‘Gwlad Hud a Lledrith’
…thus was how the suite of 11 (12 -one is lost) Welsh folk tales, The Mabinogion, described the county of Pembrokeshire. Translated into English it means, The Land of Mystery and Enchantment.
It is a beautiful land of stunning vistas, and vast and wild lonely places; and from the whispering timeless ‘Stones’ to its magnificent cathedral, St. David’s, its anciently appreciated sanctity persists.
Economically Pembrokeshire is poor, but then what place, or person, isn’t that stands against the Beastly onslaughts that despoil this world? Wages are poor and what jobs there are are mostly part-time.
To succeed in this world one has to abide by the dictates of the machine, the system; to do really well it is necessary to suck up to those who have positioned above you…until you achieve their status…and when you have, tread all over them. There’s no place in this devilish scramble for integrity, loyalty, and genuine hearts but most people here prefer to live by those qualities, thank goodness.
Of course the Darkness has its agents here too, like everywhere else; they mostly come and go, attracted by her beauty bearing ambitious schemes to profit from her. Some of them, mostly soul-less city ghouls, appropriate homes to lay empty except for one fortnight a year (if that) lairs depriving local people of their blood-rights. They’ve driven up house prices beyond the reach of the wretched pay most locals get paid. For a long time I couldn’t comprehend how someone could feel OK about themselves having more than one home knowing that countless people have none; but it’s because they just don’t care about anyone but themselves.
Even though Pembrokeshire has ‘broke’ in it – which can’t help matters, by way of suggestion and fatal attraction – it still continues to shove Conservative MPs into parliament. Yes, I know elections are a load of ballots and the political system a disgrace to justice and humanity but why would a people so neglected and abused by big-shots and big business vote for a Tory representative? …and who, on top of all the other ungodly crimes and torments support fracking FFS! None of the political parties are worth a light to humankind but for down-trodden people to support this smug coterie that is so in bed with corporations, the demonic weapons and wielders of life-devouring A.I. (Artificial Intelligence) just astounds me. Increasingly being given human status, in fact, extra-human status, corporations blatantly lay waste to the world and are set to be authorised to trash it even more.
Corporation: a united body…a legal, municipal, mercantile, or professional association, authorised to act, plead, or sue, as a single person, governed by its own by-laws, and electing its office-bearers from its own body; – Collins English Dictionary
Serfdom, and its adherents on both sides, in constituencies throughout Britain is still very present obviously; and it is this that is enabling the replacement of human beings with technology everywhere, not just in Britain. (The Normans, who invaded Britain in 1066, led by the vicious serial criminal and fugitive from French justice, William the Bastard, gave the county of Pembrokeshire its name by the way. 66 is an energetic frequency that brings people together, removes them, or drives them apart. In its destructive aspect it is anti-human, domineering, deceptive and ruthless.)
…But I digress…or ramble…and write horribly (as someone calling themselves ‘Krystal’ has written about me – I’ve just seen, in their review of Dogged Days, on the wonderfully humane and not in the least A.I. controlled and operated Amazon.) 🙂
The county is crammed with cromlechs, dolmens, and other ancient structures. It is a western land to the English, and an Eastern one to the Irish.
Lands to the West have been anciently regarded by solar-worshippers as the direction of death because it is where the sun slips away below the horizon. East, the direction of new life and new beginnings; it was partly for this reason, I would suggest, that the Irish first crossed the sea to what is now Pembrokeshire. For a long time, centuries, it was, to all intents and purposes, part of Ireland, invaded, inhabited and ruled over by the Irish tribe of the Déisi Muman. Previous to this it was the lands of the native tribe known as the Demetae, as the Romans called them. For them this verdant and dramatic landscape wasn’t the land of the dead; the sun set west of them, in the (Wicklow) mountains, that they could see on clear days tipping the horizon.
The stone chambers the ancients built weren’t intended for tombs; the natural world they moved in demonstrated how everything lived, rested and then returned afresh, in eternal cycles of renewal; they were vehicles for journeying (some still are). All of them were constructed and sited to assist in this. Only later, because of the properties of these places, did people begin to intern some of their people’s bodies in them.
The sanctified energy of the land and the potent ability of its tuned bluestone capsules to assist travel into otherworlds was why the builders of Stonehenge chose this particular locale to source most of the stones to compose their masterpiece.
This is where they came from: