Our holiday to Hungary was supposed to be a whole week off, and particularly for me a whole week of spiritual interests. In large part it was, but somehow the forces of the wild managed to break through into my full-on Tourist Mode in the middle of the week. It happened to be a full moon – Milk Moon – so I guess that was a contributory factor too. Budapest is a splendid laid-back city and after a couple of days touring around on a bus we knew where the interesting places were.
On a typically sunny April day we were finding our way around the base of Gellert Hill. This hill was renowned for being the haunt of witches, which is always bound to interest someone like me. I like a bit of witchiness in life. We had just come out of the underground quaintness of the restored Gellert Hill Cave – a site still peddling its special aura on the basis of a later Christianisation.
Inside Church Cave
We had been attracted to a section in the caves which M pointed out was the oldest part – pre-dating the current religious overlay by some thousands of years. Then we had both experienced a “push” in our energy centres when trying to visit the newer Christian wooden part of the complex.
Now, back out in the fresh air and sunlight we climbed the side of the hill by one of the foot-worn tracks which interleaved the main tarmac paths. “Where are we going?” M asked. I stopped. I didn’t know really. Somewhere up the hill, I felt, but I didn’t know where. We climbed in the midday heat but I failed to convince M, who was already tired from a hectic morning, that I had any real plan. We agreed to abandon the rambling walk and go back to the touristic plans we had made over breakfast.
That night I knew that the next day was a full moon. In a deep sleep I dreamed of the Milk Moon and found myself wandering in a recreation of the slopes of the hill. The light was bright, moon-bright, and I was very relaxed even though there were lots of dark shadows across the path. From somewhere up above, possibly the top of the hill, the figure of a lady floated down to me. She was very indistinct, shimmering white, ghostly and pale. She spoke to me through thoughts rather than words. She was the spirit of the hill, and she wanted me to know what I had missed something on my last visit. She suggested I return as soon as possible to try again.
I woke with lots of questions. What had I missed? How would I approach the situation this time, if I could engineer a return visit? Why was this important? What if I didn’t go back?
Somehow our agenda had already been engineered so that I was in the area of the hill. We had planned to visit the Castle area nearby. We had already been to the Citadel on top of Gellert Hill the day before and I had specifically said that we had no need to go back up there again. Now I had to explain that I had found a reason, but that the reason was quite … unreasonable! I was told so in a dream! Actually, M was quite OK with this, which surprised me. Luckily, the weather was beautiful, so the idea of a walk through a wooded shaded flower-filled hillside path was not the worst idea ever.
Return to Witch Hill
We walked together up Gellert Hill, me following an energetic and intuitively-led path, M following where it was practical and easy to do so. The shade of the trees was welcome in the harsh and strong Hungarian sunshine – it was close to 30 degrees this day! I could feel the pull of the moon on my subtle energy body and knew that it was the ideal balance of strong sun and moon forces on this day and that would assist any “work” that needed to be done.
I gathered wild flowers as I walked, asking for the permission of the plant and any associated devic spirits before taking one and wrapping it into a posy of flowers that I was creating. I had done this act before one day walking up to Moel Ty Uchaf stone circle at approximately the same time of year in the past. Funny how these things go round in spirals, returning to the same place but at a different point in time and at a different level of energy.
I felt I was getting closer to something important. At one stage during the climb I could see a huge cross imposing itself over one ledge on the hillside, and I wondered whether this might be the destination, but I should really learn to shut those thoughts down because they are never helpful in these situations, and they only feed the ego if they happen to be correct by pure chance. In this case, my rational guess was wrong again. I climbed onto the main path and knew that my destination was very close. My gaze swept left and right and to the right, only twenty feet away, I saw a limestone structure covered in garish spray-can colours. Aha!
The structure was a vandalised spring or well. Its former simple classical beauty had been “enhanced” by addition of numerous colourful daubs in the form of ugly “tags”. Yet, behind both superficial impressions I felt something original and powerful about the water that emerged at this place. The spring felt nice, even if the water had stopped and the facade had been ruined.
I looked for a suitable place to deposit my bunch of flowers. Inside the well’s water receptacle bowl seemed the best place, and so I put it there, the roots dipping into the remaining mossy water. I dedicated the act to The Lady – the spirit of this hill and all those who had ever worshipped or paid any intention to this energy form, and I dedicated the action also to the wider context of welcoming in The Spring. Because it felt like Spring here, even if it was ten degrees colder in Britain.
There was nothing in return this time. This was a one-way process. A selfless act of devotion and a gift with loving intent wrapped into each strand of the simple posy. Welcome Spring! Hail Witches of Hungary!