By Simon Mitchell
This land is my memories. For two thousand years this valleyhas been mine alone. I know every rock, every stream and everytree. I know the forces that shape this land and the people whoinhabit it.
A billion years ago this land was a migratory trail for theanimals of Western Europe. They roamed freely across the hugeland of one continent. Millennia passed as the rivers washedsilt to the ocean and the sun raised rain to the sky. At thattime the mass of Eurasia was joined. The tectonic plates shiftedand islands formed, raising proud, green peninsulas on greenwater, thrust out to the ocean. Long before my time the forcesof nature battled along the coasts of Western Europe. From theSouthwest, the Gulf Stream warmed and opened the land withsummer heat. From the north, ice raged and cracked the rock ofwhat would become the British Isles.
The land tells me it was an epic struggle. The generous heat ofearth, venting her spleen, the wash of the water, cooling andcirculating air. Rain succoured the land and ran back to thesea, endless cycles, repeating endlessly. The earth shifted,chasms opened and the sea swept in, submerging areas andseparating the islands of Britain and Ireland from the mainland.
Spouts of boiling lava spewed from the molten centre of earth tocreate granite formations, a source of wonder till the end oftime. A great rift opened up what is now the Bristol Channel andthe Irish Sea, separating the land into distinct areas. Manycharacteristics still connect Brittany, Ireland, Wales, andCornwall. Their joining can still be seen in place and people.But veins of power run through the sea, a matrix of energycriss-crosses the land and reaches out around our planet.
The Phoenicians, Egyptians and Greeks journeyed to these coastseven before the Iron Age, in search of Keltic wisdom, since longbefore the time of my youth. They followed the trail of gold andwisdom across the sea to Cornwall and then to Wales and Ireland.Later, tin trade followed these routes across Brittany and thejourneys of wise men and saints to the west of land, the land ofsetting sun, of Gods and the quest for immortality that hauntsus all. Ships and boats from the French and Spanish coasts oftensailed to rivers on the south coast of Cornwall in search oftrade and journey with the friendly and civilised Keltii,hopefully avoiding the pirates that have ravaged these coastsfor millennia.
2000 years ago I was killed trying to save my mother fromPortuguese raiders on the river, who stole the gold that camefrom Ireland. My story is located in the valley of one of theserivers, now called 'River Fowey'. It is a story that I have notbeen able to tell until now. My own story starts with the visitof Jesus of Nazareth to the river Fowey in 30 AD (according tothe Julian Calendar and allowing for a seven yearmiscalculation). He was twenty-three years old. He journeyed ona vision quest to the west-of-land, in search of the wisdom ofthe Keltii and union with his father spirit. I have spent muchtime thinking about this moment and my brief encounter with aman who claimed to be Son of God. For hundreds of years Ipuzzled at his smile, the light in his gaze. He had a quality ofbeing rare in the extreme, an utter and unconditional compassionfor all life.
Who am I? A ghost; Fintan, born 2000 years ago and caught in thematrix of nature unable to tell my story until now. I am here inan ancient land, waiting for you to read my story
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