Walking Softly: Energetic Respect on Another’s Land

Why Energetic Tourism Isn’t Always the Medicine We Think It Is..

When we step onto land that is not ours, whether it’s held by others physically, ancestrally, or energetically, we are stepping into a story mid-sentence.
The land is always speaking, but not always to us, and certainly not always right away.

I have sat with this concept for many years, never fully sharing the words out of fear – fear of causing offence, or sounding as though I were speaking from a pedestal wrapped in ego. But I’ve come to realise: there are no pedestals here.

You see, I’ve never visited a space where I wasn’t permitted access.
I used to think it was because I carry certain codes and keys within me, that the doorways vanish before my eyes. And that’s partly true. But it’s deeper than that.
It’s because I don’t expect anything. I don’t expect an activation. I don’t expect to connect with a certain goddess or walk into another realm. I have never called in an energy that I don’t walk with daily.

Years ago, I sat in the woods across the bridge and listened to Yolandi drum for twenty minutes, happily leaning against a tree, listening to the buzzards soaring above the trees. Not my land. Does this mean she is the only one working with it? Of course not, it’s just not mine to play in the realms of. I will tell it stories, curled up with a blanket in the dark hours, listening to the wind chime in her garden. The land knows me, but I’m on a guest pass. I’ll share with it – but I won't share about it.

I was talking to Ceryn the other day, after our family adventure to the North. We were swapping photos when she noted that I hadn’t sat in a rather prominent chair that a leyline runs through. I replied instantly: “Why would I do that!?” It’s not my throne to sit upon. (It’s hers, and she’ll probably feel a little itchy about me saying that, but it is hers.) And in that moment, I knew: I have no interest in sitting on anyone else’s throne. I was a guest; purely there to assist, with no further explanation or exchange needed.

But the part that settled more deeply within me was the realisation that I’ve always worked this way, since I was six years old, telling the willow trees stories at the bottom of my school playing field. Running back to class with a wolf bigger than I was at my side. I didn’t know any differently, and as per usual, in true Charlie, I was never told or taught differently.

After integrating from the North, it came time to draft something to share with my sacred weaving community, and I found I couldn’t put a single word on the page.
Now, as someone who lives and works with a land that is heavily cloaked, this is not a new concept. People might think they know Cornwall, and yet she has wild, unshared levels that aren’t for outsiders.

You wouldn’t believe the amount of files and folders, notes and stories from the land that I am sitting on, waiting for the nod to share. I often wonder if I’ll eventually open a library of it all one day.

Can’t you just see me as a saucy librarian, sitting with my glasses on at the front desk with my date stamp, telling people to be quiet? Me, of all people! You have to laugh.
But perhaps the ‘quiet’ is the key part of this blog. As I sat wondering: how do I write about a place that has captured my heart but doesn’t want me to share about it?

Well, the only right answer is that we honour the request and we don’t share it outside of ourselves. Some things ask to be shared, but not all things.

Northumberland is...And even now, as I type, my vision blurs and my hands shake.
Northumberland is a wonder and an honour to support. At the moment, that’s as much as I can say – and maybe over the years that will change, maybe it won’t, and I’m OK with that.

Before our human minds jump too far ahead, let me say clearly: this isn’t about shaming anyone who travels across the world seeking wisdom and, upon their return, shares it. Some souls came here for that role – to transmit energy as they move, to weave their path across the planet. However, that’s not what I am here for.
I was born to point out the elephant in the room, and in this case, it’s an unspoken elephant of an industry.

For me, this is a key that opens a box of tricks and false prophecies in our industry.
From mangled ideas that we only go on a pilgrimage if we wear linen, or a kaftan, or one of my favourites – that you can’t be spiritual unless you've been blessed by a shaman or hold a certificate. If we continue along this path, we will be gathering only in certain buildings on certain days, or we won’t be ‘spiritual enough’ to ascend.

Our industry – because it is ours, despite what we may be told – is telling people they can land somewhere for a few days and unlock ancient gateways or ancestral wisdom.
It’s like handing them a map with no compass, or a key to a door they were never meant to enter. It’s not guidance – it’s a setup for disconnection.

This work, it’s about presence.
About remembering that we are all visitors, and that the energy we bring to every space matters. When we visit another’s land, we’re not just crossing physical borders, we’re entering memory, spirit, and lineage. There will always be History, but there may also be pain there. Ceremony. Resistance. blood and failure.

Some places are not for us to dig into. Not for us to speak on. We can ask if we’re unsure. But after twenty years of this work, your body knows.

We cannot assume our resonance is right.
We cannot assume our presence is a blessing.

Let the land decide. Let it speak, or stay silent.

And so – may we walk softly, humbly, and with deep listening on another’s land.

Oceans of Love Cx

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Ps - There are three tickets left for Project Earthwork Glastonbury Workshop this July - Come gather with us if you feel the pull. We would love for you to join us.