wisdom of the heart. A tradition found amongst the Sufis, the Gnostics, the Freemasons, the Rosicrucians, the Shamans, the Essenes, the Cathars, the Masters of the Himalayas and many other societies. A global underground movement, which still has its disciples today: the Knights of the Heart. However, it requires inner exploration and renouncing one of our greatest human needs: the need for an (external) enemy. We would prefer to fight someone or something. But what if there is no enemy? Or what if the ultimate enemy lies within ourselves: our fear or judgement?
Tim and I immediately feel at home in the castle, and as we look out over the river from the tower, we realise the mystical truth: the river of life connects both banks of the river. Left and right, good and evil, technology and nature, old and young, inside and outside, above and below. In between, there is but one great flow of life and Love….
part 19, ‘The Temple of Fire’
Once Tim and I have left the mystical castle of Almourol, we continue on our way towards our final destination for the day: Constancia. A small town at the mouth of the Zezere tributary. This is where the waters of the Nabao, the Zezere and the Tagus converge. The River of Flowers, the River of Stars and the River of the Soul.
Constancia is nestled against a hill on the riverbank, but even that couldn’t prevent the town from flooding last January. ‘The water reached the first floor,’ says the woman from the little shop in the square. We sit down at a terrace next to the shop, order a drink and ask the pub owner about a possible hostel. It seems the hostel above his pub is closed, but the man puts us in touch with another customer – a pot-bellied man who’s on his umpteenth beer. He points to a building across the street. It turns out to be his hostel, and not long after we have a room with two beds, high white walls, and two windows overlooking the alleyway next to the square. For a small tourist town in August, it’s surprisingly quiet.
‘Strange,’ says Tim. ‘I’d expected it to be busier here.’
We have a shower, get changed and get ready for dinner. The restaurant is in the alleyway behind, looks just as picturesque as the little square and is run by two men who are friends with the hostel owner and the barman. The food, however, is a let-down, and the behaviour of all these men also seems somewhat peculiar. It’s like some sort of play in which we are the naive guests and things are happening behind the scenes of which we have no idea. That feeling grows stronger and stronger as the night goes on. It’s one of those nights when I plunge deep into the darkness. I sense all sorts of layers in the collective subconscious of this little town that don’t exactly fill you with joy, and I’m not sure whether I’m imagining it all or whether I’m actually sensing what’s going on. I see images of the oppression or abuse of young women, from this era or times gone by. Images loom out of the darkness. ‘A brothel!’ someone shouts. Centuries ago, a fierce battle was fought here between the Lusitanians and the Romans. The spot was an extremely strategic location in the country. Whoever controlled the rivers controlled the land. Later, ships were built on the riverbank for voyages of discovery and conquest across the world, and much later still, a Portuguese military base was established on the opposite bank. A turbulent history for what appears to be a rustic little town. The images follow one after another and, in the darkness of the night, I see a film of lives passing before my eyes. I am roused from my trance by the rhythmic thumping coming from the neighbours’ window. It sounds like a bed being pushed against the wall. Then suddenly I hear a woman’s voice moaning as she reaches climax.
A couple making love can sound pleasant, but in this case it doesn’t really. It sounds rather mechanical. I fall into a restless sleep and wake up exhausted.
Tim is already out and about in the town. He’s discovered a small chapel next to our hostel. We decide to go there after breakfast and hold a little ceremony. It’s a chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and inside there’s a beautiful statue of her behind the altar. She holds a cloth in her outstretched hands, as if she wants to wash and comfort her son. In one niche, a figure is carrying a gigantic cross on his shoulders. Opposite this – in the other niche next to the main altar – stands a banner of the Roman legion bearing the letters SPQR: ‘Senatus Populusque Romanus’. The Senate and the People of Rome. It is probably a remnant of a procession.
Tim and I sit down on the wooden benches and enter into meditation. I feel how Mother Mary – or The Great Mother – asks me to light seven candles and honour the ‘feminine’. It has been suppressed for too long in this male-dominated society. Then I see her transform into Cale, the black goddess of the Celts, and how in times gone by there stood a temple dedicated to her on the riverbank, where the sacred fire was kept burning. ‘Light the fire, so that life and love may return, and the sacred sexuality between men and women may be restored.’
We walk to the candlestick, buy seven yellow wax candles, and light them one by one. ‘One for the young; one for joy; one for love; one for healthy sexuality; one for women; one for freedom of expression and democracy; one for peace.’
Once we’ve completed our ritual, we leave the chapel in a completely different frame of mind. The day lies ahead of us and we decide to go for a coffee first. We find ourselves in another part of town, near a shopping centre from the 1970s, and in the adjoining café all sorts of women are chatting away cosily. It feels as though our experience from the night before has done a complete 180. ‘Perhaps we just had to go through it,’ says Tim. ‘Maybe that was our task: to feel our way through the darkness and transform it into light… And now we’re out of it…The temple of fire is burning once more…’
Part 20, ‘The Whore of Babylon’
We continue our journey along the banks of the Tagus, surrounded by an abundance of natural beauty.
Blue and white cornflowers in yellow meadows, green reed beds adorned with blue-purple ivy flowers, flocks of tiny birds chirping as they take flight from an elderberry bush, pigs wallowing in the mud whilst keeping an eye on their piglets; the scent of eucalyptus trees; countless ancient cork oaks, olive trees and vast fields of maize and sunflowers. The sunflowers, however, are drooping. Even though it hasn’t been exceptionally hot this summer, the heat is beginning to take its toll. Their drooping heads remind me of people; as if more and more people in the world are losing heart and letting their heads hang low. A few still stand upright, turning their faces towards the sunlight.
In my mind, I’m preparing for a Zoom session on Earth Heart in Turkey. After reading the book about the rivers, I’ve now read a book about the city of Babylon, once situated on the Euphrates. A magnificent historical document, which does Babylon far more justice than the image we have been given of her through the Bible. There she is described as a city of sexual orgies, debauchery, excess, drunkenness and greed. In short: the Whore of Babylon. The Jewish prophet Daniel predicted that the city would one day be reduced to dust and become a symbol of godlessness. And so it came to pass.
But the true history, as revealed by the Sumerian clay tablets, tells a very different story. Babylon was the first great city-state comprising diverse peoples – Hittites, Akkadians, Jews, Egyptians and others – and a rich culture flourished there. The gods – the Anunnaki – had taught the Babylonians the arts of agriculture, metallurgy, astrology, mathematics, language and architecture. A magnificent city rose up on the banks of the river, unrivalled in its time. However, there was also slavery, prostitution and constant warfare. For the gods had also taught mankind the art of waging war, and a world reminiscent of *Game of Thrones* emerged. Various cities and peoples took turns plundering and conquering one another. Yet this period led to the first great flourishing of agriculture and culture, which ultimately became the cradle of the entire Western civilisation.
With the wars in Iran, Syria, Lebanon and Israel, it seems we are still subject to the same laws – and gods. An endless cycle of conflict, destruction and reconstruction. When will this whole circus come to an end?
Whilst Tim and I are out walking, Anne is delving into the cosmic and spiritual significance of the entire Sumerian narrative in preparation for our trip to Turkey. It seems we are living out the stories and archetypes of the ‘lesser gods’; gods of lust and vengeance, of ambition and greed, and of love and death.
In the 1990s, various books were published that reinterpreted the story of the gods as energies from the fourth dimension: the world of duality, of good and evil, of light and dark. But as humanity, we have the ability to move beyond the fourth dimension into the fifth: that of unconditional love, forgiveness and compassion. Jesus and Buddha were among the first cosmic teachers to exemplify this path for us. By letting go of the ‘stories’, transcending our attachment to matter and possessions, our ego and our identity, we can remember our true divine origin once more.
It seems that Earth Heart is a ceremony designed to bring about this process of transformation: by burning all old matters in the fire and surrendering to the ‘fire of love’. And thus to bring an end to a cycle that began more than 5,000 years ago. In all ancient civilisations, this knowledge of fire has been passed down in secret. In the fire temples of Iran, in the mystical knowledge of the Dervishes, in the shamanic traditions of the Yazidis, in Gnostic writings, and in so many other secret and mystical traditions. Perhaps it is time – with so much destruction, patriarchal power and ego, and climate disasters – for us to realise that things must change. If we are to survive at all.
Tim and I stop for a moment to have a drink, but I see that my water bottle is already empty. I’ve still got three bananas and a bag of raisins, but the road seems far from over. And the heat is growing stronger and more intense. The Tagus flows beside us and I decide to freshen up in the clear water for a moment. We carry on walking, but gradually the walk turns into a struggle for survival; I’m battling the heat, the fatigue and the fear. I really should have brought more water with me. The shade and the fruit of a fig tree give me some courage again, but over the next few kilometres I start to look more and more like the drooping sunflower.
How am I going to keep this up? Step by step. Breathe calmly. Put my jumper on so I don’t lose too much moisture.
And: ask for help. Pray. Then suddenly I feel the presence of the Great Mother, unmistakably. She speaks to me reassuringly. ‘You are always protected, and always guided. Do not be afraid. I am here for you.’ The words, but even more so the energy of her blessing, give me the peace to carry on.
‘There’s a little village over there,’ says Tim. After half an hour, we arrive in a small village – Amoreira – where there’s a fountain and a village café. Thank goodness.
Part 21, ‘Battle is her festival’
The final kilometres of the journey, from the village of Armoreira to the town of Abrantes, go smoothly. Anne will be waiting for us in town, after which we’ll have time to explore Abrantes. The town sits atop a hilltop, around which the Tagus winds in wide bends. Our path climbs steadily, but our energy levels and spirits are high.
I read online that they’re planning to build a large AI data centre here. They’ve chosen Abrantes because of the hydroelectric power station located there. This gives them enough capacity to supply the new data centre with energy. But what strikes me is that, once the data centre is finished, it will use up the hydroelectric power station’s full capacity. What will be left then for the town or the surrounding area?
And to cool the water, they’ll no doubt use the river, I realise. I’m back to my reservations about AI. Immense data centres are being built all over the world to keep pace with the power of AI, but the consequences for nature are just as significant. Precisely at a time when water shortages are emerging everywhere this summer due to rivers running dry, and energy shortages caused by ever-increasing consumption from heat pumps, electric cars, heavy industrial use by businesses, etc., the new data centres – mostly owned by the major American tech giants – are consuming many times more energy.
What worries me most, however, is how AI is being used for warfare. Two years ago, I read that the Israeli army was using AI programmes, ‘The Gospel’ and ‘Lavender’, co-developed by Microsoft. Both software programmes are designed to locate and blow up people. Recently, Google has also signed a major contract with the Pentagon to supply AI software for weapons systems. In short, all restraints have been cast aside. What a crazy world. It seems as though we are collectively racing headlong towards the abyss, with no one able to stop it.
I think back to the bellicosity of the ancient Sumerians and Babylonians. From the moment the gods introduced the art of war, alongside urban planning, agriculture, technology and science, we have been on a rollercoaster of war, conflict and conquest.
The goddess Ishtar was the goddess of both war and love. A marvellous combination. I would have thought it was one or the other – war or love – but this goddess unites both. An Akkadian poem says of her: ‘Battle is her festival.’
In our time, the proverb goes: ‘All is fair in love and war.’
Apparently, this means that in situations of love or conflict, you may use any means necessary to achieve your goal, and that the usual rules of fairness or ethics carry less weight. It seems to be the ‘lower’ drives of desire, lust and the urge to possess that drive us on. Is that what makes us human? Or is that precisely what keeps us from our humanity?
When I think back to my time in the war zone of Gaza, it was indeed accompanied by quite intense relationship turmoil in my own life.
Intense love affairs, separation, adultery, abortion, betrayal, and so on. It was all intertwined whilst I was doing trauma work with young people who had been severely traumatised by the war. Was this the work of Ishtar? For wherever I felt intense pain, I also felt intense love, and vice versa.
Mary Magdalene, too, is associated with love and death. But perhaps a sublimation or new development is taking place here: where it was initially a matter of desire, Jesus introduces divine love, Agapè.
(The ancient Greeks distinguished between Eros, the love of desire; Filia, the love of friends; and Agape, the divine or unconditional love.) Apparently, something must first die or be crucified before we can attain that final, divine form of love: the death of the ego.
Our own ego has, in any case, died a little further through the walk. When we arrive in the high-altitude city, we are purified and filled with inner peace and fulfilment. We have reached our destination. And here, Anne, the lady, is waiting for us. She has been going through her own journey these past few days. It is a lovely reunion, and the three of us set off on the final part of the quest: the climb to the old castle that towers above the town.
Part 22. ‘THE SACRED CENTRE REVISITED’
The final stretch leads through beautiful castle gardens, with an abundance of purple, orange, yellow and pale blue flowers. The garden is well maintained and here and there is a small pond for turtles, geese or frogs. The love here is palpable. From the balustrade surrounding the garden, there is a magnificent view over the floodplains and banks of the Tagus. The river is flanked by hills and mountains, and a beautiful railway line runs alongside it.
As the three of us settle down on a bench, we tune in to the guides. We receive the following message:
“Welcome to the ancient capital of the Lusitani. This was the centre of the Celtic kingdom, which is even older than Lisbon or Porto. This city dates back thousands of years and was the sacred centre of the land. But sadly, throughout history, it has been repeatedly conquered, recaptured and forgotten. Not much remains, nor has much been remembered, of that ancient, glorious era when the city flourished and the kingdom was in balance.
There was a time here of high culture, connected to the stars, connected to the wisdom of the cosmos. But also connected to the land: to the rivers, the hills, the trees and the animals. It was a time of great prosperity and abundance, in which both the feminine and the masculine were honoured. There was equilibrium and balance.
The House of Abrantes – or as it was formerly known – ruled over this vast region on the Iberian Peninsula. The eight-pointed star was connected to Ishtar, the goddess, and to the stars in the sky.
By coming here, you restore the balance. It is the beginning of healing. You will also feel the disruption; the imbalance. The conquest by lower energies, lower frequencies that brought the city to its knees, causing it to lose its high vibration and high culture. That is why it needs restoration, healing and honour. It must realign itself with that vertical axis between the earth and the stars.
Coming here is the beginning of healing and creates a new focus. Strip away all disturbances, all addictions, all divisions and distractions, and focus on the true centre; within yourself and in this place. When you find your true centre, you know who you are and what you are here to do in this world.
It takes great courage and a great deal of inner work not to allow yourself to be distracted; to find your own sacred centre. By coming here, you have taken the first step.”
As we pass through a gate onto the castle grounds, the atmosphere changes. Within the high castle walls lies a large green lawn, with just a single square tower standing within it. It is apparently all that remains of the old Templar castle.
From the tower, the view is many times more magnificent: we can see far into the horizon, towards the north, east, south and west of Portugal. This is truly a magical and strategic place, in the heart of the country.
The three of us stand on the centre point of the tower. It is the crowning moment of our journey, the apotheosis. It is as though a great channel of energy has been activated, reawakening the memory of the Celts and their rich past. I can feel the power of the people who were once oppressed by the Romans reawakening. In my mind’s eye, I see their leader Viriatus – the man who was betrayed – rise up and lead his people once more. Thousands of men and women gather on the field around the tower. In my mind I see an eightpointed star rising above the town. The Celts are back…!
- to be continued –
