The Spirit Paths of Wales - A Walker's Guidebook

• Description
• Contents
• Introduction
• Sample Route
• Maps
• Reviews

Spirit paths, leys, or ley lines are new concepts to many people who have come to enjoy walking in the countryside. They form part of that ancestral memory of the land which makes so many town-dwellers yearn for the simple freedom of rambling along ancient paths. This vital contact with the living landscape is a spiritual exercise.

What is meant by a ley, or spirit path, is very much open to individual interpretation. Significantly, it is a straight path or track that is identified in one’s subconscious and is consequently traced by a process of dowsing and connecting sight-lines. The paths often synchronise with standing stones, holy wells and other sacred sites, suggesting a divine or mystical significance. A ley has variously been described as a ‘straight line of light’, an ‘alignment of ancient sites’, a ‘straight track through the countryside’, an ‘energy stream across the earth’, a ‘cult road’, or quite simply a ‘legend, revelation or vision’. Those who have studied the subject, such as Alfred Watkins or Paul Devereux, give their own interpretations, which are described in more detail below.

My personal journey began with walking ancient routes and visiting many enigmatic prehistoric monuments. An excellent public library service fanned these initial flames, but books, however good, came second to my personal acquaintance with the land through rambling. Sleeping and dreaming at sacred sites and dowsing what I see in my mind as straight lines of light, like sunbeams, and which I call leys or spirit paths, seemed to follow quite naturally. This is very much a personal, subjective, thing. Test the reality of it by doing it for yourselves.

A significant year was 1970, when I first discovered the Ridgeway (in particular, Uffington white horse) and when a book that had first been published in 1925 was reprinted. This is The Old Straight Track by Alfred Watkins and it is still the work with which to begin a study of what Watkins terms leys and which I now prefer to call spirit paths.

In a foreword to the new edition of Watkins’ book, John Michell, the author of another seminal book, The View Over Atlantis (first published in 1969 and fully revised in 1983 with the title The New View Over Atlantis), wrote of the revelation Watkins had when riding across the hills of his native Herefordshire. A vision granted Watkins the privilege of perceiving the network of leys in ‘a single flash’. This was at a time when the archaeological establishment wouldn’t credit our ancestors with the ability to survey alignments accurately. As Michell wrote, Watkins was ‘a true gnostic in that he preferred the evidence of his own senses and the voice of his own intuition to the unsupported evidence of authority’. Watkins wrote of the alignment of ancient sites, for which he used the term ley, with its archaic meanings of clearing and surveying the land. He thought of leys as primitive trackways, although not like surfaced roads. Sections of roads do conform to leys (and it is clear that the Romans took credit for laying out routes of much greater antiquity), but Watkins’ routes are essentially a series of marker points to be aimed at. A sight-line would be taken on a distant peak, then a mound or tumulus placed on an intermediate ridge. The actual track may swerve from the straight line, especially in difficult terrain, but would be sure to converge with the ley at important crossroads or fords. Stones marked the way and were, perhaps, dedicated to Mercury and assisted merchants to reach their markets. Mercury could be equated with Hermes, the messenger of the gods and guide both to wayfarers on unknown pathways and the souls of the dead seeking the Otherworld. Hermits would live at strategic points, rendering both material and spiritual assistance to wayfarers. In the same mould was the Egyptian Thoth, becoming the Celtic Toutates or Toot. The Welsh word for a sighting-mound is twt (pronounced ‘toot’).

Some standing stones evolved into wayside crosses, while Christian churches were built on much older sacred sites. Sacred trees and holy wells were significant, while water sighting-points included lakes and artificial moats which could reflect light from beacons. Skyline notches were aimed for on hills, while leys tended to glance the edges of hillforts or camps.

Particular names are associated with the laying-out of these tracks. Cole is derived from the ancient word for diviner, sorcerer or wizard. The Welsh word coel means omen. This could be corrupted to cold (nothing to do with being chilly). Dod is a reference to the early surveyors’ sighting staffs, which were akin to the two horns on the head of a snail or dodman, as Watkins realised at Llanthony (see Route 16). Black (or Blake) is another such name, ironically derived from ‘shining, white, pale’ as in ‘bleach’. Of course, the man who lit the beacon could both give light and have a grimy appearance. Beacon hills are often initial points of leys, beckoning travellers towards them. The beacons would have been invaluable to the early surveyors. Related words are Tan (Welsh for fire, sometimes rendered as St Anne) and Brent (burnt).

Folk memories of the straight passages through the countryside, particularly involving castles and churches, would become tunnel legends. The sites would also become traditional places of assembly.

John Michell took up Watkins’ leys in his broader view of an archaic, divine, global system, encompassing sacred measurements and the mystical code of number. His View Over Atlantis encouraged the acceptance of ‘energy streams across the earth’. This planet is to be regarded as a vessel for the alchemical fusion between solar or cosmic energies and the earth spirit. Leys are also linked to UFOs or ‘flying saucers’, whose appearance Jung identified as portending a change in our attitudes and perceptions, heralding the New Age of Aquarius. Watkins had hinted at such conclusions himself, mentioning Hermes and quoting the Bible:

‘Thus saith the Lord, Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls.’ (Jeremiah vi 16)

As things stood in the 1920s (when the editor of Antiquity notoriously refused even a paid advertisement for Watkins’ Old Straight Track), the time was not then ripe to expand on the spiritual side of leys. By the end of the 1960s, John Michell was able to go beyond the notion of tracks to the forgotten principle behind the siting of sacred centres. Geometrical patterns emerged and astronomical links with significant positions of the sun and moon were noted (before archaeologists recognised these at ancient monuments). Leys were entering the magical realms of a lost universal culture, the fabled Atlantis.

Cup-marked stones (as on Route 20, Gelligaer) are reckoned to be maps of both the stars in the sky and patterns of sites on the land laid out to reflect them. Stone circles serve as receiving stations for the cosmic currents (much as the dream, recorded on Carn Ingli, of Rhiannon’s fingers recounted in Route 3 suggests). Leys become the nervous system or acupuncture meridians of a landscape giant, channelling seasonal fertility.

Describing leys as ‘spiritual paths’, Michell compared them to the lung-mei or dragon paths of China and the fairy paths of Ireland. One great dragon path recognised as running from Cornwall to Norfolk is a line described in greater detail by Hamish Miller and Paul Broadhurst in their 1989 book The Sun and the Serpent. This great ley was traced across the width of the country with the aid of dowsing rods.

I had first come across dowsing by reading Guy Underwood’s book The Pattern of the Past (again, first published in 1969), the works of T.C. Lethbridge (notably The Power of the Pendulum) and Tom Graves (including Needles of Stone, republished as Needles of Stone Revisited). Dowsing, like dreaming, was something other people did until I met the dowser with the Dragon Project at the Rollrights, where I also dreamt on the edge of the stone circle, in March 1980. She kindly lent me her dowsing rods and suggested I use them to find a ley. Thinking of a shining path or sunbeam and mentally asking for a ley, I soon dowsed a line. My mentor then unrolled her map to show that I had dowsed the same ley as she had marked on it. I soon bought my own dowsing rods and found they worked.

This is where the personal, subjective, nature of seeking spirit paths comes in. I still can’t think of myself as knowing much about dowsing, or dreaming, yet I have come to practise both when dealing with leys or spirit paths and the sacred sites visited by them. They appeal to my intuition and my motivation is high when employing them for my specific purposes. It’s a bit like having a radio permanently tuned into one wavelength. When I turn on the knob, the reception is good, but I don’t know much about the radio. I don’t want to know, or treat them as toys or for finding wonders. They are old friends that help me do a job.

Taking my dowsing rods to, say, a standing stone, I ask them to show me where the primary ley or most important spirit path is. I hold the image of a shining path in my mind. Walking slowly around the stone, I stop when my rods cross. This is the first edge of the spirit path. Taking another step or two will bring me to the second edge of it. Spirit paths are usually four or five feet wide (the width does seem to change according to season and phase of the moon). I then mark these two edges, usually with sticks.

Completing my circle, I repeat the process where the line comes out on the other side of the stone. I then walk in increasingly bigger circles round it to mark the dowsed line further from the stone. Selecting just one edge of the spirit path (beware of confusing the two edges!), I stand on it and face north.

Taking out my hand-held Silva compass, I turn its housing so that it is aligned with the dowsed line I am standing on. The arrow of the compass points north, where I am facing. I can now take the compass bearing of the spirit path. Let’s say it is 54 degrees. I deduct four degrees for magnetic variation, giving the actual bearing of this line on the map at 50 degrees. (The difference between magnetic north, grid north and true north varies from time and place, so check it in the key to your Ordnance Survey map.) Already we are dealing in approximates. Nevertheless, I walk to the other side of the stone and to the second edge of the spirit path to repeat the process and check the accuracy of this bearing.

My method can’t be too far from the technological capability of Watkins’ dodmen with their sighting staffs. Perhaps the coleman had divined the ley for them, while Mr Blake attended to the beacon on the hill ahead which would assist the process.

Now comes the moment of revelation. Firstly, look up and down the dowsed line to see what appears on the horizons and intermediate points. You may have the satisfaction of a notch in a hill or a succession of aligned gateways in a series of fields. Secondly, open the map and carefully draw the dowsed line on it (in pencil, with a ruler). Bingo! You’ve hit a significant point, perhaps another standing stone. If it is the only other standing stone marked on that map, the odds on you finding it are staggering. Maybe you have dowsed the same line as another ley hunter. If this is so, isn’t this confirmation of it?

Allow for some fine tuning to your line, if it appears obviously needed. Accuracy within a degree or two is good in the circumstances. I tend to trust my initial finding, based on intuition and invocation. Enjoy that glow of authentic satisfaction when, as I did at the Great Oak Stone near Crickhowell (Route 17), you hit the jackpot first time and without the potential influence of having any clues to its direction.

Now devise a walking route using rights of way giving access to the spirit path. Dowse as you go along, or at least when the map tells you that you are approaching the spirit path again. Put the map away and concentrate on dowsing. When your rods cross, open the map again and check that you are on the line dowsed at the start. Confirm its compass bearing. Repeat this process until the end of the walk, with a second standing stone, perhaps, as your destination. If you have dowsed the same line throughout, isn’t it right to conclude that it is a spirit path?

The hardest thing, I find, is cutting out the other leys (you can go down the scale, secondary and so on) at the start. Your rods will want to cross for them too but, to avoid confusion, ask firmly for the primary ley and only the primary ley. Once tuned in to the desired ley, you’ll probably find you can dowse it at intervals along the way without rods (I receive a thump in the head when I cross the ley). Pulled up short, you can then check it with rods, compass and map.

Note the bearing for significant alignments. Since starting this book I’ve discovered (thanks to a dreamer lending me The First Stonehenge by Gaynor Francis) that 50 degrees is the angle of the summer solstice sunrise, for instance. I did not know when I originally walked and dowsed at Moel Ty-uchaf (Route 3) that moonset in northerly major standstill is 320 degrees. My ignorance became bliss when I realised how close my dowsed line at a bearing of 319 degrees obviously corresponds to it. When I dowsed it, I was just amazed to find it led to the cairn on the summit of Cadair Bronwen.

So much for dowsing, which I first tried when visiting the Dragon Project. This research project was organised by The Ley Hunter, a magazine produced on a voluntary basis but with a professional reputation. Its editor for 20 years, from 1976, was the man who, as a self-employed writer, has done the most research into leys, Paul Devereux.

Devereux’s thorough study of his subject bore its first fruit in the form of a book with the publication of The Ley Hunter’s Companion (co-author Ian Thomson) in 1979, later republished as The Ley Guide. After going back over the work of Watkins and Michell, Devereux tackled the more fanciful of his ley hunting contemporaries, pointing out that the scale of the map and the thickness of the pencil, let alone the curvature of the earth, made it necessary to concentrate on short leys. Facing the problem of academic recognition, he set out to gain it. As Robert Forrest’s work with statistics showed, this approach can bring problems. ‘How many times must a baby be born before it is statistically considered to have arrived?’, asked Devereux. The reality of leys was furnished with examples from home and abroad, including the ceques of Peru. Devereux revealed his UFO background by describing a light he saw in the sky in 1967. His next book, published in 1982, was Earth Lights. It was followed by Earth Lights Revelation (1989). Confounding the ‘nuts and bolts’ flying saucer brigade, he showed that there were strange lights in the sky, but of the earth and related to fault lines. Stone circles and leys correlated with these. Again, personal experience is so vital. This was of little interest to me until I witnessed earthlights on Carn Ingli three nights running in November 1996. It wasn’t until after the third night that I dared to tell a friend at the foot of this sacred peak. Contacting Paul Devereux, he confirmed there had been an ‘outbreak’ of earthlights at that time.

Combining with Nigel Pennick (whose book The Ancient Science of Geomancy was published in 1979) to write Lines on the Landscape (1989), Devereux commented how ‘the ley theory, at first glance so innocuous, seems to touch some sort of cultural nerve in modern thinking’. Our relationship with the land, our perception of our ancestors, even our spirituality were all called into question. Considering leys as energy lines, however, Devereux questions the basis of the theory, concluding that ‘the dowsing rod has become an implement to authorise the acceptance of subjective ideas as factual statements’.

Naive New Agers flashing crystals, practising manipulation at powerpoints and proclaiming global energy grids for which they have little or no proof have given dowsed leys a bad name. They are the wrong image when academic respectability is being courted. Unfortunately, this rejection of dowsing runs the risk of throwing the baby out with the bath-water. Dowsing need not be, as Devereux fears, a projection onto the land. It can and should be a learning from it.

It is the final chapter of Lines on the Landscape that took ley research into a new stage. Not that old Alfred Watkins hadn’t mentioned Hermes as being the ‘leader over unknown trackways of departed souls to the nether world’. Devereux had latched on to the passage of spirits.

Straightness, a fundamental feature of leys (at least it used to be, but let’s keep this simple), is associated with the divine and with the divine representatives on earth, kings. In the introduction to our joint book The Old Straight Tracks of Wessex (Devereux and Main, 1992) Devereux explains that the Indo-European root word reg meant ‘movement along a straight line’. Right, direction, regular, correct, regulate, regiment, regal, reign and rule are all examples stemming from this. Does not the word ‘ruler’ mean both a straight edge and a king? Lines radiating from the seat of power (as with the Golden Throne in the Forbidden City at Beijing, or the Inca Temple of the Sun in Cuzco) can be seen as channels for the royal spirit - as spirit paths.

If, as J.G. Frazer wrote in The Golden Bough (1922), ‘the king is the lineal successor of the old magician’, were these spirit paths used by shamans for out-of-body flight? And what of the spirits of the dead? A prime example of a spirit path for the dead is the Viking ‘cult road’ at Rosaring, Sweden. More examples from continental Europe, the ‘death roads’ of the Netherlands and the ‘ghost roads’ of Germany, appeared in Devereux’s subsequent books Symbolic Landscapes and Shamanism and the Mystery Lines (both 1992).

Paul Devereux signed off as editor of The Ley Hunter in the winter issue of 1995/96 with a blast against the lunatic fringe of energy line dowsers. His grounding of the subject has brought it into the arena of ‘consciousness studies’. A younger breed of archaeologists is more open-minded to leys. This new orthodoxy was repeated in an editorial by Devereux’s successor, Danny Sullivan, in The Ley Hunter no. 128. My Walks in Mysterious Oxfordshire was described as an ‘otherwise useful walking guide peppered with references to energy dowsing, dowsable ley lines and the “Drowsers’ Bible”, The Sun and the Serpent’. The witch-finder-general must have been a bit like that.

That issue of The Ley Hunter appeared at the 20th anniversary Moot, the annual gathering of ley hunters, in 1997. That Saturday morning in Wiltshire I turned on Radio 4’s early morning news to hear that (and I paraphrase) ‘hundreds of ley hunters are converging on Avebury’, followed by illuminating interviews. Danny Sullivan spoke of how leys or spirit paths were gaining academic respectability because the movement was shedding its energy-line image and researching ‘dead straight’ coffin paths. A very respectable academic was then asked what he thought of leys, only to disappoint by stating that he was far too busy studying more important things to consider them. Then, as time ran out, the radio interviewer gladdened my heart by adding a final twist to the tale. She said that she knew leys were real because she had been dowsing them with a friend at Stonehenge recently.

We are back to the personal, subjective, nature of dowsing spirit paths. After the lectures that day, most Moot-goers retired to the pub, perhaps to talk over theories on leys. It was a full moon and I preferred to take the opportunity to sleep under it on Silbury Hill. I had been walking the footpaths and dowsing the leys of Wiltshire for the previous fortnight, so I felt ‘in tune’ with the land. I wanted to listen to and be with it. That night a gang of drunken hooligans came up to desecrate this holy spot, including throwing a firework at one point. I rose up naked from my sleeping-bag and told them to clear off. The shock made them do so (fortunately). That night I dreamt I was wearing white robes and bore a staff. It was the night of a full moon and I was one of a circle of such figures at Stonehenge, keeping the masses back from the clear inner sanctuary.

The next morning’s Observer had an article about the Moot and how the new ley hunters craved respectability, while ‘behind the scenes plots are being hatched to rid the movement of its more eccentric figures’. Autumn 1997 saw an article in 3rd Stone by Danny Sullivan advocating coffin paths and the conceptual rather than physical invisible spirit roads of shamanic flight and the Kogi Indians of Colombia. Watkins didn’t recognise what he saw. There is no such thing as a ley. ‘It is time to bury the ley.’

So the wise men have spoken and who is to argue? There’ll be plenty to do that. Alby Stone has already weighed in with his book Straight Track, Crooked Road: Leys, Spirit Paths and Shamanism (1998).

Read The Ley Hunter, if you can. Sadly, it has temporarily ceased publication, though a revival is planned. (To acquire a copy please contact the author via Cicerone Press.) Acquire your own dowsing rods (The Centre for Alternative Technology, Machynlleth, Powys SY20 9AZ sells them), buy a good compass and those most valuable keys to the countryside, the Ordnance Survey maps (Pathfinder maps are being replaced with Explorers) and walk the spirit paths yourselves. Details of the Ramblers in Wales are available from Ty’r Cerddwyr, High Street, Gresford, Wrecsam LL12 8PT.

Late 1999 saw the publication of a book by the last editor of The Ley Hunter magazine. Danny Sullivan’s Ley Lines reaffirmed its author’s belief in leys. This book also announced the formation of The Society of Ley Hunters, PO Box 1634, Hassocks BN6 8BZ. An excellent little book also published in 1999 was Leylines by Philip Heselton, founder editor of The Ley Hunter magazine in 1965.

Spirit paths have been the subject of much debate as, inevitably, the human mind attempts to reduce to words, even dogma, what belongs to a greater sphere than we can envisage. Cynics claim that they are the product of our own imagination, though perhaps it is their own blinkers that prevent the light from shining in. People who are ruled by fear don’t want to know about spirit. Our minds act as filters and erect barriers to things that threaten our belief structures. We can perceive such subliminal information in our dreams, however, while a positive attitude counts for much, as does a relaxed open-mindedness and a child-like concentration. This is an acceptance of the spark of divinity within each soul. Becoming aware of the subconscious is easier in the country, away from desensitising city life.

This book has a selection of spirit paths (by my reckoning) for you to sample. It is far from being comprehensive. I’ve just dipped into a vast ocean. I hope I haven’t imposed my dowsed lines on the land. I tried to listen to it. If I may venture a belief, it is that this is a living land and our acknowledgement of its spirit paths may lead us to love it.

Laurence Main