This week, I fully intended to write about the wonderful time Carla and I spent in York, England. In fact, I had already finished the blog and was working through a few final edits when, after a visit to Stonehenge, I felt I had to change course. The impressions, feelings, and reflections were simply too strong - they were pouring out of me, demanding to be shared.
So, I decided to put York on hold this week to write about Stonehenge instead. But for those looking forward to the York blog, don’t worry - it’s coming next week, and I promise it’ll be worth the wait, complete with a lovely video from our time there.
For now, let’s talk about Stonehenge . . .
The journey began with a two-kilometer walk through the beautiful English countryside leading to the site. As I approached the magnificent stones, I assumed that in my excitement to see this incredible site, I would immediately start taking photos. After all, that’s what I do - I document, I capture moments, I preserve what I see through my lens. And yet, when I arrived, I felt no rush to start snapping photos with my iPhone.
Instead, I simply stood there, completely absorbed by the majesty of the place. There was something about it - its ancient, silent wisdom, its sense of enduring mystery - that made me pause. Without even realizing it, I felt the need to get to know my subject first, before I started photographing it.
So, I took a moment to breathe it all in. The weight of time, the precision of the stones, the quiet hum of history in the air - it all settled around me. I wasn’t just looking at a famous landmark; I was standing in the presence of something timeless, something sacred.
Then, without consciously deciding - without telling myself, okay, now you’re ready to take photos - it just happened. Organically. Naturally. Once I made the connection – once I was feeling Stonehenge rather than just seeing it - the photos came effortlessly.
Even though we don’t truly know why Stonehenge was built - there are theories, but that’s all - there’s a sacredness about it that touches each person who visits in a deeply personal way. As I stood before this ancient, mysterious structure, I realized something unexpected – the reason it was built no longer mattered to me.
The scholar in me once craved an answer to that question, believing that understanding its purpose would somehow enrich the experience. But after seeing it in person, I now understand that the mystery itself is what makes it profound.
In fact, I wouldn’t want to know the full story anymore. Something about not knowing feels more fitting. Whether or not we ever uncover its true purpose is irrelevant. Perhaps Stonehenge was always meant to be a mystery, something that invites us to step away from our need for explanations and instead, simply feel its presence. When we stop searching for answers, we stop analyzing. And when we stop analyzing, we start experiencing.
Standing before these towering stones, I didn’t feel a connection to some unknowable force beyond myself. I felt something even more tangible - a deep, undeniable connection to the Earth. It wasn’t about the divine, the supernatural, or something “out there.” It was about being here, on this planet, surrounded by the ancient and enduring, feeling a part of it all.
In that moment, with the wind moving through the stones and time itself seeming to stand still, I was reminded of just how remarkable this world is - despite all the ways we complicate it. Maybe that’s the real face of the sacred - not something distant or beyond us, but the simple and profound sense of love and oneness with all that is.
For me, that was the true experience of Stonehenge. And I wouldn’t trade that mystery for anything.
Thank you, Stonehenge, for your magic, beauty, and mystery.
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