Whispers Through the Stone…

Whispers Through the Stone: Remembering What Was Never Forgotten…

There are places in this world that feel older than time. You can sense it the moment you arrive – the air thick with stories, the earth humming a steady, ancient note beneath your feet. Newgrange is one of those places. A mound of stone and earth built long before written history, standing proud against the centuries, a passage tomb that holds more than bones. It holds memory.

Today, standing within its ancient heart, I felt something shift. A strange familiarity settled into my bones, like a half-remembered song or a scent that tugs you back to a moment you can’t quite place. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t even wonder. It was… recognition.

A flicker.

A knowing.

As the light traced its path through the narrow stone passage, I found myself wondering how many versions of me have walked this earth. How many lives have I lived beneath different skies, in different skin, with names lost to the wind? Could it be that somewhere, deep in the folds of time, a woman with my soul’s signature laid a stone here, or stood in silent reverence as the sun’s first light pierced the chamber and flooded it with gold?

Or is it something even stranger – a parallel life, unfolding even now in another thread of time? A version of me who never left, who knows these stones by touch and not by tour guide. A version who speaks the old language, who knows which herbs to burn and which stars to follow. A version whose bones might one day rest beneath the earth I stood upon today.

We like to believe time moves in a straight line – from birth to death, from past to present to future. But standing there, in that ancient place, it felt more like a great, looping spiral. A circle without a clear beginning or end. What if the places we feel drawn to, the people who feel instantly familiar, the dreams that leave us aching… are echoes of lives we’ve lived, or lives we’re living elsewhere?

Maybe our souls scatter across lifetimes, gathering lessons like seashells on a shore, learning in ways our conscious minds can’t always comprehend. And perhaps some of those pieces find their way home in moments like today, standing in a tomb older than the pyramids, older than Stonehenge, and remembering something we were never meant to forget.

I’ve always believed some places are doorways. Thin places, as the old Irish would say. Where the veil between this world and whatever lies beyond it wears sheer. And in those places, the rules bend. The heart knows what the mind denies. The spirit stirs. The old blood remembers.

And maybe that’s the quiet, unspoken magic of being human, to glimpse the infinite through the narrow slit of a sunlit chamber, to feel ancient stone beneath our fingers and know, without knowing how, that we have been here before.

And we will be here again…