Two weeks ago I was invited to the annual outing of the parish council which happened to be just round the corner from the house at the Medieval Centre. I am ashamed to say that although the centre is in walking distance, I had never been. Due to the numerous educational activities they promote I was led to believe that is was more for children and families. What a mistake! The place is amazing and I had the most enjoyable time. The parc is set in a dale sheltered by small hills, woodlands and pastures for the animals. The soft rolling landscape is exquisite and provides a cosy sanctuary: a stark contrast to the house which stands exposed in the middle of the fields on the pilgrim’s road.  As we entered the parc, we were greeted by two frolicking goats prancing about as if in a circus act, begging to be petted and most likely to earn a treat.

There are two parts to the medieval centre. At the foot of the hill there are modest buildings where the lowly live and toil to serve the gentry who live in a fortified village. There we were requested to make a straw cross, a square cross set in a circle. It took some fiddling with two qualities of straws to produce the item. Despite its name, the artefact is not an icon of Christianity. People would hang them up above the thresholds to ward off any malignant or menacing spirit. Mine is now hanging on the kitchen door to watch over the delicious meals prepared there.

With the appropriate protection we then proceeded to the top of the hill and the fortified village. On the way to the church I had often scrutinised the impressive wooden walls I could see from the road, but I had no idea of the treasures behind the barricades. Inside there is a complete village including, in the centre, a magnificent town hall for banquets. We were first marshalled off to a neighbouring field for a quick introduction to the skills of archery. The more intrepid of our group gave it a try, some more successful than others. We were then summoned to the hall to enjoy a banquet worthy of noble visitors. The hall is beautifully decorated with, on one side, scenes of people working in nature depicting the seasons and on the other side the corresponding astrological signs. We were served a copious medieval meal with the same ingredients and staple food that prevailed in Europe before the Great Discoveries: no potatoes, no tomatoes, no corn, for instance, and no elaborate desserts. There were no forks on the tables, only knives and spoons, and plain crockery. More than one guest struggled to eat without a fork which was amusing. We drank brown ale straight out of the jug and for the more daring there was strong mead to round up the meal.

One of the aspects I haven’t mentioned so far is the storytelling. There was a lot of storytelling during our visit, storytelling being the main modality of communication in medieval times with troubadours, bards and poets narrating the exploits of heroes, or messengers and envoys dispatching official information and news. Quite different from our era of social media. Almost all the stories involved tales of the little people of Norse mythology who inhabit the underworld. Rather than being disgruntled and broody characters, the little people are always eager help humans and correct their mistakes. The most popular story here on the island is about the man who laid stones for the foundations of a new church in the nearby village of Gudhjem. He hadn’t picked a good place, so at nighttime the little people shifted the stones up the hill where the church now stands.

As I listened to the tales of mystery and wisdom shared by our small gathering, I was struck by the importance given to the underworld in Norse mythology. So very different from the quarrelling gods on Mount Olympus in Greek mythology or the seafaring heroes navigating the Mediterranean Sea that I grew up with. In a country where the sky is always low and often threatening, where winters are long and drawn out in darkness with very few starlit skies, it is no wonder that people should turn to the underworlds to find solace, guidance and assistance.

The more I took in these legends from other lands and traditions, the more I watched my dinner companions’ face shine, their hearts opening up to share their own special connections with the little people of the underworld, the more I felt my worldview falling apart as I was effortlessly drawn into this other realm. I then knew, and felt, what it is to have something turned on its head. Talk about an unexpected paradigmatic shift shepherding me towards the ultimate reality without succumbing to the usual experiences of dissociation or dislocation. My whole inner geography was rotating while the outer geography followed suit to align with the new emerging perspective. As I rooted myself in the fertile soil of Norse traditions, it was as if the Mediterranean Sea, host to polytheism and monotheism, to philosophy and rationalism was lifted upwards to become the skies I stare into. The mythological stories depicting the underworlds and the heavens started to mix and mingle to reveal a new pattern where up and down, higher and lower no longer make sense.

It would seem that this weird experience of being flipped over is an endorsement of my work on the pathways to selfhood charting the evolutionary thrust of human consciousness through psychological integration towards spiritual growth. Indeed, the following day with a small group of followers I walked the final stretch of the odyssey, the pathway of contemplation. Absolutely no coincidence here, more a synchronous alignment, an encouragement to deepen the explorations and dream into what might lie beyond the odyssey with wholeness, the new horizons beckoning us. Needless to say that the session was powerful, all our individual subjective experiences refusing to be configured into words. Yet, despite fumbling to express the intimate experience of an encounter with the Absolute, there is also a great clarity regarding the next steps.

For the final three sessions of this year, I want to linger on the pathway of contemplation and not rush onwards or elsewhere. I want to learn more about contemplative consciousness engendered by the non-dual mind. I want to practice cultivating a contemplative culture through the virtues of silence, stillness and solitude. My understanding is that the pathways to selfhood prepare us for a subjective experience of encountering reality, face-to-face, in the empty space where human consciousness and the divine meet and create. Having walked the pathways leading to the centre of the pattern, we are now invited to stay there, breathing and listening, growing the receptive mind that flourishes in silence, stillness and the solitude of the soul.

The forthcoming sessions will alternate sequences of words and music with extended periods of silence. The sequences of words and music weave together poetry and music. Drawing on the elemental powers of breathing and listening they shape the inner voyage that floats the waves of the elements of earth, water, air and fire escorting us to the gateway of contemplative stillness. The idea behind the new design is to encourage a seamless transition between cataphatic practices – focussing on observing life arising in us in terms of bodily sensations, feelings and thoughts – and the apophatic practices of objectless awareness. What arises in the silence in terms of ‘Love is One’ will be ours to receive, cherish and transmit if it contributes to the unfolding of Love itself. Each session is built around a theme to anchor the restless and wandering mind and facilitate the opening of the receptive mind. In October we meditate on aloneness so as to open up to the inner voyage taking us, first, to the temple of aloneness before expanding outwards into the solitude of the soul.