“She was so nice, wasn’t she?” I asked Maddie as we followed the path down the side without the paved steps, which was much closer to our cottage. “Everyone was so nice!”
“Well, yes,” Maddie huffed dramatically, “but that’s not really what we need to talk about, is it? What happened up there?”
“Can you feel it?” I asked. “Or is it just me?” I stopped walking and stood still for a few moments, just soaking it up. “It feels like everything’s different now. That was a profound vibe up there, with the drumming and the eclipse … everyone was tuned in to … well, Avalon!”
A bench was just ahead on the trail, so I said, “Let’s sit so we can focus. It’s hard to concentrate when I’m trying not to tumble off the side of the Tor.”
Once we sat, I continued. “Honestly, Maddie, I don’t know where to begin, aside from asking if you can feel the difference. I need to know whether it’s just me.”
She pondered for a moment and said, “Yes, I can feel it. I think anyone with psychic sensitivity would feel something. But how do I know if I’m feeling what you’re feeling?”
“Good point. Let me start over,” I said. “I had a profound experience under that hill and, by the way, it wasn’t a cave or a hole dug in the dirt. I was surprised by that, but it was similar to a shamanic journey like we learned in class from Glenna. She would probably call it the Lower World.”
Maddie nodded, following along, so I kept going. “But this was more palpable, like I could actually taste and smell things as if they were really there, not just a psychic hint of their essences. There’s a difference in density between the land of the Fae and the psychological landscape of the shamanic worlds. Does that make sense?”
“I think so,” she nodded again, “but it still doesn’t answer my question. I want to know what happened.”
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll tell you, but I’m afraid it will be only words. I don’t know if I can convey what really happened without first making sure you really get the dimensionality of the whole experience, but I’ll try.”
“Lola,” she said, looking me square in the eyes, “this ain’t my first rodeo. I get it.”
I chuckled and said, “No offense, but I’m not sure I even get it.”
“I promise, I’ll interrupt if I need to,” she said. “Now spill it.”
So I told her what happened, seated there on the little bench. I filled her in on the story, her eyes growing wide in wonderment at all the appropriate times. I even offered her a sniff from my bottle of clary sage oil to bring it home, and inhaled a deep whiff myself, while we were at it.
“You know what, though?” I said, “You’re probably the only person I can tell this to. Well, maybe Seth. No way I can expect Chuck or Amanda to understand. Okay, maybe Raven … and Glenna … but not my own family.”
“Does that matter?” she asked. “I don’t suppose it’s much different from being a Freemason or a member of some other mysterious order. You don’t discuss what happens in the meetings with civilians, so to speak.”
That sank in. “I never thought of it that way,” I said. “Thank you for that helpful perspective!”
She beamed at landing that insight and egged me on. “So, what else? Tell me more. I feel like there’s more.”
“There is more, but it’s like I said earlier, I’ve used all the words I can,” I began. “There is no way to describe what happened … the shift I felt … how real it was.”
“Was it real?” she asked. “Do you think these are your actual ancestors, or is this metaphorical? I mean, in real life, is there a tribe … I can’t think of a better word … of people with the power of … what did you call it?”
“Ath-shapach.”
“Ah-shoppick,” she said.
“Close enough,” I nodded. “I have no way of knowing, at least not this minute. This was hundreds of years ago, on my father’s side of the family. I would have to trace his genealogy to see if those names are even there.”
“Oooh! That would be quite a find!” she replied, her eyebrows raised and her fingers tapping my forearm. “That’s the first thing we’ve got to do once we get back to Ohio!”
“Right, but to answer your question about whether this is all real or metaphorical,” I said, “like you said earlier, I don’t know if it matters. The fact is, I’m changed. This went deep.”
As I spoke, the air before me rippled and I gripped the bench to steady myself from the brief spell of wooziness.
It passed quickly and I paused for a moment to tune into my field, like a dog sniffing the air currents, which were clean and clear. “I don’t feel even a hint of Inntinn-lobhadh anymore. And now that it’s gone, I think I can say it’s always been there. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve felt something like that messing with me, suppressing any joy, making me doubt myself.”
This line of mental inquiry brought forth a memory, buried long ago. I told Maddie, “When I was maybe four years old, there was a hit song that played on the radio all the time. It was my favorite song. It was so beautiful that it hurt. Do you know what I mean?”
“I sure do,” she said, nodding.
“This song was especially moving,” I continued. “I don’t know why … that part doesn’t matter. What matters is that I used to bawl my eyes out whenever it played and I couldn’t explain why. I was too young to put it into words. It frustrated my parents so much that I learned to cry unseen in the closet.”
I thought for a moment to gather my thoughts and went on, “Something about the song resonated so strongly that it woke something in me … the sound of pure beauty? I don’t know, but it allowed me to sense something gorgeously in tune. I wish I had the words for it. I don’t know enough about music to describe what I felt, but it was … a perfect expression of harmonics.”
I watched Maddie’s face and she seemed to be following me. I went on, still struggling to describe the ineffable. “Perhaps it made me cry because …” I mimicked clutching at something, “… I couldn’t have it. It wasn’t mine. It was like Inntinn-lobhadh was taunting me, saying, ‘look what you can’t have!’”
Tears filled Maddie’s eyes and she nodded, “I know exactly what you’re talking about. I’ve always felt so … wrong … so awful. It would be bliss to be rid of that!”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I cried, pulling her into a warm hug. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I meant to tell a happy story, that I don’t feel that way anymore, but I’ve made you feel lousy.”
She gave a little laugh and pulled a tissue from her pocket to wipe away the tears before they ran her mascara. “It’s okay, you didn’t make me feel lousy. I already did. I just said it out loud.”
I wanted more than anything to use what I’d learned today to help my friend. What would Granny Myrta do? Then it hit me, a memory like a lightning bolt. “Oh!” I said, “I forgot to tell you this part. It may be that you and Seth are both ath-shapach, too! Granny Myrta suggested as much.”
Maddie’s eyes grew wide and she grinned but didn’t say anything yet as a group of people were descending the hill, passing us on the trail. The drumming circle and ritual must have ended. Everyone was exuding such peace and joy that they glowed in their own way.
“Bright blessings,” a few of them said as they went by.
“Bright blessings,” Maddie and I both replied. Maddie was practically bursting with anticipation.
Once they finally passed us, the words surged out of her, “Say more now!”
I laughed, enjoying her enthusiasm, then noticed Myx and Maj fluttering over her head. “You seem to have a couple of little buddies,” I said, pointing them out. “Myx and Maj are here.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, “I have a story as well. You first.”
“There’s really not much to tell,” I said. “It’s like recognizing someone you’ve never met because you’ve shared past lives with them. Myrta said … well, suggested … that you and Seth might both be from the same community of people. She even said it’s not only me. I just happened to be from the lineage that broke, so I had to be part of fixing it.”
“But,” she interrupted, “how can I know for sure?”
“You know what?” I replied, gesturing up at the evening sky, where night was beginning to fall, “It’s getting darker and colder. Let’s get down the hill and back home while we still have some daylight. We can do a reading after dinner, and you can tell me about these two.” I pointed again at the twin faeries floating above her.
“Oh, yes,” she cried, all drama, “I am starving. And then, we had better get packing. We leave for London tomorrow.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. The thought of not just going back home to Ohio but leaving this place — this magical, magnificent place — broke my heart. And that was not Inntinn-lobhadh, it was premature homesickness for a place my soul had grown to love.
I was already home.
To follow along, you’ll want to first meet Lola and Twink in A Faery on My Shoulder and The Faery Falls. They’re only $4.44 each on Kindle (also available in paperback), or I’m happy to gift you an e-copy if money’s tight — just promise to pay it forward by being a supportive reader, sharing posts, or sprinkling encouragement.
Lisa Bonnice is the co-author of Fear of Our Father, now a Lifetime Original movie (Monster in the Family). Beyond true crime, her fiction explores the mysteries that shape us—from the humor-and-heart metaphysical comedies A Faery on My Shoulder and The Faery Falls to Castle Gate, a genealogy-based historical novel about ancestral healing and resilience, available in both print and audio.
Lisa hosts the podcast NOW with Lisa Bonnice and writes about the intersection of truth, transformation, and storytelling. Learn more at lisabonnice.com.