Pilgrimage of the Great Wheel: Standing Stone

Last fall, I took a job in California. It was a last minute assignment for the winter, and I was excited. I resolved to stop at a sacred site on the Pilgrimage of the Great Wheel on my way west, the Standing Stone. This sacred journey is something that has come to me in the past few years - I am visiting all the points of a great wheel of ley lines that covers the southeast of the US to experience their power and to honor these sacred places. Check out this linked post for details.

When I visit Jomeokee each year, the center of the Great Wheel, I am delighted to see it preserved as a state park. Thought most people who visit are not aware of its cultural importance or history as a sacred site, it is yet revered and cared for. Same for the Great Dismal Swamp that I visited last fall. But Standing Stone is not that kind of story. Standing Stone has not been so lucky. Visiting Standing Stone was so upsetting that I never finished this blog post.

Though I had done research in advance, nothing about this visit went as planned. I found Standing Stone State Park easily enough, and it was a lovely wooded place with a mountain lake and a campground. The one thing they don't have is the Standing Stone. Undeterred, I asked a ranger where it might be found and was directed to Monterey, TN. I'd driven through the town to get there, so it was easy enough to retrace my steps. 

Arriving in the town, I discovered that there was a monument to Standing Stone near the town library. This monument is not the original location of the Standing Stone either.

I went into the library and did some more research, trying to find the original location. Using GPS coordinates, I drove around the neighborhood nearby and looked for a likely spot. I was considering land elevation and orientation, trying to consider where a monument would have been visible before the creation of this town.

Essentially, what happened is that the Standing Stone was destroyed to make way for a new railroad. It was blown up with dynamite, and for many years, several large chunks of the stone were used for other purposes or intentionally preserved. When at last the monument was created, a small fragment of the stone was placed on top.

From my earliest research about this site, the Standing Stone marked the boundary between Shawnee and Cherokee nation territories. The stone also stood along an established trade route, which became known as an "old Indian trail" after the settlement of the area by Europeans. As far as I know, such a place would have been used for trading and council purposes between different tribes. This would have been a place of peace.

What upsets me is not only that the original stone was removed, but also that very little of its history is known. Reading the very brief information available about the stone, only a tiny portion of that refers to the native people who erected the stone. Most of it is about the Europeans who defaced it, and who eventually destroyed it.

I remember feeling so depressed and angry during this visit. It was a small town, and seemed ordinary enough. There was no tangible energy, no reminder of what was. A whole culture and history, erased.

So for this pilgrimage visit, there is no poetry. No beautiful sentiment of spiritual vision. What I did was fume, to be frank. I may have done some angry journaling, but I think that's best left where it lies on my bookshelf. When I calmed down, I just sat there, at the monument, and offered my presence. I offered my prayers of healing and acknowledgement for what happened in this place.

There are so many more things I could say about how this country has handled things, but I truly do not have the desire to do so at this time. People who know me know what my opinion is, and I'm sure many of you share it. As for me, I will continue on my pilgrimage. The next chance I get to speak with first nation elders, I will ask if any stories of Standing Stone are known.

This weekend, I go back to Jomeokee once again. This will be my third vision quest there. This year, I am in need of anchoring in the midst of all this travelling. I'm feeling a deep need to get centered and grounded before I leave NC once again. This feels like a pivotal time for me, a true turning point. My life is transforming, and I am so grateful. I am also afraid and full of doubts. I am like everyone else - trying to figure it out as I go along.

I honor you, Great Medicine Wheel of Jomeokee! Great Guide, this pilgrimage I make in your honor. This land I walk to gain your wisdom, each step trodden by countless ancestors who have gone before me. Fill me with your medicine. Teach me, Great Guide. Lead me on...

Jomeokee, the Great Guide

For several years, I have been wanting to take another vision quest. Each time I tried, something came up and things did not go as I planned. This time, things fell together naturally. I took the son of my spirit on a pilgrimage to Jomeokee last weekend.

Pilot Mountain is in the piedmont of North Carolina. It is the closest mountain to where I live, which some people believe means that it is my protector. The native Saura people called this mountain Jomeokee, which translates to the Great Guide or Pilot. They used this mountain as a landmark to navigate their trade routes. As European settlers entered the area, they did the same - a wagon route was built near its base. The mountain and the land around it were held privately for many years, but it eventually became a state park. As it happens, Pilot Mountain became a state park in the year of my birth, 1976.

"Between one billion and 600 million years ago, the supercontinent Rodinia – which came before Pangea – began to break up. With it, a basin began to widen and formed what was essentially the Atlantic Ocean’s grandfather. This was the Iapetus Ocean. Today, Pilot Mountain marks a point of uplift from the Iapetus Ocean. Essentially, it is Iapetus Ocean seafloor. The ocean existed in the Neoproterozoic and Paleozoic portions of earth’s history, roughly 600 million years ago, so the presence of today’s remaining marker is astonishing." Source

This place was a landmark, a guiding point in early navigation, but it was far more than that. The knob of the mountain is quartzite, which is a metamorphic rock composed essentially of quartz. This ancient megalith, by its very composition, is a giant conductor and amplifier of power. Jomeokee also sits on a convergence of several ley lines, which is called a ley point or vortex. POWER, thy name is Jomeokee!

A few years ago, I met a Native man who is an environmental educator. He told me about taking people up on Pilot Mountain to see the spirit lights and tell the old stories. I didn't remember that until just now, but it is reassuring. Though the Saura people are gone, some Native peoples remember the significance and power of Jomeokee. Legend has it that the Native peoples believed that the mountain and 30 miles around it were holy ground.

We arrived on a Saturday morning, and it was already quite hot. Neither of us were in the mood to talk to officials, so we just drove into the park and followed the signs for the campground. We circled around several times before deciding on a campsite and settling the bill. This was to be a theme for the weekend - spiraling around to the eventual destination. We set up camp and resolved to rest through the heat of the day.

Rain moved in during the afternoon, bringing blessed coolness with it. We had a fun time "trying to stay dry", but we didn't' try very hard. It was delightful. Eventually, we realized that there wasn't much daylight left. There wasn't enough time to walk to the pinnacle from our campsite, though the trail was conveniently in our back yard. Instead, we drove up to the parking lot.

We climbed up to the Little Pinnacle, then took the trail over to the Big Pinnacle, which then circles around the base of the outcropping. We passed a few families, then found plenty of quiet. We must have walked halfway around the knob when I announced that I needed to merge with the mountain. I found a good place and settled in for some meditation. My son was off like a mountain goat, climbing up a crack and away somewhere on the pinnacle itself.

I spoke my thanks to the mountain for allowing me to visit, and offered salt, cornmeal and tobacco. I closed my eyes to better focus on the energy of the place, which was intense yet gentle. I asked the questions I had for the mountain. I drew in its healing power to renew my spirit.

Many natural places in NC feel gentle to me - I think due to their age. The mountains here are old, old old. They are rounded and low, mostly covered with trees. There is a mysterious feeling also, which has driven many of my explorations. Out west, I needed to climb the next peak, see the next vista. I was filled with awe, and often, the mountains there would push me to my limits and beyond. Here in NC, it's more about finding the next hidden treasure, like a grotto or waterfall pool. It's a sense of exploring inward, or perhaps backward in time.

At length, I sensed a presence and opened my eyes to see a large doe no more than 20 yards away. We watched each other for a timeless time, and she moved off out of my sight. A short while later, she or another doe appeared on the left side of my field of vision. I love to visit with the gentle spirits of deer. They are so watchful, so wary, so gentle and graceful, yet they can be fierce when necessary.

For a time, we could not find the trail back to the Little Pinnacle. We resolved to walk around the knob as many times as needed, until the mountain let us go. This was perfectly acceptable to me; it seemed a fitting offering, similar to using prayer beads or offering Yoga practice to the Divine.

Eventually, we made it back. I wandered over to a minor overlook and looked out over the patchwork of homes and farm fields that surround the mountain. There was a great deal of haze, no doubt due to the high humidity, which prevented me from seeing Virginia to the north, or the Blue Ridge Mountains to the west.

I spotted a hawk, and as we watched, it flew closer to us, riding the updrafts along the base of the peak. Filled with joy, I reached out my hand and made a grabbing motion toward the hawk. It's a little idiosyncrasy of mine - I do this when I want something, the way a small child would. At that moment, the hawk flew directly overhead, and froze in midair.

The hawk held its position overhead for what seemed like an eternity. Just hovering. My son and I looked at each other. The hawk hovered.

At last, the hawk moved a bit to the south. We followed and continued to watch. The hawk chose a spot facing west and hovered again. The hawk finally flew into the west and dropped out of sight.

It has taken me a full week to figure out how and what to write about my visit to the Great Guide. It was a powerful experience, and I am so grateful. Not just to the mountain, but to my son. He is so incredibly talented and powerful. I am so proud of the man he is becoming, the person that he is. The mountain sheltered and renewed us, but I may have learned as much from him as I did from the mountain. It is well. I got what I needed.

Blessed be!