A Circle of Stone

Underneath these layers of cynicism I harbour secret powers which, when I concentrate, allow me to feel and connect with the subcurrent of energies around me. A subcurrent that goes unnoticed by most. It's not something I boast of. Partly because it's a power that serves no practical purpose except to be able to give exceptional massages and cure the odd migraine. And partly because such a revelation may result in anything I say forevermore being dismissed with the fond smile that is reserved for the eccentric friend or family member.

On Sunday the usual suspects and I visited Stonehenge. To be honest I’ve never had the slightest interest in the place, however it was an advance birthday surprise for one of our merry bunch who has a particular fascination in anything steeped in history and legend.

We set out on our two hour journey in the kind of elevated mood that accompanies all outward bound journeys. Bantering, bopping away to music, stopping off for food at a service station, which for some reason always feels like a treat despite the fact that you're only eating Burger King, and settling back into our journey.

Before we knew it, quite unexpectedly, we turned a bend, or came over a hill, (I don't remember which), and blinked to see Stonehenge before us in all it's glory.

It was like spotting a famous person for the first time. Wide-eyed excitement at seeing in three-dimension someone that you had seen hundreds of times previously in photos and on screen, mingled with disappointment at how small and strangely unspectacular they looked in real life.

We turned into the car park and Stonehenge once again disappeared from view, allowing the memory of any initial disappointment to fade as excitement and anticipation once again took over. We made our way through the subway to see it up close; meet it, absorb it, and shake hands with it.

Finally we stood in front of it. Grappling with comprehension, two questions were uppermost in our minds: "Is this it?" and "What now?". One of our uncouth group decided to call the Emperor’s bluff and exclaimed “if you want to see stones, go to India, they have bigger ones there”. We admonished the sprightly young lass. You can’t insult England’s heritage, especially when talking about it's most prized offering from ancient times.

While the others soon gave up interest and took hospitality from the surrounding grassy knolls, I was not be outdone by appearances. I was determined to see the beauty and significance in this structure of hanging stones and monoliths that had inspired so much speculation and ritual.

I walked around the monument three or four times and listened keenly to my audio guide from beginning to end. I willed myself to feel at least a token vibration from the annals of it's history. But it yielded nothing. Not a crumb. After I had exhausted my reverie, I rejoined my friends who had been patiently waiting for me. I filled them in on some of the more interesting snippets from my audio guide and they regained a fluttering of enthusiasm. We contemplated visiting nearby Woodhenge but after ice cream and refreshments we realised that our constitutions were better suited to finding a quiet spot on a neighbouring field and enjoying the nothingness of the rest of the day.

Stonehenge was neither as huge nor as mystical as it's fame had led us to believe. Nevertheless the sun was shining, the summer breeze was intoxicating, the wide open spaces were at our disposal, and a glorious day was had by all.