Called to Cares

First published on my main website.

It was a blissful, bright and sunny Easter morning and the blackbirds and robins had been singing since dawn. Kria, the buzzard, wheeled lazily in the unblemished sky, ravens rolled above the exalting treetops when, too acute to perceive with human ears, the familiar voice of the Goddess beckoned me to ‘the Sanctuary’.

In this world the Sanctuary is a pile of rocks on a mountain; in another it’s an impenetrable temple of the ancient and ageless goddess, Cares; tended by her priestesses and guarded by fierce and trans-dimensional warrior women.

Sanctuary Seen

I’d first glimpsed the sanctuary just after I’d arranged to move to, without knowing, the closest human dwelling (in this world) to its Earthly location. I’d taken a friend to show her where I’d be moving to taking the public footpath that passed close by the cottage. At the same time my friend wanted to visit a Carn on the mountain that she’s heard about. There were a few to choose from but we were both drawn to one in particular, away in the distance; and which we both knew was not the one she’d been referred to.

As we climbed the mountain slope we were both stopped in our tracks by an amazing sight: Women dressed all in glowing white performing a ceremony. I watched as (who I felt was) a priestess carried a powder-white bowl over to another priestess who held a baby in her arms. As other women in white stood by, the baby was gently bathed in the bowl…and then the scene faded. I turned to my companion…we were both speechless. We had both watched it all.

By this time it was too late to continue up the mountain so we returned to the car. Soon afterwards I moved into the little cottage on the mountain. It was like being in a living postcard. The views were outrageously beautiful. Of course I took photographs.

All my lives I have loved the wildlife and flora of Britain; and here, I had it, wild and free, on my doorstep.. I’d often see stoats dashing

about; ravens on the wing, buzzards and red kites soaring in the thermals. Sheep and wild ponies grazed the prolific mountain herbs and heather, and I found a patch of cotton grass. All of them, I’ve always known, if you watch and listen, bring messages to us.


The only sounds were from the wildlife, the sheep…and the occasional foghorn when the sea mist was thick. I found silver in the fire.

In front of me was Cardigan Bay and the Irish Sea; and now and again, not very far from shore, I could see land; mountains, and all that.

Just after moving in one day I was chatting to my landlords. I remarked how I hadn’t realised that Ireland was so close. “Oh yes”, I was told, “On very clear days in the far distance you can see the tops of the Wicklow Mountains. Have you seen them then?” they asked. “I suppose I must have,” says I, “but it wasn’t a clear day, it was very misty.”


The Green Isles

Much later, when I moved to where I stay now, a friend I have made since told me an intriguing tale.

She and her son were shopping in Cardigan one day when they spotted a curious-looking person standing outside the market hall. My friend struggled to find words to describe their appearance and neither of them could tell whether it was a male or a female, such was their attitude and their garb. ‘The person stood out and was rather tall, with very strange clothing’, was about all they could muster. Nobody else seemed to notice the person; despite their very odd appearance nobody cast them a glance.
Not long afterwards my friends took a holiday cottage in the nearby village of Nevern, where the owners had provided a very good selection of books by local authors. In one book there was a chapter on what the author called, ‘The Green Isles’. These are the otherworld home of a faerie race that on occasion visited the land of mortals and were reported many times attending the local markets around Cardigan Bay. On rare occasions the Green Isles were spotted from the shores or by sailors at sea. There are many folklore tales about these islands and the encounters humans have had with them and their inhabitants. Less visionary people have attempted to pin the Green Isles to the much smaller worldly islands that dot the coast here but they are not the same.

* I have another tale to tell that my friends have recounted concerning these faerie people; a more recent one. I’ll write about it soon.


A few weeks ago I decided that it was about time to sort my digital photographs out. It was a chore that needed doing but a pleasurable one too. All sorts of photographs I’d forgotten about. Amongst them I came across a photo I’d taken when I first moved to the cottage. It was in a series of photos of the bay taken from the front garden… I’d only gone and captured a picture of the (so-called) Green Isles! Unmistakeably out of place and far too close to be Ireland. These islands are just not here in this world.

A week or two later my neighbour took me to a place called Carn Enoc, to show me some ancient and mysterious rock carvings. I didn’t like the energy of the place one bit (although I’ve discovered that, like many other sites, its temper fluctuates, some days it’s ok, others not.)

That night, I was fast asleep when something pounced on me and tried to force its way into my chest. With all my might, and a few choice words, I repelled it. My landlords were away at the time and when they returned the husband had a tale to tell. They’d been to an elite bash in London and stayed at a friend’s country estate. He too, the same night, in the early hours, had been attacked by something unseen and malevolent. I secured my home. *


My attendance is requested

Stepping forward to 16th April in 2011.

I wrote this to subscribers:

Early this morning, at about 5.20 I was visited by two misty warrior women each gently put their hands on my shoulders. One of them on each side of me. I was wide awake, in my dressing gown, and had just sat down at the computer with a cup of tea, after being awoken early, by what I don’t know.
The next moment I was up at the Sanctuary on the Mountain of Cares. * I was standing there naked while two different women, dressed in long white robes, together and in time with each other gently poured water over my head and very gently, with their hands, cupped water from a shallow bowl and trickled it over my body from the top of my head to my feet. Other women, dressed the same, were in the background standing silently with their hands clasped in front of them; all of these ‘priestesses’ were bare-headed, though a hood was evident on all of their gowns, and all of those that I saw had dark hair. This didn’t seem to take long and when they had rinsed my whole body they both stood up slowly.
Next, again in time with each other, the two women clothed me in a brilliant-white gown by holding it over my head and gently letting it down over my body before standing upright again and facing forward like the other ‘priestesses’ and I were. This was all taking place inside a glow and I could see that it was very dark outside. It felt like we were invisible to the outside world. From out of the darkness in front of us there appeared a very tiny light that grew and grew into an oval of intense brightness, it was huge, and through this light, but not stepping out of it, came the Goddess. As she stood there and became more substantial to my eyes the oval of light became filled with just her face. What I felt from her was indescribable but it was a love like I have never felt before in this world. She smiled and she made me feel like I was very special to her and that she was very pleased with me, like I had successfully accomplished a task I had been set. She held out her hand with a graceful motion and a bright jewel, pure sparkling white, appeared over my third eye. “The bough will bear fruit,” she says. I am still there as I write this.

(I have seen the warrior women before. They are tall, slim, and all of them have long fairish hair, not flat straight, but straight-ish, they all have light complexions slightly weathered. They dress in animal’s skins, deer I would say, and all of them carry a long spear. They wear a dark brown-ish metal armlet on their right arm, just above the elbow.)

Upon looking at the date of this experience during the writing of this article I am quite astonished by the synchronicity and meaningfulness of the numbers. 16 is my birth day.

It was 16th April, the 106th day of the year; and 259 (2+5+9 =16) days till the end of the year.

It was a 33-date: 16+4+2 (=22)+11 = 33 (All numbers significant to me and what happened that morning.)

It was 2 days before the full moon, and 3 days after the 15th anniversary of the initiatory experience of the 47 days – so, in the 16th year after.

I’ve replayed this experience in my mind many times. It is amongst the most memorable that I have had. The Sanctuary is above all else dedicated to life, birth, rebirth, and the care of children and throughout the ceremony that is what I felt like, a child; which I know, in the scheme of things, I am. My much-loved friend, my lives-times trans-dimensional warrior-guardian, refers to me, even in public, as the ‘eternal child’. It isn’t just a throw-away observation. He has his work cut out.

I’m no saint or sage, it is a fact that I know very little but I do what I can to share what I do learn; often all I need to do is to relate my experiences. Some people misunderstand me, some attempt to thwart me, but I won’t stop, I can’t. I’ve never stayed as long in this world as I have this time. I’ve had many close calls. There must be a reason why I am still here.

Prayers answered

About 9 weeks after the ceremony came the summer solstice and I felt drawn to the Sanctuary again (actually, and amazingly appropriately, it was 66 days, I’ve just realised). There was heavy low cloud so it was dark; and very quiet when I got there very early in the morning. I sat by the moon pool and waited for the dawn, for the light to come. When it did I walked over and peered down on the grassy area below, and there, right in the centre of the Sanctuary, where I had taken part in the otherworld ceremony, was a beautiful dew-drawn conjunction of a crescent and a six-pointed star.

In between, I’d walked the mountain several times and found carved script and concentric circles, as well as two stone thrones (which I’ve never been able to find again) and other mysterious objects.

In time circumstances meant that I had to give up the cottage. I’d spent the coldest winter in a while (-18 degrees) with a very small wood-burner as my only heat source. It was f-f-f-f freezin’! …but I didn’t move far away. The Sanctuary watches over me still and I visit in person once in a while.


So, to cut a long story short, back to what I began this tale with: Easter Sunday, this year (2015)…and I’m being called to the Sanctuary again:

I drove to the main road along the single track road and at the junction a police car swerved in and stopped just in time. Two plod, one man and one woman, both monk-faced – and obviously pee-d off cos they had to reverse.

As I said, it was a beautiful day. I drove up the mountain and hiked across to the Sanctuary. There were other people out walking around but away from where I was.

I stood in the Sanctuary and prayed for peace, for beauty, for the Darkness to be driven out, for the end of greed, violence, and wanton destruction. Then I meditated, and an intriguing vision came to me.

In it I saw the partial face of the Goddess and her strikingly beautiful eye, her left one; large brown and sparkling. From the corner of her eye came a tiny baby, crawling. It was me (I recognised myself from photos), spiralling down in a stream of coloured crystals, through a vortex and onto the bed where I was born. The mantis being was there, beside the bed…

…Then I felt something staring at me. I opened my eyes and turned to look in the direction I could sense it coming from. It was a black sheep, standing stock-still, about 20 yards to my left. Almost at once it pelted off across the mountain…racing after it was a white dog that chased it far across to the stone wall hundreds of yards away, until the sheep raced down the slope and the dog returned to the family that it was with. I’ve never seen a black sheep on this mountain before. I took it as a very encouraging sign – Darkness being driven away by the Light. It may not look like it now, but I’d say it was a powerfully demonstrated display in answer to my prayers.

Then I watched as an enormous butterfly, looking black against the bright sky, flitted across the heather about 10ft up in the air to land on the south-eastern corner of the rough low wall of a trapezoid-shaped enclosure. Clambering towards the wall, never taking my eye off where the butterfly had landed, I aimed to photograph it. When I got to about 10 yards away, from the exact same spot, a small bird, a Chiffchaff, only slightly bigger with its wings spread, than the butterfly, flew away in the same direction that the butterfly had come from to a patch of gorse a few yards from me. I’ve never seen such a huge butterfly around here. It was enormous. I searched the rocks anyway, but it wasn’t there. Did it transform into the bird? Seems it did…and yet again it was a demonstration of darkness being transformed.

19th July 2015



I am presently updating my book, “Dogged Days”. In it I will be recounting more details of my experiences with Cares as well as new accounts of varied otherworldly interactions that I have had. The book will also include better and larger images.

* My landlords told me that Carn Enoc is situated on the site of one of the bloodiest battles that took place between the Welsh princes. ** A field nearby is to this day called ‘Red Field’, because my landlady said, the mountain ran with blood.
Another field, with a gate marked by tall standing stones, is, they said, the last resting place for many of the soldiers ***; while one Welsh prince is buried elsewhere on the mountain – but nobody knows where.

** The dragon is now healed at Carn Enoc and its environs.

*** There is an article on this blog about this place: Parc-y-Meirw


More references:

Interesting stories about the Faeries of Wales (and an Australian anecdote at the end).

Llyn’s Tylwyth Teg

Folklore of west and mid-Wales

The Green Isles of Enchantment
( There are more beautifully written and interesting articles on this blog. Well worth a visit.)


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