Sacred Isles: Exploring the Mysteries

03/09/2026

Something I had been yearning to witness for a long time finally happened this August: I saw the salmon leap.

At the Falls of Shin, Atlantic salmon were making their way back upstream — returning from the ocean into Scottish rivers to complete their extraordinary cycle and create the next generation.

And then suddenly: a flash of silver, a body launching itself against the falling water.

An astonishing sight.

The longer story of this encounter will find its way into my upcoming book, Scotland: A Portrait Through Its Places, Plants and Animals.

One more glimpse into what Scotland is — told through the beings and places that shape it.

31/08/2026

I’m deeply grateful that my work allows me to spend so much time in places I love — and even to turn some of my deepest interests into a livelihood.

There is one funny downside, though: I keep returning to places I already know.

Beautiful as that is, it means there is often surprisingly little time simply to explore somewhere new, with no programme to run and no group to look after.

This summer I gave myself two full weeks travelling through Scotland on my own. Of course I was also curious about places that might one day find their way into Sacred Isles journeys — but, more importantly, I wanted time simply to wander, discover, regenerate, and fall in love with Scotland again.

And it worked.

Completely.

I came back with that wonderful feeling renewed: this is home. This is where I belong.

27/08/2026

Something has changed in me over the years of living in Scotland.

When I first arrived, I loved having a beautiful beach or hidden bay completely to myself — and could get quite irritated if someone else turned up and “discovered” it too.

Now I feel differently.

Not about huge crowds. I’m not quite there yet.

But there is something beautiful about sharing a place with other people who are also genuinely moved by it. Sometimes it is only a glance, a smile, a few words — but somehow the shared experience makes the moment more real.

I felt this very strongly recently at Chanonry Point, famous for its dolphins.

I knew there would be people there. I hadn’t quite expected hundreds.

But as the tide came in, the bottlenose dolphins followed the salmon into the Moray Firth, passing astonishingly close to shore. And suddenly everyone was watching together — people from all over the world, phones and cameras raised, children with bright eyes, strangers laughing and pointing as these huge, wonderfully lazy dolphins surfaced in front of us.

It was not solitude.

But it was still magic.

Just a different kind.

26/08/2026

One of the things I love about Scotland is that sometimes you expect crowds — and then, somehow, there is nobody.

That happened to me recently at Plodda Falls, near Glen Affric.

The forecast was bad. Drizzle, midges, not exactly an inviting evening. I nearly didn’t go, but decided to anyway.

And then, for the hour I was there, the weather cleared.

A huge waterfall plunging down into the gorge, enormous volumes of water rushing away beneath it, wet forest all around — and absolutely nobody else there.

Just me, the waterfall, a few persistent midges, and that extraordinary feeling of having stumbled into somewhere magnificent at exactly the right moment.

Scotland is good at that.

24/08/2026

What a magnificent summer it has been. Scotland has shown itself from its very best side — in its wildness, but also in the endlessly changing play of cloud, light, water and stone.

A particular highlight was our 14-day Orkney exploration, the biggest Sacred Isles event so far. It was fully booked, with even a waiting list — which felt like something worth celebrating.

So I’ve already put together another Orkney journey for next summer.

This time it will be a little earlier in the year, giving us better chances for puffins and breeding seabirds — and, with luck, some of Orkney’s long, bright, surprisingly dry early-summer days.

But the format will also be different. Rather than trying to explore the whole archipelago, this will be an Orkney Intensive: one full week, one centrally located base, carefully chosen day trips to extraordinary places, and much more time to deepen what we encounter.

There will be quiet and meditative mornings, our explorations during the day, and evening sessions to digest, share and deepen the experiences.

Less rushing from place to place. More time to really meet Orkney.

The new journey is now on the Sacred Isles website — have a look if Orkney is calling you.

A small-group intensive in the wide landscapes of Orkney — working with perception, presence and deep time. Through encounters with stone, sea, sky, wildlife and ancient places, we deepen our connection to nature, to ourselves, and to the living world around us.

09/07/2026

I’ve recently started offering more guided tours for individuals and small groups — and I’m really pleased to see how warmly this is being received.

Just now I finished a Zoom call with a couple I’ll be guiding around Orkney next year for a few days. In a few weeks, I’ll be with a small group in the Moray Firth and Inverness area for four days. And more and more shorter invitations are coming in too — day trips and local explorations around Edinburgh and East Lothian.

It is wonderful to see this side of my work growing: custom-tailored journeys and guided days in Scotland for people with a spiritual, historical, and landscape-based interest.

So yes — I’m very much open to more of this.

If you are curious about sacred sites, islands, stone circles, holy wells, Celtic-Christian places, Goethean observation, or simply want to experience Scotland in a deeper way, feel free to get in touch.

11/06/2026

I’ve just sent the first proofread print of my new book to a few friends for feedback.

Who else would like to have a pre-read?

I’m looking for a small number of people who would be willing to read it carefully, give honest feedback, and — if the book speaks to you — write a short review afterwards.

The book is called Belonging Is a Practice, and it is about recovering depth, aliveness and connection through perception.

Message me if you’d like to be part of this early circle of readers.

04/06/2026

Die Reisepläne sind in vollem Gange – und im Juni stehen gleich zwei Veranstaltungen für deutschsprachige Interessierte an:

Vom 12.–14. Juni findet am Quellhof das Seminar
„Schule der Wahrnehmung – Westliche Mysterien und Skythianos“ statt.

Am 22. Juni folgt ein Abendvortrag im Forum 3 in Stuttgart:
„Polaritäten der altägyptischen Kultur und der Megalithkultur“ – als eine Urspannung, die helfen kann, unsere Gegenwart besser zu verstehen.

Dabei geht es auch um die Frage, wie Wahrnehmung aus der Krise einer bloßen Verstandessackgasse herausführen kann.

Bei Interesse oder für weitere Informationen gerne einfach melden.

01/06/2026

News from Sacred Isles

A small but joyful milestone: Exploring Orkney 2026 is now fully booked, with nine participants signed up.

That feels exciting — and it confirms that offering longer summer journeys was the right move. These trips allow enough time to arrive properly, to stay with a landscape, and to let the places speak in their own rhythm.

In 2027, the main summer journey will be to Ireland, focusing especially on the southern and western parts of the island — sacred landscapes, old monastic traces, wells, stones, coastline, and the deep atmosphere of place.

And there is also a new, shorter Ireland offering: a midwinter gathering in Dublin, shaped around witnessing the winter solstice at Newgrange, with visits to other sacred sites as well.

This will be a smaller, lighter format: a journey we undertake together, while participants book their own accommodation.

So: Orkney is full. Ireland is opening.

Sacred Isles is slowly taking shape — one journey at a time.

30/05/2026

Common starfish in the North Sea, during the spawning season, gather in dense aggregations, or release eggs and s***m directly into the water column — a process known as broadcast spawning.

At the beginning of this week, just beyond Belhaven Bridge, Dunbar, along the high-water tide line, I found an entire stretch of shore packed with them.

Thousands upon thousands. Perhaps far more. What felt like millions.

A mass grave of starfish.

They were pale and whitish, all colour gone from them, as if the sea had washed them out before laying them down. Yet they were still soft to the touch — not dry, not hardened, not long dead. Freshly waved ashore.

Some seemed not entirely dead yet, but lifeless and weak, as if dying without resistance in a slow, timeless fading. The end of their cycle, perhaps. The sea having gathered them, spent them, and then returned them to the shore.

I had never seen anything like it.

It was beautiful and terrible at the same time. Not a bright spectacle, but a bleached and silent one: so much life, suddenly visible because it had ended.

And it touched me more than I expected.

Wild swimmers were at Wardie Bay in Edinburgh when they came across the animals.