The Touchwood Chronicles: The Velum Scroll

By Corin Thistlewood

The Touchwood Chronicles blurs the lines between reality and the otherworld.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Corin Thistlewood
• Release date: Jun 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9781739422387

Corin Thistlewood

Leaving his career as an aerospace engineer, Corin followed his passion for spiritual and personal development. He trained in a Wiccan coven, was editor of two New Age magazines: 'Earth Spirit' and 'Sheela na Gig'. And established a self-sufficient community in Ireland.Later he trained with one of Australia's leading Clinical Hypnotherapist which led him to develop his own hypnotherapy practice incorporating psychotherapy & Shamanic Healing. Here he also founded the 'Australian College of Druidry,' ran many courses on shamanic healing and Celtic spirituality, including drum making, and developed the 'Celtic Shaman correspondence course'.Corin now lives in Southwest England where he has become a full-time author. He is a member of the local Drama group, enjoys long walks to megalithic sites or along the coast, with his son and dog scrappy.

Book preview

Prologue

The door to the old wood-burning stove swung open and two pieces of dried turf were unceremoniously flung into the glowing red embers. White ash plumed up and fell like snow about the red brick hearth. Then he slammed the door shut with a metallic clatter, causing a great cloud of dark pungent smoke to belch out.

Touchwood was in a bad mood.

Sitting down heavily in his rocking chair; the joints creaking and squeaking almost as much as his own weary bones; Touchwood sat brooding. As was his habit, he stroked his long silver beard while thinking. His long silver locks, tied at the back with a leather cord, fell down the tan leather waistcoat he wore over a warm, woolly jumper. He had taken to wearing several other layers under that, in a bid to keep warm.  

Foolishly, he had agreed to write a brief history of the self-sufficient community that he lived in; but somehow it had taken on a life of its own. Instead of writing a concise history, which some of the younger ones had asked him to do, he had found himself writing his own life story instead. But he felt the two were so intricately bound together; it had been impossible to separate them.

He felt it was totally necessary to tell of how he was born of Irish and Welsh descendants, and that because of this, it was not surprising that, as a child; he was quite psychic. It was vital to tell of how, as a child, his spirit guides would often help with his homework and that he felt this was a normal state of affairs. Surely everyone had them?

He had told of how, as he got older, his guides seemed to desert him. In his teens, he became a physics nerd, excelling at the technical subjects he loved. Because of this perhaps, he had been talent spotted by the Ministry of Defence, who eventually trained him to become an aerospace engineer.

In his unbridled enthusiasm to work with the latest tec, he found himself unwittingly working on nuclear missiles. But he was not happy with his life. However, after befriending a mysterious Scottish fisherman, he had eventually woken up to the horror of what he was doing. Then, after a series of very strange coincidences, he left the ministry of defence behind him and moved back to Southwest England. And it was there, at one of the mysterious megalithic monuments he loved to visit that he had witnessed first-hand, a secret ritual, that changed his life. 

Under the moonlight, he woke up to witness a coven of women dancing naked round a fire; they were worshiping the mother Goddess. On that eventful night, the power of the megalithic site and the energy of the mystical ritual somehow triggered in him an epiphany. His spirit guide was able to break through to him once again, and counselled him to pursue his spiritual path, and that it was his destiny to do so.

However, it had taken him many years of searching to find it. Along the way, he had discovered many esoteric groups, met some fascinating people who had added to and had had a marked effect on his life. One young woman in particular, who was following the old ways, had become a spiritual mentor to him; for a short time. However, before Candra had left, she had renamed him ‘Corin,’ which she said meant ‘the spear.’ She also had predicted correctly when she told him: ‘You are destined to lead. I can see that in you. One day you will’.

But since then, his search for a suitable magic group or teacher had come to naught. So, eventually, feeling he had no other option, he had formed his own spiritual group. One where members worked together in their own way. It was a rebel shamanic group called the Cat Tribe. Together they had helped each other and spurred each other on, to learn as much as they could about the earth's mysteries and energy raising. They wanted to help heal the earth; and they had many wonderful adventures together.

Touchwood thought back to those times, many years ago. Each group had been a step on the way, a different aspect of that multifaceted crystal that is the spirit world.

But all the while he was with the Cat Tribe, he still yearned for a legitimate coven to join. Then one day, by chance, he was put in contact with the leader of an established Wiccan coven; where he beseeched them to let him join.

Finally, after all his searching, he was admitted to the teaching circle of a wonderful Wiccan coven. They had taught him so much about circle work and magic and introduced him to the Lord and Lady of the forest. It had been hard work, but he loved the challenges and the results.

At thirty years old, he had a very busy life, balancing the demands of his engineering work with his shamanic group, the Cat Tribe; not to mention his work with the Wiccan coven.

Then one day towards the end of his Wiccan training, a mysterious High Priestess was visiting the coven. He discovered there was an uncanny attraction between them. The older woman approached him and boldly arranged for him to become her apprentice. Unexpectantly, he found himself working with her for his third-degree initiation.      

He didn’t realise it at the time, but meeting Hazel turned out to be a very significant event in his life. She was to influence him for a very long time to come. Her slight form contrasted with her high intellect and vast magical knowledge. Touchwood felt strongly that all this magical work, early on in his life, had led him eventually to find and set up the self-sufficient community that they all lived in.

As Touchwood, sitting in his rocking chair before the fire, mused about all this, there was a soft knock on his door. In walked his lovely granddaughter. At sixteen, Victoria was as lovely as always. Her yellow hair and beautiful smile lit up the room. She wore her baggy, blue denim dungarees and was bearing a wooden tray.

She looked over and said, Why so glum, grandpapa?

One look at her and he couldn’t be cross anymore, Oh, it's nothing sweetheart, grandpapa is just being a silly, old fool again. This book I’m writing about the beginnings of this community. Well, I’ve finished writing an entire book but haven’t even mentioned the community so far. 

That’s ok grandpapa, she said calmly. You will just have to write another book, but remember to include the start of the community this time.

Touchwood shook his shaggy old head and burst out laughing. Of course. You are right my lovely, that’s exactly what I must do. Now, what’s on that tray you have brought me?

Well, we have been making fresh bread in the kitchen, she said as she put the tray down on his desk. So I cut off a cob for you, with some of that blackberry and apple jam we made last year. And some of your favourite tea.

Victoria then sat on his lap and threw her young arms round his neck and kissed him on the cheek. And all was well in his world again.

Chapter 1

Walk my Talk

Home, home again

I like to be here when I can

And when I come home cold and tired

It's good to warm my bones beside the fire

                                                   Pink Floyd

It was a warm autumn day, and the sun shone brightly in streams through the tree branches. The lush fragrance of ripened fruits filled the air. In his dream, he found himself wandering through a series of apple orchards, with lush green trees and fruit heavy on the branches. There was such abundance all around him. The humidity was high, creating a hazy atmosphere, with floating dandelion seeds and the drone of bees filling the air. It felt like a paradise; idyllic.

However, as he walked through this paradise, he slowly became aware of a faint whispering sound. It was low at first, hardly noticeable, but getting louder and louder as he walked. Then his head began to spin, he starts to feel dizzy. His legs are giving way, but he staggers forward, eventually falling to his knees.

The whispering, whooshing sound is so loud now, like leaves and branches of a tree, wildly thrashing in a storm. In a panic, he puts his hands to his ears, as he falls face first to the ground. He just lays there panting for breath, face on the earth.

But cracks develop in the very ground below him and a bright light shines up from below the earth. Amazed and bleary-eyed, he peers through the cracks and stares in disbelief, as another world opens before him...

... A small village in a forest area, little children playing happily in the river. Nearby a young man chopping wood... a village woman picking fruit from the bushes.

The scene changes... now a large metallic monster-machine grabs hold of the sacred trees and rips them out of the ground... outlandish men with torches set fire to the bushes... there are animals fleeing in terror.

... Now huge chimneys, discharge black smoke into the pure air... factories belching out poisons into crystal clear rivers, till they run red or white or grey... He stares in disbelief, ‘surely this could not be... people would never do this... could they’?

... The scene changes again... A tremendous explosion; a mushroom cloud .... the ground left burnt and scorched... thousands of people and animals lay dead... blinded people are stumbling over charred bodies...

In another city, a man breaks down a door and beats a terrified woman with a scaffold pole, then wrecks her house, looking for money ...... three young boys push an old woman into the gutter, kicking her and stealing a five-pound note from her purse...

 ‘No... noooo... this cannot be... no one would... to a wise one?’ he screams in disbelief.

But the vision changes yet again... a sunny day in a pleasant, modern, city park, a young pregnant woman is walking happily, with her four-year-old daughter... Suddenly a man jumps out and drags her into the bushes, beats and kicks her, then rapes her, as the small child looks on in disbelief...

‘No... no... these are lies... this could never be true... they could never dishonour the mother so...’ he utters, as he jumps up away from the cracks and the terrible vision. Covering his eyes, he runs blindly back down the path screaming ‘No... no...’

But he trips over a twisted root, tries to get back up, while his passionate eyes search every which-way for a way out of this nightmare. But as he looked back down the path he has just come, he stares in horror, frozen in his tracks. Each of the trees he had passed earlier now had a skull mounted on the back; death stares him in the face. He cannot go back. He cannot go on. Distraught, he buries his face in dismay, and weeps and weeps like a child...

But then, after some minutes, he hears the somehow familiar sound of a raven calling. Caw... caw, caw. He looks up puzzled, for the calling seems quite persistent. In a daze, he looks about for the bird. 

Off to his left-hand side was a large Alder tree and in it he notices a jet-black raven flitting from branch to branch; it seemed to be trying to attract his attention. Seeing that he had noticed, the raven stops calling and knowingly turns its head. Its jet-black eyes look directly at him with an eerie, sentient awareness. Uncannily, a thought comes into his head, ‘follow the raven…’

But what could it mean...?

Suddenly, I was awakened by the sound of a woman's voice, deep with compassion. She sounded very wise. Rest easy Corin. You have come a long way, in so short a time.

Hazel's gentle hands are stroking my sweating brow. Frantically I look around me, still half afraid. But then I realise I’m safe within Hazel's spare bedroom, in familiar surroundings. It was all a dream.

Hazel has long black frizzy hair, which falls to her shoulders; the silver strands are a tell-tale of her maturity. The bright red lipstick she wears sets her pale Celtic complexion off, as do her olive-green eyes; that are very kind and knowledgeable. She is petite and slim and has a well-proportioned body and limbs. A necklace of rough-cut gemstones and beads hangs down to her petite breasts.

Hazel always seemed to wear black clothes, often with black lace attached. Today we would class her as a Goth, but there was no such thing at the time when I met her. She always seemed to wear lots of clunky jewellery, with gemstones and beads. In that timeless and mysterious way, she is very attractive. She always held herself upright in quiet poise. But when you got to know her, she was very knowledgeable and wise.

Hazel helped me to sit up in bed, pushing pillows behind me, as my head starts to clear, and I slowly start to relax.

I was dreaming, I said redundantly.

Yes, you were shouting out and screaming. I had to wake you.

It was really horrible Hazel; you won’t believe what I saw.

I went on to briefly summarise my dream, as Hazel patiently nodded.

When I had finished, she nodded in understanding, then told me, The visions can be a burden, Corin. But to be fully alive is everything. I turned to look at her. I could see it in her eyes that she too had had unsettling dreams and visions.

But we know the blessings of the Sun intensely, she continued, almost like a prophet. "Likewise, the cold of winter. We are alive to Moon and Earth, to every magical vibration of stone and flower, stream, and candle flame. We feel the pain of others, as well as your own, so too the pain of the Earth, as she is despoiled and abused.

We walk a knife edge, Corin, between great joy and great despair. It is a burden all those ‘on the path’ face at some time. And in many ways, we pay heavily for the gifts we receive. But such sorrows and pain, joys and ecstasy are ours, and most would not have it any other way.

I could only nod as she spoke those wise words to me. It had been several months now since we had performed my third-degree initiation on the mound. We had both agreed to continue with my lessons, as Hazel still had much to teach me.

Thus, I had become her apprentice. But apprentice in what, I was no longer sure. We had long ago moved away from the traditional Wicca I had so longed to learn at the beginning. Now we seemed to have entered the realms of another magical path; I couldn’t put a name to. It was certainly older than modern Wicca, with its roots in the far distant past. Where Hazel had learnt it all, I still did not know.

It all seemed to happen so quickly. We had been like a wave travelling across the ocean, as it comes near the shore; it builds and builds, growing until it reaches its height. Then where else can it go but come crashing down onto the shore?

The Cat Tribe, I felt, had reached its peak. My personal training in Wicca had reached its climax when I had passed the third degree. Now I was an ongoing apprentice to a priestess of the old ways.

However, all these spiritual advances only seemed to heighten my awareness, to what was going on around me. The natural world, it seemed to me, was in crisis!

Ecosystems, the fabric of life on which we all depend, were declining rapidly because of human actions. We were using more and more natural resources, and this has come at a cost. If we lost large portions of the natural world, our human quality of life would be severely reduced, and the lives of future generations will be threatened. Over the last 50 years, nature's capacity to support us has plummeted. Air and water quality were reducing, soils were depleting, crops were short of pollinators.

My terrible dreams or ‘visions’, as Hazel called them, were coming more frequently of late. However, they were making it clear that I should not be perpetuating this destruction. Increasingly, I felt compelled that I should ‘walk my talk,’ and leave my mainstream life and live a more sustainable lifestyle.

I knew of several people who had gone ‘back to the land’ already, developing self-sufficient smallholdings in Wales or Scotland. Indeed, I had read in a magazine called ‘Self-Sufficiency Lifestyle’, that there seemed to be quite a movement of people doing just this.

In a letter in the back of the magazine, someone wrote that they had discovered many abandoned cottages, with land available on parts of the west coast of Ireland, and that they were really cheap to buy.

Perhaps, it seemed to me, that the best thing that I could do was to go to the west coast of Ireland and have a look to see for myself. If there really were cottages with land, going cheap, that would give me something to go on and then decide from there. Besides, I hadn’t had a holiday for years, anyway. It was about time.

So, I became a man on a mission. The first thing I did was to buy a camper van, so as I could tour around Ireland and look for suitable places. Once I had my camper van, I booked three weeks' holidays from work.

It’s surprising how quickly you can tour round Ireland, getting a feel for the different areas. I quickly saw that anywhere within commuting distance of Dublin was too expensive and too built up. I could say the same for the south coast, round Waterford, and Wexford.

I liked West Cork and put it on my short list. As I toured round, I could see that the west coast was within my price range. I considered the Galway area, put that on my short list also, along with county Clair.

However, when I first came to Leitrim, on the west coast of Ireland, I was inexplicably drawn to