'Places where the veil is thin allow for pauses in the flow of what we know – or think we know – of time. A place to imagine what it all might mean, how we have been, how we maybe could be – space to more clearly see a way through.'
(Thin Places, Kerri Ní Dochartaigh)
I came across the concept of thin places many moons ago. It’s an ancient Celtic concept that describes a place where the boundary between heaven and earth is especially thin. Where those who believe in a higher being can sense its presence. This can be experienced by anyone, irrespective of faith or belief. It is, I believe, being open to nature with its mystical and spiritual qualities.
Many people have commented that during the last two years, through the various lockdowns, they have, even for the first time, become aware of the powerfulness of nature to inspire, nurture, and nourish the soul.
For me, my usual go-to thin places, always by water and usually by the sea, became unreachable at that time. I think of St Non’s Chapel on the Pembrokeshire headland just outside St Davids, St Davids itself and its cathedral nestled in a holy hollow, a place of pilgrimage for centuries. But my thin places are not always directly associated with places of faith, in fact most aren’t. I have discovered them in the Lefka Ori limestone mountains on the Greek island of Crete as they shimmer in the heat of the dazzling Mediterranean sun; the tiny verdant island retreat on Lake Bunyonyi in southern Uganda; the delightful section (and there are so many) of the Wales Coastal Path from Abersoch to Llanbedrog on the Llŷn Peninsula taking in the views over Porth Neigwl; swimming in the clear waters of Coniston on a warm, sunny day in the Lake District and the trek to the ruins of ‘King Arthur’s castle’ on Tintagel island in Cornwall. What they all have in common is that when I am there, I feel a sense of otherness, of being taken out of myself. It is a liberating, sublime, evocative experience. It creates a lightness of spirit and produces clarity of thought. And when Covid restricted our movement, I learnt to experience these precious, thin places more locally: at a particular tree on the Dinefwr estate, alongside the winding river Towy and amongst the carpet of bluebells in Tregib Woods.
I have learnt from others too, who have shared their experiences of thin places:
Christopher Kelly talks about the concept of the forest being nature’s cathedral and admits that despite being a rational person, always wanting empirical evidence to back up any claims he might make, confesses that,
“I often catch myself slipping into a primal sense of awe whenever I take a walk under a canopy of trees in the forest. In this place, not quite quiet or secluded, yet marked by a peaceful solitude I feel doors opening within to a primordial part of myself. I’m engulfed in an immeasurable reverence of the giant trees that surround me. A part of me rebels against my rational self to wonder what sorts of strange spirits dance in this magical real.”
In her amazing autobiographical book, Thin Places, Kerri Ní Dochartaigh, speaks of her thin places as being places of healing where
‘We are reminded, in the deepest, rawest parts of our being, that we are nature. It is in and of us. We are not superior or inferior, separate or removed.’
I thoroughly recommend this amazing little book. It took me completely by surprise as some had described it as a nature book when in fact, for me at least, it was so much more If you’d like to find out what I thought of it, you can read my published review in Nation.Cymru
Once you have an awareness of thin places you will be continuously open to them and begin to experience them all around you. Over this past Easter weekend, I found myself on the beautiful coast of Ceredigion. I was especially delighted by dolphins off the harbour in New Quay and of our visit to Mwnt, a small coastal cove just south of Cardigan. It’s tiny but beautiful. The coastal path drops down to a secluded cove, perfectly sheltered from the wind, its crystal waters glistening in the early Spring sunshine. Absolute bliss.
So, where are your thin places? Maybe you’ve found yourself somewhere where you too have experienced this otherness, this in between place. Perhaps, you have favourite haunts that you return to when you need that spiritual top up. Or maybe you are yet to experience that ancient Celtic concept. It’s there for the taking, just open your eyes and your soul to the possibilities. And maybe when you do find it, you will in Kerri’s words have ‘space to more clearly see a way through.’
Please share your thin places with me. I’d love to hear more.