A Spring Equinox visit to St Clether with the Tamar Dowsers—a journey of sacred water, ancient stone and the rebellious energy that reminds me how to just "be."

There is something so profound about the Spring Equinox. It is that tipping point on the Celtic Wheel where the light finally begins to surpass the dark and we get to decide exactly how we want to grow alongside it.

Last week, as a member of the Tamar Dowsers, I joined a visit to the historic St Clether Holy Well and Chapel. Even though I grew up in Cornwall, this was a first for me. It was a reminder that sometimes the most magical places are right under our noses, just waiting for the right moment to call us in.

The Guardian, the Hermitage and the Legacy

Before I dive into the energy of the day, I have to mention Vanda Inman, who is the current Guardian of the well and chapel passed down through her family. Her dedication is the reason this sanctuary still breathes today. The site dates back to the 4th Century, named after Saint Clether, one of the twenty-four children of King Brychan. It was originally a Hermitage, a place of deep, quiet seclusion where the Saint lived a life of prayer in harmony with the wild valley.

Vanda oversaw the vital restoration that saved the chapel from becoming a ruin once more, keeping it a peaceful, open space for everyone. It is because of her stewardship that we can still stand in this ancient spot and feel the connection to the land and water. While the building itself has been rebuilt over the centuries, the massive granite altar stone has remained a constant throughout all of it, a solid, unmoving witness to every prayer and ceremony held here since the very beginning.

The Walk into the Valley

Our journey began with a walk through the graveyard and around the outside of the newer parish church. This felt like a true pilgrimage, stepping out from the village and into the wilder, hidden world of the Inny Valley.

As we walked, I could feel the threads of energy radiating off the water like tactile currents weaving through the air. For me, sensing energy is a very palpable, "charged " feeling, almost like the static before a summer storm or the deep, humming quiet of a cathedral. It isn't just an idea, it's a physical vibration in the landscape that I pick up on immediately. As I looked up at the towering landscape, I could see the magnificent Rock Guardians. These ancient stone sentinels stand watch over the valley, and you can absolutely feel their gaze as you pass by.

Sensing the Rebellious Chi

As many of you who follow my work know, my system reacts strongly to the energy. This is not limited to just a specific location; it is how I process the world wherever I am working and interacting with the energy of the land, people, or animals. In my case, this physical process manifests as a burp.

I heard this phenomenon beautifully named during an outing the day before at Buckfast Abbey with the Devon Dowsers. While exploring the Abbey and grounds, I was able to identify the chakra points moving up the central aisle. My system is reacting with every step, and those burps can certainly reach a bit of a crescendo! Someone mentioned they had heard it called "Rebellious Chi " and it fits perfectly. It is the physical way I feel and process energy of any kind; it happens regardless of whether there is a rod or a pendulum in my hand.

Some people are a bit phased by it at first, but more often than not, the accuracy of it leads to a shared laugh. It's an automatic response that keeps my dowsing light-hearted. My rod and my system often react at the exact same moment. It might feel "rebellious", but it is incredibly consistent.

That Chi was in a powerful state all day at St Clether. My body was constantly reacting as it processed the vibrations of the valley. But the moment we began our ceremony, my system went perfectly quiet. It stayed still and silent while we did the work, only releasing again once we had finished. It is incredible how the body knows when it is time to hold space.

Entering the Thin Place

The valley path ends at a gateway to the sacred site. Stepping through it, I was hit by a deep, visceral wave of sanctity.

Thin Places are those truly magical spaces between realms where the veil simply falls away. St Clether is one of those places. You do not just see the landscape; you inhabit it. The air feels different, and time seems to fold. You are standing in a frequency that is much older than any of us, where the physical and spiritual worlds meet and the mundane world just fades into the background.

Fire, Water, and the Equinox Ceremony

Last weekend was a fascinating mix of a high church in a religious context and a very ancient chapel. For me, the common thread is not the building itself but the land on which they both sit.

Churches, wells, and places of pilgrimage are often built upon much older sacred sites than the buildings that currently stand upon them. The structure may change and the religion may shift, but the energy of the earth remains constant—much like that altar stone that has anchored this chapel for over a millennium.

After a break for lunch among the daffodils and some glorious Cornish sunshine, we entered the chapel for our Equinox ceremony led by Helen Fox. A huge thank you to Helen, who held the space so beautifully. Standing where the healing holy water flows from the well house, through the chapel, and directly beneath the granite altar, we opened the sacred space and linked into the elements of the Celtic Wheel to mark this point of balance in the year.

The ceremony gave us the opportunity to truly give our voices to our intentions and goals, birthing that new energy for growth to carry us through to Samhain. For me, it was a time to reflect on how I wish to show up in the world, setting those intentions amidst fire offerings and blessings and even some delicious chocolate eggs.

We felt the connection of all four elements as a gentle breeze blew through the open space, extinguishing some of our candles—a reminder that the air was very much part of our circle. We ended by anointing ourselves with the healing waters, which were once famous for their miraculous qualities. To top it all off, the atmosphere became truly entrancing when one of our members shared her beautiful voice, the sound ringing through the stone walls.

The Memory of the Water

Since returning from the valley, I have had the chance to freeze some of the water I collected from the healing well using Veda Austin’s crystallisation technique. I wanted to see what the "spirit" of the water might reveal.

The results were breathtaking. In the ice, I can clearly see a three-sided shape. A triangle mirroring the geometry of the holy well and the chapel itself. It feels like a beautiful, visual confirmation of the site’s unique signature. To me, it was as if the water had carried the memory and the very form of the sanctuary where it rises.

Final Thoughts

This day was a powerful reminder of why I do what I do. While dowsing is the "how," the "why" is the wild magic of this land and the joy of being among like-minded souls. That is what truly feeds the spirit.

Stepping into the Inny Valley felt like a physical reflection of the change in perspective I’ve embraced on my website. Just as the valley offers a sanctuary away from the noise, I’ve found a new freedom in creating a balanced, intentional space here on my blog. It’s about honouring where we are called to be, moving away from "doing" for the sake of an audience and returning to a right relationship with life and those who find their way here.

In these sacred, thin places, I find the courage to show up as my authentic self. It is a reminder that when we stop striving and simply start being, we find exactly what we need to move forward.

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About the Author

Jane Taylor is a Writer, Therapist, and Wellbeing Educator. Her work is shaped by her own journey and a deep understanding of how the body carries history at a cellular level, helping others unblock their natural flow toward wholeness.

Her new project, Wild Edge Dartmoor, is an invitation to let the words rest. There are no captions, no explanations, no marketing, and no noise—just the tors, the rivers, the villages, the light of the moor and its inhabitants. She provides the image and leaves the rest for you.

Follow the journey on Instagram: @wildedgedartmoor