Phoenicians, Egyptians and Greeks journeyed to these coasts
even before the Iron Age, in search of Keltic wisdom, since long
before the time of my youth. They followed the trail of gold and
wisdom across the sea to Cornwall and then to Wales and Ireland.
Later, tin trade followed these routes across Brittany and the
journeys of wise men and saints to the west of land, the land of
setting sun, of Gods and the quest for immortality that haunts
us all. Ships and boats from the French and Spanish coasts often
sailed to rivers on the south coast of Cornwall in search of
trade and journey with the friendly and civilised Keltii,
hopefully avoiding the pirates that have ravaged these coasts
for millennia.
2000 years ago I was killed trying to save my mother from
Portuguese raiders on the river, who stole the gold that came
from Ireland. My story is located in the valley of one of these
rivers, now called ‘River Fowey’. It is a story that I have not
been able to tell until now. My own story starts with the visit
of Jesus of Nazareth to the river Fowey in 30 AD (according to
the Julian Calendar and allowing for a seven year
miscalculation). He was twenty-three years old. He journeyed on
a vision quest to the west-of-land, in search of the wisdom of
the Keltii and union with his father spirit. I have spent much
time thinking about this moment and my brief encounter with a
man who claimed to be Son of God. For hundreds of years I
puzzled at his smile, the light in his gaze. He had a quality of
being rare in the extreme, an utter and unconditional compassion
for all life.
Who am I? A ghost; Fintan, born 2000 years ago and caught in the
matrix of nature unable to tell my story until now. I am here in
an ancient land, waiting for you to read my