An early Song of Ffraed article from my dragon healing journey with Y Ddraig Ffraed – The Ffraed Project. First published on the subscribers’ blog on 17th July 2016. This is a Part 1.
It was warm, a tiny breeze, butterflies flitted through the rampant hedges, songbirds accompanied the bees’ kazoos and I was picking my way through tangles of prolific brambles and nettles on my way to rendezvous with Y Ddraig again.
I knew where She’d be, at the crossroads of paths where I’d left Her weeks previously. She’d made off across a verdant pasture to the other side of a hump in the land – I’d have liked to have gone with Her but I needed to gain permission from the landholder first.
Instead I had tracked Her remotely to a hawthorn in a fairy hill embankment by an ancient llan. There’d once stood, possibly for thousands of years, a tiny village here; its gorgeous fragrant roses that once decorated walls and gardens, rambling now through the May.
This is an article reproduced from the private blog. Some of the links & mentions refer to other private articles, so will not click through. A few of these may be posted in this public blog at a later date.
A documentary and a book are in the wind that will provide a great deal more information.
Thank you Olwyn, for another great article. – Ellis
Ellis asked me if I could investigate the Ffraed’s Day sunrise alignment, as seen from Her Holy Well at Llanllawer. Here’s what I found..
Despite the glacial crawl of academia and consent-science to wake up to common sense and observable and easily tested discoveries, there were in epochs of ever-retreating immense timescales, amongst humankind (not necessarily ‘humans’ , or a humankind as insisted) some with knowledge and abilities that compare and better that of humans today. Like never before (as far as we know) modern technology provides clearing windows through the mists into the genius of our ancestors…or that of their teachers. Either way, these skills have survived to this day, subdued, blunted, and reduced they might be but they are there, and so is the knowledge. It has always been secreted, amongst a very tiny select that hold within their energetic field an undetectable specialised component of consciousness that lays dormant till it is activated by a unique frequential (psychic) key.
This is how vastly imperative awareness and expertise has survived. Those that have carried it, are and have been fiercely tested, relentlessly, and censored beyond any telling by the legions and hosts of the Darkness Invisible. The Light Side has survived. It always will.
An article first published on the Song of Ffraed private, and then on ellisctaylor.com
I have more to add regarding Alan Wilson’s proposal that Jesus is buried in West Wales.
Besides Gilbert’s, Wilson’s and Blackett’s, The Holy Kingdom, I’ve also been dipping into Australian sleuth author, Tony Bushby’s heretical tome, The Bible Fraud. I’ve no idea if they are aware of one another’s work.
Who of them is more right than the other I have no idea but both parties have carried out decades of deep and committed research and come up with masses of detailed information which includes several major and minor agreements and contradictions. Their strongly referenced compilations are inevitably uncomfortable for settled posteriors in religious and academic rectangles.
Gaer is a ‘Fort’ on the side of the road at Bayvil, near Nevern, Pembrokeshire… [Gaer] is locally famous among archaeologists as a prehistoric monument re-used by early Christians as a burial place. It was excavated in 1979 and found to be packed with stone cists aligned east-west, within a stone faced bank.
Today I am delighted to post what I hope will be the first of many articles by the wonderfully accomplished archaeoastronomer, Olwyn Pritchard.
After having spent two years or so living in the Bush I returned to Perth in 1995 and moved into a house in the suburb of Viveash, near the Swan River. In the garage the previous owners had left an assortment of items, among them was an unusual spear. It was barbed, carved and pyrographically patterned, and even though it had been broken at the end it was at least 7 feet long. It was clearly ancient. This was no ordinary inheritance. I knew in the heart of me, without knowing why, that I was now, in some mysterious way, not the owner, but rather the custodian of something quite extraordinary.
This article first published on my other website April 2012. I just feel it should be on here too.
I’m not a religious person, by that I mean I have no affiliations to any organisations that dictate and impose spiritual dogma. I am however sensitive and spiritually aware; and I do my best to live my life considerately and ethically. I’ve improved as I’ve gone along but I’m a long way from perfect; mostly because I don’t assimilate with the contradictions and thoughtless attitudes that are encouraged and legislated everywhere, and struggle to comprehend their attraction. Why do people wear masks?…or think they are. I’m not talking about internet aliases that some people need for their security. I get that. I’m talking about people who do it to present themselves as something more acceptable to the programmed mind, or to disguise dark motives. Masks are no barrier to an adept sensitive; many, many, people can see through them; and more and more mask-people are realising that and rather than being more open they run and hide; stay amongst people who can’t see them. The Darkness still can though, they are in the dark, and these antics amuse It no end. Anyhow, more on this, you may notice, through this article.
So, one day I sat down to continue writing up accounts of experiences I’d recalled that I hadn’t included in the first edition of my book, Dogged Days, and others I’d had since. Very soon a warm and tingling energy began to flow through me…and I found myself writing about Christ energy and receiving insights regarding number four, and other subjects, ones that I hadn’t suspected before. I had not intended to include Jesus or Christ but now I was.
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’.
It was a little after noon when I sauntered into Llanwnda, following the indications of my divining rods.
Very soon the road peeled away and across the grass (where once upon a time, it is said, stood a huge stone circle), ahead of me was the glorious sight and ever more powerful scent of a magnificently blooming may tree. On an ash tree by the hawthorn, hung a slate tile, upon it was painted a cross and the legend, ‘Llanwnda Holy Well’. A really nice simple sign.