Searching for Sunrise in a Megalithic Cemetery, Ireland
Cautiously, my husband Gary, our friend Michael, and I followed a nearly invisible path through the fog and up the side of Loughcrew hill, just before sunrise. A huge crow—perhaps a raven—flew by, its wings flapping loudly in semi-darkness. We were heading to the ridge top to see a twice-a-year spectacle: the rays of the equinox sunrise penetrating the passageway of Cairn T, a 5,500-year-old megalithic tomb situated 52 miles northwest of Dublin. The equinoxes, which occur around March 21 and September 21, are the two times of year when the days and nights are of equal length.
Distant drumming drifted through the swirling mist, along with the faint sound of voices. Others had reached the site before us. Soon we arrived at the top. A large mound of mist-sparkled green grass and rocks, Cairn T looked like an immense, squat mushroom, partly encircled with huge kerbstones. A number of ruined, exposed stone chambers and tumbled stones were scattered over the hillside. Clumps of people milled around, seeking shelter, chanting, or sharing mugs of steaming coffee and pieces of cake. The event had the mixed flavor of a class reunion and a revival meeting.
The OPW (Office of Public Works) representative stood by the barred entrance to Cairn T, welcoming all comers. We introduced ourselves and discussed the probability of seeing the sun rise. Not likely, was the conclusion. Shivering, our breath adding to the mist, we walked around to keep warm.
Loughcrew Megalithic Cemetery is also known as Sliabh na Caillí, Slieve na Cailliagh, the Hill of the Hag, the Cairn of the Witch, the Mountain of the Sorceress, the Witches Hops—you get the idea. Located in the northeast of the Republic of Ireland, it is one of the four largest Irish megalithic cemeteries. More than thirty chambered cairns, many with interior stone carvings, cover a ridge of three hills. The passage graves, built between 3500 and 3300 BCE, are constructed of sandstone, a coarse greywacke called gritstone, and conglomerate.
The Loughcrew cairns are divided into Carnbane East and Carnbane West. Cairn T, AKA The Hag’s Cairn, is the largest on Carnbane East. Oriented slightly south of east, it is 120 feet in diameter and 369 feet in circumference. Fragments of charred bones, charcoal, and a bronze pin were found during the original excavation.
Cairn T passage grave is shaped like a cross, or perhaps more accurately, like a human body. The narrow, low entry passage opens into a 10-foot-high domed chamber. On three sides of the chamber are side niches or alcoves, also domed, their entrances partially blocked by threshold stones. Several of the uprights in the passageway and in the inner chamber are decorated with geometric patterns, including concentric circles and zigzags, “combs” and ovals, and “’flower” and “sun” motifs. Most impressive is the ornately carved backstone of the rear chamber, which is lit by a beam of light during spring and fall equinox sunrises. That’s what we were there to see.
Loughcrew is called Slieve na Cailleach, a reference to the “Old Hag”—the Cailleach—to whom the hill is dedicated. Dark goddess of the earth, Hag of Winter, she supposedly resided over the area and made her home here, in this place, within this cairn. The word “Cailleach” (KAL-y-ak) comes from “old veiled one”; caille means veil or caul. The Cailleach was the ancestral goddess found throughout Ireland and Scotland, and each tribe had its Cailleach. Numerous mountain ranges and large hills are said to have been formed when she accidently dropped rocks out of her apron.
She has similarities to the Hindu goddess Kali, another powerful transformative “dark” goddess. The Cailleach represents death and rebirth, transformation and winter, in contrast to Brigid, the goddess—and later Christian saint—associated with healing, creative inspiration, eternal flame, and springtime. In Irish myth, the Cailleach and Brigid are understood to be in an ongoing struggle, paired goddesses who trade places twice a year. The Cailleach’s time is said to begin at Samhain (1 November) and end on Imbolc (1 February), while Brigid rules the rest of the year.
Dark and light juxtapose within Cairn T through the penetrating rays of the equinox sunrise. I wondered whether perhaps the event was a visual marker of the boundaries of wintertime: the coming of autumn and the arrival of spring. But would we get to see it? I doubted it.
While we waited to be allowed into the chamber, we walked over to the Hag’s Chair on the north side of Cairn T. The “chair” is actually a massive kerbstone shaped into a bench and has barely discernable carvings on the front side. At some point in time, a cross was carved into the seat, perhaps in the eighteenth century when public Catholic ritual was forbidden. It might then have served as an altar during secret outdoor Masses.
The chair-like stone is sometimes called the Seat of Ollamh Fodhla, said to have been the first law-giver of Ireland, and is also known as the Seat of the Cailleach. Folklore records that you can sit there and make a wish—but only one. I levered my way up to the seat and, legs dangling, made a wish—but only one.
The distant horizon remained shrouded in clouds as the OPW guide began to let small groups enter the cairn. We waited patiently, watching our breath shimmer in the chill dawn air. Soon our turn came, and as I made my way down the dark passageway, I aimed my flashlight at the large upright stones, puzzling over the enigmatic carvings.
As we huddled together in the cramped interior, one woman brought out a frame drum and started to beat it in a slow, rhythmic fashion. Another woman joined in. Soon the chamber began to resonate, the ancient stones responding to the vibration. The drums seemed to get louder and to be joined by others, though there were no others visible. The atmosphere shifted and cleared. I held my breath, caught for a moment outside of time and place. Perhaps—perhaps the Cailleach still resided inside this chamber and we had wakened her….
Silence descended, broken only by the heartbeat of the drums.
I was sitting in the circle, pressed against the threshold stone at the rear alcove. Recognizing my opportunity, I climbed over the stone and crouched in the tiny chamber. I placed my hand against the eight-lobed petal carved into the backstone. No sunrays illuminated its deep-cut form, but I could see it with my fingers. It resembled the modern symbol for an atom—eight swirling planes of energy centered on a single point. Or maybe it resembled a flower, pressed flat against the wall. Or maybe it represented the sun, the light of which penetrated exactly to this spot on a clear equinox morning—although this morning there was no such sunbeam.
What did it all mean? Why did the megalith builders design this so-called tomb? Even if human remains had been found there, to call it a “tomb” is like calling Westminster Cathedral a burial chamber because people are buried there. Obviously, it had other purposes or the constructors would not have aligned its passage—and the rear niche—with the rising equinox sun. They would not have engraved the mysterious designs into the stones.
I looked around, beginning to make out individual faces in the breaking dawn. We were spending time together in this sacred space, listening quietly to the beating drums. Perhaps this was the purpose, the meaning: Cairn T was a place where people came together and shared a communal experience. Or maybe not. Perhaps 5,500 years ago only religious specialists were permitted to enter the holy chamber, while the rest of the tribe stood outside shivering in the cold.
Daylight burned through the mist and the chamber grew lighter, but the sun was now too high above the horizon to enter the passageway. The drumming stopped. Slowly the space filled with the sound of rustling clothes and whispering voices. It was time to leave.
(The following is an excellent website link to see the sunrise at Loughcrew: http://www.knowth.com/loughcrew.htm)
Elyn Aviva is a writer, fiber artist, and transformational traveler. Currently living in Girona (Catalonia), Spain, she is fascinated by pilgrimage and sacred sites. Her PhD in anthropology was on the modern Camino de Santiago in Spain. Aviva is author of a number of books on pilgrimage and journey, and she is co-author with her husband, Gary White, of “Powerful Places Guidebooks”; the most recent one is Powerful Places in Ireland. Powerful Places in Wales is forthcoming. To learn more about Elyn or her publications, go to www.pilgrimsprocess.com and www.powerfulplaces.com and www.fiberalchemy.com
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Reader Comments (10)
I have made the early morning pilgrimage to Loughcrew many time in hope of experiencing the beam of the rising sun illuminating the chamber inside Cairn T. It's pure magic on a clear sunny morning, but even on the overcast mornings there is real sense of communication with our stone age ancestors who must also have experienced the vagaries of the Irish weather. Photos from the Autumn Equinox 2008
Thanks for this account Elyn, I can really feel the communal atmosphere and build-up of suspense as I read it. I have on many occasions questioned my sanity as I am huddled, often shiverring, with like-minded colleagues, at cold/foggy (or scorching hot) international sacred sites to experience dawn/dusk or simply to tune-in to how the site would have felt in its heyday. It's all made worthwhile when we are periodically rewarded with a momentary glimpse of its ancient ceremonial splendour. Whether this is fuelled by our meditative state or group delusion, it's a very special magic moment when it happens. I spent 15 years visiting global sacred sites as a travel agency proprietor, with my 'tourist representative' hat on, and the last 10 years revisiting them, this time with a spiritual focus.
We are currently finalising a Harmony Journeys Sacred Sites of Ireland tour to include Loughcrew for the Autumn Equinox. We met up with Michael Fox on Friday 13th April and he took us to the FourKnocks tomb and left us to do some meditating and attunements inside. I teach Ancient Egyptian Alchemy Healing so we were calling in Deities, Essene Angels and also performing a Violet Flame Attunement in there. We finished our ceremony, and try as we might, we just couldn't open the door, so decided to do another ceremony. Afterwards we both tried again to open the door - and we're not weaklings - yet we couldn't and assumed it was locked. After another little ceremony with some tuning forks we'd brought with us, we called Michael on the mobile to unlock the door and he said it had been open all along. He opened it easy as pie. We've no doubt we were being kept in there till we'd finished 'properly'. Fascinating is't it?
Hi Michael and Joanna--yes indeed, these are powerful places. You never know what's going to happen once you open yourself to the Mystery. We were just in Malta with Freddy Silva and a small group of like-minded folks, and I tell you, those ancient temples are still immensely powerful. When you engage in communication with them, it's amazing what happens, what you learn. And yet I'm also sure that if you treat them--or any other sacred site--as just a pile of stones, they won't be nearly as responsive....
What a visceral and rich piece on this ancient and powerful place. I am left contemplating what the original practices may have been and the rich imagery carved on the stones, not to mention the ancient dance of light throughout the year and how our ancestors were far more attuned to it. Thank you.
The whole time I was reading this, I was thinking how LUCKY YOU ARE to be able to experience this place. Given the frequency of mists, I wonder how often people were able to see the sun enter at sunrise on this day. Thank you...your article, photos have given me the sense that I am there...I can almost feel the stones, smell the air, hear the drums. Keep writing....It has been fun to be with you on this trip.....
re: I wonder how often people were able to see the sun enter at sunrise on this day.
We don't know how often the sun illuminated the chamber in the stone age because it's thousands of years before recorded history. In my experience of recent years there is a 1 in 3 chance of a clear or partially clear sunrise.
Elyn, what an absorbing trip you took me on this morning...your writing is so evocative! Thank you for sharing the mystery of this place - it is now on my list for future travels.
I am glad that you all are vicariously enjoying Loughcrew. It's a very powerful place--I've returned there several times and each time is a new revelation. Loughcrew is worth visiting at any time of year--though winter would be a bit chilly! Be sure to arrange for the key (details in our book or online) or an "attuned" guide--like Michael Fox, who has commented above.
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I agree with all the above. Felt as if I was there for a moment. Your description certainly makes me want to go there. Thank
you for sharing this special experience in such a beautiful way.