Victor Krum, our famous compatriot and character in J. K. Rowling’s book Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, confides to Hermione Granger that the school of magic to which he belongs is magically hidden amidst a locality, which focuses the energies of nature and ancient knowledge. This place predisposes to a flight over woods, mountains and lakes. It both exists and is invisible to the eyes.

When I stood on the rocky plateau of Belintash to embrace the world around me, my first association brought to mind the words of this boy and the feeling that his mysterious school was somewhere here. I had the feeling a great secret was hidden at an arm’s length and if I lifted the curtain of air, shimmering in the sun, I was bound to see the school of magic – with edges smoothed by time, built of water, wood and stone, radiant in its peace…

This was the beginning of my journey to Belintash, which brought me in touch with a far more comprehensive and original knowledge that links me to our Earth, which is a temple, magic and truth.

Legends about this place have it that somewhere in the rock’s womb an ancient library was hidden

And some affirm that the gate of the Holy Spirit is here. It is no accident that the nearby neighbourhood is called Vrata (gate) and the nearby village Mostovo (bridge). The Thracians’ wisdom exists, embedded in the rock, untouched by vain ambitions. Guarded by the god of knowledge Sabasius himself. Perhaps this is why people called the locality Belintash – in literal translation from Turkic, “stone which knows”.

Belintash is above the Vrata neighbourhood, at an hour and a half hike from Krastova Gora. To get there by car, take the road from Asenovgrad to Kardjali. At the farther end of Cherven village there is a sign and a right turn. The road winds, offering wonderful views of the Rhodopes crests. You can get by car to the foot of the sacred hill. Further you have a half an hour walk and meetings with orchids, pine-trees and the fresh air of the Rhodopes.

I did the same. On the path to the top I noticed the earth resounded under my feet, as if it were the roof of a huge cave. This made me cross the barriers of my innate scepticism and believe in legends.

The climbing was hard. I humbly followed in the footsteps of a group of much more competent but unnecessarily noisy Sunday tourists, who were on the track of modernity and publicity. I understand the Belintash rock is a favourite spot for many extrasensers, who visit it to get charged with energy. I hear about the “twitch” of the measuring devices under the influence of the strong magnetic field in the locality, and I agree with the scientists’ hypothesis that the stone, cut by strange little pits and grooves is a star map used thousands of years ago by visitors from space…

I gather information about the phenomenon but I also try to preserve my senses fresh for the forthcoming encounter. I don’t want to get in touch with Belintash with gloves and glasses on, burdened with expectations. So, I hurry forward and clear my mind, giving it the opportunity to discover for itself the magic of this remarkable place. I go out of the loose pinewood and before me appears

the profile of the guardian of the sacred place

A sort of Sphinx, staring at the universe. The last short climb is along a narrow metal ladder, fitted between the rocks. I feel pretty much like an astronaut waving to his folks from the platform an instant before he enters the spaceship and takes to the stars.

I overcome the darkness and dampness of the overhanging overgrown rocks, and my gaze flies through infinity. The layers of time dissolve, and I am engulfed by a single earthly breath. I identify myself as a part of tomorrow, yesterday and today. I watch the smooth stone with the eyes of a modern man and at the same time I cut it as a Thracian priestess, seeking salvage for her people. My body becomes a point of intersection of all Rhodopes winds which startled on their way, come to caress me. The woods are calling me on all sides. The view is breathtaking 360 degrees round.

The stone takes a look at me to keep me in its memory

At such moments you invariably think about time – your own and other’s. The peaceful world around Belintash resounds in your ears, inviting you for a dance in which you forget your own transience and become eternity. Now you know the rock remembers its earlier inhabitants, that it is dynamic and reviving in its life cycle. Standing on it, you unhesitatingly say goodbye to the literary illusions, to your symbolist concepts of the stone as a rigid guardian of stability. Belintash is too well loved to be conserved. Long rocked in the cradle of people’s veneration and natural beauty,

it is curious, expectant, smiling

and if it evokes thoughts of God, it is by no means of the Christian embodiments of the original unitary essence but of pagan ideas, leading back to the fertile and life-giving female principle.

Once you set foot at this place, you wish to stay there forever, as in oblivion or dream, to take off like garments the layers of your subjective human will, in order to be a rock, a leaf of grass, a sun… until you yourself become Belintash – not a temple of knowledge, but the knowledge itself: about time, about the universe, about eternity.