In June of 1976 my partner Suzy and I walked barefoot into Findhorn Park Community from the beach at Culbin Sands.
We were young twenty somethings; back packers and hitch hikers to the universe
Our Tribe had been the veterans of Woodstock; Isle of Wight; and the poets and artisans of Berkeley; Big Sur and the lower east side of New York’s Greenwich village.
We didn’t know what community was; We didn’t know what New Age was.
We were accidental tourists, barefoot pilgrims; jacks of all trades, and masters of none;
Living on love; and the luck of the road.

We had been camping on Skye; in the Gods of the Celtic twilight this was the Hibernian paradise and portal into the golden isles of Eternity that arises from the dark cobalt swirl of the Minch. I swim in the nude. So did the Druids. We were lovers. Every day was screams of joy. Every day some new adventure.
Luck was on our side. We picked up a young couple hitch hiking; they had left their car at a garage for repairs and were headed home to their stone croft.
They were carrying their groceries; Spirit said stop; we did and assisted them. They invited us to camp near their croft.
You listen to the intuitive mirror; and practice simple love;
We go with the flow; nothing Pollyanna; just fearless neutrality.

An ancient stone croft greeted us up along a steep mountain face overlooking the Irish Sea and Minch. It was an eagle eerie cut into the rugged hillside. Our hosts said 1700’s and we believed them.
The views were drop dead gorgeous and mesmerizing. Sea fog climbed in little fingers up from the sea to where our tent was. It drifted inland at eye level and swallowed our bodies but not our heads which bathed in blue sky and sun shine.
Never had we expected such drama and phenomena as our bodies were bathed in a swirl of tiny sun fused crystals of rainbow light while our heads basked in sunshine.
We walked about giddy with laughter.

A sparkling blue eye grandmother with a shock of white hair greeted us at the door with Gaelic.
She was our host’s mother who was caretaking their 3 year old toddler. The two women spoke the poetry of Gaelic with one another. It sounded like poetry in song in a language we had never heard before.
With the patches of sea fog drifting in, under a blue sky of sun light, we were invited in and given a wee dram in coarse clay cups.
It greeted our lips in celebration and rolled the tongue with hints of peat and seaweed and cleared the pallet with a clean finish.
Who knew?
The babe, a playful scamp, was readied for his bath as a bright copper tub was placed before the hearth and its peat fire. Then in singing ritual the child was stripped by the two women and lowered lovingly into the tub where he was scrubbed in Gaelic song.

Were we dreaming? Time and space seemed to slip into antiquity and we weren’t sure what year it was or even what century it was.
We stayed the weekend exploring Skye; imagining its legends of green sea dragons and beautiful sea sirens plying their magical harps on sacred rocks.
When it was time to go our guests hosted us with a breakfast and hugs and a tacky tourist map of Scotland with their contact written on it.
To find their contact you had to unfold the map. Inside the map showed places to visit around Scotland. Each place had some sort of childish emoji stamped upon it. Loch Ness for instance, had a Nessie wearing a Tartan hat, and Culloden had a kilted Shakespearian Macbeth with sword raised.
The area of Findhorn was more curious. It had the emoji of three fly agaric mushrooms the type seen with the hookah smoking caterpillar in Lewis Carol’s Alice and Wonderland. Unsure what to make of it. Said our goodbyes and headed off in our VW camper.

In those days, there was no cell phone no google no internet and no mint on the pillow. Everything was by word of mouth or the intuitive mirror.
We were on a journey of a lifetime. One door kept opening up to another then another.
We toured Inverness and visited Culloden and Shakespeare’s Cawdor. After Cawdor, it was either drive or camp. The tacky holiday map just fell off the dash.
There are no accidents.
We arrived at Culbin Sands holiday camp; got take outs at the Bunty, swam and danced the goat dance under the mid night sun, telling tales of brave Ulysses, the labyrinth and the minotaur who guards it.
Life was about to be never the same.

The next morning was glorious; we met an old druid walking his dog on the beach. His eyes dazzled in the morning sun and sea as he told us of a Spar shop just through the dunes where we might get supplies for our camp.
“Be careful not to get lost in the dunes,” he said with eyes sparkling.
Little did we know what awaited us. The Dunes we found out later were known since antiquity as a Devic and Nature power point; a labyrinth of hidden passageways and doorways to nowhere camouflaged in Gorse and heather; time stands still there amid the twisted bramble. Was there a minotaur? Only the mind gets in the way.
We traversed the dunes and as predicted got turned around; then in one sharp turn got on a trail that led us to the back of the hall.
We weren’t in Kansas anymore.

The hall was a construction site with an upright piano and no roof. We had no idea about what it was or could be. We did feel very welcomed there; yet there was not a soul there.
We walked about barefoot hand in hand like two children in an enchanted forest. Exploring pubs (publications) and the meditation room; stepping into the beauty of the gardens; the Park and the potting sheds; even the Community Centre all gleamed with love and care; yet not a soul anywhere.
We walked around to several caravans expecting to see Snow White and the seven dwarfs who lived and worked in this tiny house village and found nobody.
But what we did find in those quiet moments was this overwhelming presence of spirit that glowed in a sense of peace and joy everywhere we went. If there was magic here, this was it. Even the bungalows and the caravans all seemed to have these animated happy spirits much like the kind seen in children’s books. It was a unique experience.
We were attracted to it. Even the tools in the potting sheds and the stoves in the kitchens gleamed with love and care and it had a profound intrinsic effect on us.
We felt the magic and had a ball exploring around everything without someone explaining of what we experiencing
I’m so honoured to have experienced Findhorn this way. It was unique.

We got to the Spar Shop and were told the entire community went to Roseisle for the day.
“Please come back tomorrow,” they said.  We did. Had great fun and served five years.

My biggest take away written now, fifty years later, is that the whole time I was a member quarrying and cutting stone there we never felt or were taught that Findhorn’s purpose was in the 3-d.
Yes, it mattered that there was a community and it was growing. Yet it was made clear to us (me at least) that the community’s true work was outside the 3-d. It was outside the form and the physical; it was in the heart of the spiritual.

We really didn’t have a language for it at the time. You have to perceive form outside the box: just like in healing you have to make space; clean out the closet; prepare the seed; compost the soil of its negativity; allow for the play of the elements: earth fire water air ether, to do their transformation magic.
So consciousness can grow; so planetary awareness can thrive.

People worry about whether Findhorn can survive as everything in the 3-d is shifting….
Honour that Findhorn exists everywhere around the planet. Honour that it has touched millions; and even thousands more who have never been here or heard about it.
Honour that its existence is in the 4-d (and higher) as it was meant to be.
Honour that there is not one Health food store; one farmers market; one yoga studio or alternative health and therapy centre that has not been touched by it somehow and in someway

My wish if I could wave a magic wand is that it creates an institute of elders who have healing experience; who have  done the heavy lifting and have some knowledge of the esotericism and who have heart practices and are practitioners  (yoga, Prayer, Tai Chi, Chi Gong, Heart Math are examples) who would be willing to sit at international peace conferences on the environment, on the climate so as to give fledgling support to issues and communities worldwide that would be honoured to have Findhorn back in spiritual support.
I think such an entity could pay for itself with membership as all members would be ambassadors

Food for thought. Thank you, Findhorn, for allowing me to serve there. Much love; big hugs

Michael Davidson