I have a fantastical tale to tell from Avalon: encounter with St Dwynwen, Welsh Patron Saint of Lovers in Anglesey

This is an intimate soul story, which I kept for myself for two years. But I’ve said so many prayers for the release of the feminine voice, that I feel it’s time to share a bit of magic.

Breathe with me and drop your mind into your heart, for this is a story of heart ways.

These are my last days in Avalon and I somehow arrived to Mona, Island of Angelsey. So far in this pilgrimage I knew exactly where I wanted to go, what I wanted to see. Here I have no conscious clue. I felt the call and I came. I don’t know much about this island other than it’s considered sacred by the druids and Ana lived here and loved this land, calling it a part of Avalon.

Hearting on towards a beach at Holy Island, I feel compelled to leave the road and turn left on a rocky path. I connect to my Self and intuitively call on a local guide, which I sense my soul is linked to. As I do this, a smaller path left appears, but I’m reluctant to venture again off path. I keep walking and more paths appear in the same direction, as if the land insists. I breathe and stop at a particular one that has a small sign. I remember two things written there: “this is the place where the dunes meet the forest” and “the only sign of that previous life is”. My heart beats in a strange way and I walk on this path. 

I’m inside a forest, barefoot, stepping slowly, very slowly. My heart starts beating fast, I feel my eyes getting teary and my whole body in goosebumps. I can’t shake the feeling that I know this place. It’s just trees and a path. I notice some signs on two trees and sit between them like a gateway to the past. I feel that I was attacked. I call on my angels and guides and ask for mending. I ask for remedy and resolve, for acceptance and forgiveness. Peace settles. Then I feel a promise, like something was tided up, my freedom. I disenchant this in all the words that intuitively come to me. I pray there until that bondage is freed. I take a small cone and move on, looking at the forest as if I can see through time views of distant peoples. I walk out of the forest sobbing with no tears, a deeper part of me crying and shedding pain. I notice my hand doing something interesting, peeling off the cone, scale by scale, marking a path out of the forest. I reach the sea when the cone is fully pealed and I throw it into the ocean to find freedom. Grief dissolves.

I walk on the beach and keep noticing things in pairs: shells, rocks, people. My footsteps lead me to a smaller island, connected to this shore by a path accessible during low tide. I feel drawn to the landmark board, which I would generally ignore, but here I feel like reading any bit of story there is.

It’s called the Island of the Blessed, it’s the island of a Female Saint of Lovers - St Dwynwen. Among her symbols I recognise alchemical symbols of sacred love. But there’s one of a broken heart, which I caress as if wanting to mend.

I spend time on this island, enjoying the splendid beauty and magic in the air. On the far west shore I find a board with the whole story. 

She’s the daughter of the King, she falls in love with a man, but her hand has been promised to another. When her beloved finds out she’s betrothed, he attacks her and is frozen as a punishment. She runs to the forest and meets an angel that heals her and grants her three wishes. She asks for her beloved to be unfrozen, for her to be given the gift to help people in love and to never want to be married again. She becomes a nun, moves to this island where she creates a holy well that blesses pilgrims looking for love.

On my way back, I stop at the well. It is dry. I kneel and put my forehead on the stones. I pray to her to bless me to find love. I feel the light of the place opening once more. No one had prayed here in a long while. Source opens up and light is pouring from Heaven. I feel Yeshua and Mary Magdalene here with me. I feel the Holy Couple with their primordial love. From their hearts love pours into my heart and the heart of the well. I say my prayers and then I do a water ritual. I pour water on the well, wishing that the spring of love be flowing freely again. I pour water on my heart and head and I drink, as the blessing ritual would have been. I see the saint in my inner vision smiling, feeling honored. 

From the heart of a Magdalene to another beyond the ages a rose is shared. 

I say to her: “You too deserve love”. She knows. 

I leave a beautiful shell at the entrance board beneath her photo as an offering, wishing for this place to be honoured again for its mysterious gift.

My footsteps take me onwards. On my way back on the road I see no sign of the path I ventured on, it seems to have vanished in thin air. 

I return to the village and enjoy my dinner at a restaurant called The Freckled Angel.

How do I explain all this? I don’t, I just live.

At times, we all need to venture out of our minds and into the mystery.

Should Avalon call you too, join us in a pilgrimage retreat.

May this story serve as inspiration to let your footsteps guide you from time to time. 

Love,

Amia