The Crystal Journey

Chapter 1:

Leaving the World

Yo!

For the first time in months I relaxed, sighed and patted the one-way ticket in my pocket. I was finally on my way to leave the world.

As the rickety bus lurched out of Manali in a cloud of dust and crashing of gears, I closed my eyes and whispered a simple prayer for a successful outcome to my journey. An electric thrill vibrated my body from deep within. My most sacred dream, held and nurtured lovingly over so many years, was at last manifesting.

The plan was simple: ride the bus to the last stop on the map, get out, and walk to Tibet. Mt Kailas to be exact. With a month's worth of food in my rucksack and a rudimentary map, I was prepared for anything. Besides, having burnt all of my bridges behind me, I couldn't not succeed. I was simply not coming back.

My life until now had been mostly messy, confusing and painful. Also very lonely, for people confused and scared me. It was only during my deep sojourns into nature, my periods of contemplation, and times close to Spirit that my soul soared and tasted the freedom and fulfilment that I knew was my birthright. I began to realise that the sooner I committed myself completely to Spirit and left the world of people far behind me, the better everything would be. But how could I actually bring this to pass?

I had been inspired years before by a book called The Way of the White Clouds, written by a Buddhist monk called Lama Anagarika Govinda. It is a very moving story about a young monk studying in a monastery in Sri Lanka. Guided by Spirit, he made a pilgrimage across the immense Himalayan mountains to Mount Kailas in Tibet. His simplicity, naivety and courage became an important model for me, and the descriptions of his magical journey through breathtakingly magnificent and dangerous landscapes inspired me to the core. In fact, it grew into a dream I was determined one day to realise.

So here I was. On the way to Tibet. What I would find there, or what would happen to me on my journey, I never considered in detail. It was enough to trust that all would unfold as it would. As the bus ground its slow, noisy and precipitous climb towards the Rhotang Pass, the gateway into the big mountains, my mind went over the preparations I had made for my journey.

A year's hard work in London had enabled me to save enough money to fly to India, and would provide enough pocket money to last a year. I had said my goodbyes to friends and relatives, and had put my affairs, simple as they were, in order. I had even succeeded in persuading my parents to give me their blessing, something I had never previously been able to manage. I had had to hint pretty thickly that there was a good chance they wouldn't be seeing me again in this lifetime before they would treat my request seriously. When my mother finally uttered those wonderful words of blessing, I felt released, and ready to go.

Since my first awakening, I had been trying out all sorts of spiritual disciplines in order to discover if they could actually aid me in changing my life, and bring me closer to the realisation of the final goal.

Many were the years of, for the most part, solitary spiritual and energetic practice, honing and tempering my energy body, preparing myself for such a journey. I had explored magic, Buddhism, psychoanalysis, ancient Hindu practices, meditation, pranayama, nature magic and whatever had come my way.

When I arrived in India, I spent a month at the Vipassana International Academy at Igatpuri, meditating eleven hours a day in silence in order to prepare myself internally for my journey. In that wonderfully simple yet profound meditative environment I was able to leave my immediate past behind, make firm contact with the Spirit of the Land, and establish myself in a clear and meaningful reality once again. When I felt ready, I travelled to Manali in Himachal Pradesh, the last town one reaches before hitting the formidable Himalayan fortress. There I rented a room in a hotel which nestled comfortably in the wooded foothills. My south-facing window overlooked a bubbling stream and clumps of wild cannabis plants waved twelve feet high into the sweet, perfumed air. A true little homestead, nurturing and friendly.

This was my base for a month. Here I gathered information from the Mountaineering Institute about the climate, possible routes, potential dangers and helpful tips for the journey. I also quizzed the local people for any advice or practical tips about long high mountain walks. Surprisingly, very little helpful advice was forthcoming, and I was left almost entirely to my own common sense and ingenuity. What was almost unbelievable was the fact that there were no accurate maps available of the mountains over which I intended to traverse. The Indian government was too paranoid about invasion by either the Pakistanis, or even worse, the Yellow Peril sitting hard on the Tibetan border. No maps were issued with enough details to be of any use in travelling, or to provide enough information to anyone without intimate and prior knowledge of the area! The fact that their own nationals were lost or killed as a direct result seemed to pass them by. I resigned myself to navigate mainly by intuition, and to be alert for any divine guidance that came my way.

There was a good market in Manali where I could buy both light-weight food of high nutritional value and general provisions. And of course there was the Blue Dragon Tibetan restaurant which soon became my local haunt. It became my 'power spot' in Manali where I rested, assimilated the information I had gathered, while relaxing and enjoying myself.

With a large selection of good food from many cultures, a modern stereo system and a friendly proprietor, it was a perfect base in which to spend time writing, dreaming or talking with fellow travellers who had gathered there from all parts of the planet.

All the time I was acclimatising myself to medium altitude by walking regularly in the magnificent mountains of the upper Kulu Valley. They tested me and gave me hints of what was to come; all the time I was pushing my limits further than ever before. These mountains were, by English standards, colossal tree-covered ranges, ridges and single standing giants. By Himalayan standards, they were regarded merely as foothills.

I returned to the present. The travel-worn vehicle laboured up the precipitous road towards the crest of the mountain range. Two weeks earlier I had trekked down the same mountain side, returning to Manali from Kyelang on one of my training trips deep into Lahaul. I had met the driver and passengers of a Land Rover in a chai stall at the summit and we started to descend at the same time. I kept on meeting them whenever the path intersected the serpentine road and only when the road became straighter at the bottom of the mountain did they finally overtake me. I smiled at the memory.

At long last we drew to a halt at the top of the pass where I recalled an amazing panoramic view stretching for tens of miles down the entire Kulu Valley. The shape and patterns of the foothills stretched into the distance like huge verdant wrinkles on the earth's skin. Unfortunately it was the end of the monsoon season and today the clouds hung low and concealed the view. White clammy mist seeped deep enough to stroke the bones and icy droplets appeared like cloud-spawn on my beard, clothing and hair. Impressions: steamy breath, a sense of suspense, and vacuous silence broken nervously by dazed tourists. A new world with different rules and laws. Ruthless and incredibly beautiful.

The beauty spot on top of the mountain resembled a sparse market place littered with traders, as cafes and chai stalls tried to attract a rupee or two from the few relatively rich tourists passing by. A couple of harsh, jagged vehicle wrecks spoilt the naturalness of the scene. Litter and unidentified oily remains completed the destruction. I left the road and followed the majority of passengers for about four hundred yards or so over the springy turf to a little white shrine marking the source of the river Kulu. Here it was a tiny trickle. By the time it reached Manali it was a roaring torrent.

Within ten yards of leaving the bus I was panting and gasping for oxygen; after twenty yards I had to stop. At 15,000 feet it was incredibly difficult for my body to operate in the cold rarefied air. And I wasn't even carrying my rucksack! Slow, breathless, a geriatric at thirty, I made my way carefully over the small alpine flowers and spongy, sodden ground to the shrine. There I paid my respects.

Flower offerings like delicate splashes of colour were strewn around the spring. This playful, singing spirit issued from under a white temple-like building, and numerous sticks of burning incense made the air shimmer, sweet and sticky. I hurriedly stood upwind. The bus horn started to bellow urgently, the remaining passengers made a halfhearted dash back to our shared steed, and we were off!

The Rhotang Pass is a gateway. Ascending from the Manali side one passes through wheat and rice paddy fields, then into forest. After numerous serpentine coilings and disorientating weavings, scrub land appears, sparse grassland, and then sheer rock. This metallic greyscape indicates a realm where the heavens meet the earth, high in the clouds: no seeds can possibly germinate here. Organic life as we know it is crushed out of existence at the slightest whim of the elementals that rule there.

We passed over the rocky crest of the pass and I felt an exhilaration and expansion, as if a door had opened. It was as if freedom, space and fresh air had rushed into a stuffy room. For a short while the bus assumed a rare horizontal disposition, cruising through the misty rocky wasteland devoid of any human habitation. Here, only the raw elements reigned in their fierce extremes. As we started to descend, the sun flickered through the dispersing cloud more and more often and then . . . a whole new world burst into view.

The first impression is of unlimited space. The view is perceived in, literally, hundreds of miles. From here at the top of the world, an endless volume of dark blue sky opens up and is pierced by the diamond sun. Range after range of massive mountains, sparkling glaciers and tiny serpentine rivers reveal themselves like one precious discovery after another, a miniature model world whose every detail is perfect to those with eagle sight.

My perception suddenly expands from the close dullness of grey clouds into the bright clarity that ranges into infinity. The top of my head lifts off in an explosion so fine that I experience bliss, a spiritual homecoming. Such space! Such majesty!

I am forced to perceive in a totally new way. In their brooding magnificence, giant mountain Titans in their home at the top of the world are revealed to my sight. Before this ecstatic moment, I had merely imagined such landscapes through books and the descriptions of others, but somehow the strange machinations of my life-path have guided me through the Rhotang gateway today. I finally perceive them through my own effort and heightened awareness. Today they have become real for me, and I give thanks.

Lama Govinda, dear braveheart and pathfinder Being, what did you spark off in my consciousness? Whatever our relationship, I thank you with all my heart for just this view, this new perception, this new level of experiencing reality. I wonder how far I have travelled in my lifetime, indeed many lifetimes; how many experiences have I undergone, to prepare my Self for such an extraordinary encounter in this far off corner of the world! Soon I am going to descend and – dare I say it – incarnate into this new reality. I will then walk alone among these wonders, untried, inexperienced, with only my trust in Spirit to guide me. Please be gentle on me!

In wonder, I ride my screeching metal steed, trying to accept the evidence of my senses. A whole new world is there in front of me, and what a wonderful, fantastic world it is! I have dreamed, oh how I've willed for such wonders to exist somewhere in creation, and for the opportunity to discover them in real life! I've explored these marvels in my fantasies but they never filled me with such feelings as I am experiencing right now. My senses tentatively touch the vast epochs of Creation; time stands still in front of my eyes in millions upon countless millions of years.

I try to relate the scene before me to the map I carry in my head. I have just traversed the place where the foothills of Himachal Pradesh give way to the high mountains of Lahaul. In the far distance to the north Lahaul meets Ladakh which in turn abuts the high Tibetan plateau. Everywhere there are staggered splashes of whiteness across the predominantly grey landscape like random ranks in a gathering of recalcitrant giants. They seem to me to be snowy-haired elders who tower high into the blue auric dome above. Each massive entity radiates its own sacred character: some are gentle, some ruthless, some are sharp, some rounded. They live and jostle together here, one of the few remaining groups of such Beings that can survive only in this type of rarified environment on Earth. I pray they will not be too disturbed by mankind in the same way as other unique, delicate environments have been, most of which have not survived.

Somewhere to the north in the air close to the stars, is my goal. Kailas, the central power spot on the planet. The Axis Mundi. The place where Heaven and Earth meet. My true love. Across these scorched and frozen mountainous wastes I will walk for however long it takes towards the realisation of my final Dream. I am on the journey to complete my life.

Now if there is one thing worse than climbing up a sheer mountain side in a moth-eaten old bus, it is descending a sheer mountain side in a moth-eaten old bus. With the engine screaming in low gear and with an inordinate use of the brakes, we lurched lower and lower towards the valley bottom. I struck up a conversation with the young muscular Indian man sitting next to me. He looked very different from your average mountain person: he wore clean jeans, a sporting jacket, clean leather shoes and had a decided aura of western establishment about him. He seemed excited and nervous and he glanced often about the bus, checking out the passengers with a very serious look in his eye. I wondered if he were paranoid; if so, he seemed to contain it very well.

Our conversation was terrible, yet it took my mind off the sheer drops which reached up from all sides and tried to drag us all in, the bus swerving aside only at the last moment. The subjects delicately touched upon included women, fast cars, physical prowess, and what it meant to be a man. Soon he confessed he was a secret agent on his way to Spiti, a restricted area in the mountains. Indira Ghandi, the Prime Minister, was due to visit in the next month and my travel companion was part of a team to check out the area. Other agents were arriving from all directions, using all modes of transport, to root out terrorists and create a safe space for her.

He saw that I wasn't convinced and showed me his gun. It was an old pistol, paint-worn and obviously well used. I held it for a while, very limply, and then gave it back. I told him of my plans and, although he didn't understand my motives, wished me well – until he inquired about my route.

"You can't walk there" he said, suddenly stiffening. "It is a restricted area!".

"No, it's not." I replied, certain of my ground. "I've checked my route at the mountaineering centre in Manali and they advised me to walk this way."

"It is a restricted area", he repeated, "and I cannot allow you to proceed".

A sort of childish 'can – can't' verbal tug of war ensued, neither of us being the winner. Our fellow passengers, their curiosity piqued, watched this Himalayan ping-pong match with interest. Finally, with the threat of my definitive journey at risk, and backed by the certainty and impulsiveness of Spirit, I informed him that I was going to start to walk. The only way he was going to stop me was to shoot. Impasse. We didn't talk again for the rest of the trip and sat awkwardly, glowering inwardly at one another.

The other passengers turned away, disappointed that our match hadn't reached a more exciting conclusion.

At last the bus screeched to a halt in a cloud of evil-smelling dust and smoky fumes outside the large single canvas structure that, I learnt, was Batal. It was a wayside cafe run by a family of Tibetan refugees and was the last stop before the road crossed the river Chandra and entered a restricted area called Spiti. One needed a special permit to enter this mountainous region, for it was a sensitive military area. All the passengers alighted for a short break to stretch their legs, and I unloaded my rucksack from the roof-rack. As I reached the ground, the agent was waiting for me.

"Stop what you are doing. You are not leaving this bus!"

Where he wanted me to go I don't know, as this was the last stop before the Restricted Zone. I needed a permit to travel further. The climb onto the roof of the bus had exhausted me. I stood defiantly before him, yet too weak to walk away or argue further. He then became seriously upset and started shouting. I became minimally aware of a large group of people surrounding us. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it consisted of the bus passengers, the Tibetan family who ran the roadside cafe, and a group of road repair men. I tried to move around the agent, but he blocked my way. The situation was starting to become ugly.

Suddenly I felt a new presence joining the throng. A small man with a huge aura of authority appeared, and the crowd pulled back to allow him access to the centre of the circle. He inquired curtly in Hindi what was going on. The agent spoke only a few words before the newcomer exploded. He proceeded to give my tyrant a staccato and brutal ticking off, adding in English for my benefit:

"Imbecile! Of course he can walk from here!"

The battle of Batal was a complete rout. My liberator walked over to me, motioned me to pick up my belongings, and led me away from the crowd. From the corner of my eye I noticed the agent shake his head as if unsure of what had hit him.

"Idiot police", my unexpected benefactor said, shaking his head at the patheticness of the human condition, then dismissing the whole matter. "You must stay as my guest for as long as you want. My house is just over this rise".

I mumbled my thanks, my throbbing head nearly drowning out his words.

"Thank you. I'd be delighted to stay. Thank you for your help back there".

"It is nothing. Follow me".

He strode ahead with his group of workmen. 'Men' is not quite the right description as most of them seemed children, and none was older than eighteen. Meanwhile, I had only walked fifty yards or so yet my head felt about to burst. My body felt like lead. I couldn't breathe, and started to suffocate. I collapsed by a rock and lay still for a while, fighting my rising panic and trying to catch my breath. My nose had started to bleed copiously and I observed myself with dismay. Walk to Tibet? What a joke! Finally, with extreme effort and many rests later, I reached the house and fell in a heap on what I assumed was the kitchen floor.

After a few minutes rest I took some interest in my surroundings. The house consisted of two rooms, a bedroom and kitchen. No toilet. There were windows all right-but no glass. There was no furniture, no carpets; my buttocks swiftly started to freeze on the bare rubble-strewn concrete floor. I hurriedly sat on my jacket. The kitchen, or in our case the makeshift guest room, had a kerosene cooker in the middle of the floor, some chipped crockery utensils leaning against the back wall, and a large, ever-expanding pile of empty tin cans on a heap of debris in the far corner. Rami, my host, lit the stove and a few minutes later a cracked mug of tea was pressed into my hands.

"Tonight, we will have a feast," he promised.

As sunset approached the air became cool and very fresh. Rami and I left the house and walked down to the road. I felt rested, and I found that if I took things very slowly, movement became quite pleasurable in the thin air. He stopped and waited by a group of boulders and soon his team of workers appeared.

I sat apart and half watched the sunset, half kept an eye on the group. As he gave them their instructions, it soon became apparent that their relationship was totally unlike what would have been expected in the Western world. I tuned in and observed closely. These ragged, scruffy, dirty-looking urchins deeply loved their mentor and would do anything for him. I watched their eyes and body language. They weren't behaving as if they were employees and Rami their boss, but more as if he were their communal father and spiritual guide.

Laughing and serious, attentive and relaxed, their collective aura of family and love warmed my heart. I realised that a spiritual teacher doesn't necessarily have to wear robes and be a yogi or meditation instructor. Anyone radiating a commanding, compassionate nature will automatically attract those who want to learn, and who desire to serve with love and devotion.

He in turn treated them like his children, sometimes gently, sometimes harshly, but at all times with a deep caring and love. He levelled with them, and seemed unable to hide his true feelings or be untruthful in any way. I was fascinated, and not a little envious of their intimate family relationship.

Another rather more alarming impression of this gentle evening gathering stays with me: a boy, maybe sixteen years old, is lounging on a rock with sticks of explosives poking out of his pockets, and holding another bunch which are tied together in his left hand. He takes a cigarette out of a packet and lights it from another, already burning, offered to him by one of his mates. I don't know much about explosives but this scenario makes me cringe.

The evening sky exploded into reds and golds and we retired to the house. Another cup of tea manifested and we talked. Rami was the chief road engineer of the area, responsible for maintaining the existing roads and creating new ones which he carved like sculptures out of the mountain sides. They were not roads as we know them. No tarmac was ever laid, no firm foundations could be created from the raw materials in these regions. It would be simply a waste of time, as the next winter's devastations would destroy whatever was accomplished previously. Gravel tracks at best, a lot of the roadway ran over solid rock along the valley floors alongside rumbling rivers. It would snake its winding way, different each year, between randomly positioned boulders which were often larger than houses.

During the winter months the area was deserted and the roads impassable due to immense snowfall. All temporary residents such as Rami and the Tibetan family running the cafe left for the lowlands to pursue warmer pastimes.

Every spring around May the snows melted and much work was needed to open up the roads again. They were invariably blocked and damaged due to flooding and rock falls. Rami wove fascinating tales of magic, manifestation and engineering expertise when relating the exploits of his team in the unforgiving mountains. On that extraordinary evening, the time sped by in the strange yet comforting universe I found myself in.

My growling tummy draws my attention to the subject of food. I am wondering in which form this feast will manifest when one of the boys enters the room. He carries something bulky under his arm in a bloodstained newspaper. Rami opens it upon the floor. I find myself looking into the rather surprised eyes of a freshly killed goat.

The severed head lies there in front of me with bloody flesh and unidentified bits hanging from its neck. Rami looks pleased.

"Tonight we will eat well", he grins.

He picks up a shard of glass from a broken bottle on the pile in the corner of the room and starts to scrape the hair off the goat's face. Now: I am experiencing the start of an important spiritual journey, and have recognised Rami as a sort of angelic helper, or guardian on the threshold in the unfolding drama. My romantic imagination has pictured, in such a situation, an evolved shining Being blessing my way in some rarefied ritual, some intense Om chanting or suchlike, but nothing has prepared me for this macabre scene.

In mounting revulsion I watch him butcher the goats head. I try to avoid the scene by closing my eyes or looking somewhere else, but the sound of the operation is far more sickening than the sight. So I just surrender to the reality of the moment and watch as the gore soaks through the paper and stains the floor.

After an almost unendurable time, he inspects the head closely and finds the first stage of the operation completed to his satisfaction. He grunts with pleasure and starts the kerosene stove roaring. To my horror he then holds the head to the flames and singes the remaining hairs off. The room fills with sickening acrid smoke until it grows difficult to see or to breathe. Luckily I am sitting near to the broken window and surreptitiously edge closer.

How strange life is! Expecting a priestly, regally shining guardian, I find in reality a demonic grinning Satan's disciple. With sweat running down his forehead eroding rivulets into a grimy face, he holds a goats head by its horns over roaring flames. Strange shadows flicker menacingly around the room, fat sizzles, the smell of burning flesh claws at violated nostrils. His disciples, imps and slaves enter and scurry twistedly through the cavernous gloom; subliminal chanting fills the space.

Finally this assault to the senses stops and a pot blackened with soot appears. A few vegetables are peeled and thrown in, water added and then placed on the stove. The head, now blackened and wrinkled, is crammed in and the lid put on. The smoke starts to clear, and after a long time the feast is ready.

Needless to say I have no appetite. I eat a little for appearance's sake. It tastes surprisingly good!

Next morning at dawn I said goodbye and tried to express my heartfelt thanks for Rami's help and hospitality. He was sorry to see me go and tried to persuade me to stay longer (maybe it was simply his concern for my health and unacclimatised body). I was, however, determined to go. Feeling deep gratitude towards this strange guardian in the mountains, I set off over the steel girder bridge spanning the Chandra river. Once over the grey turgid water I bore left, away from the road, and strode towards its glacial source.

My body felt rested and slightly more accustomed to the thin air. If I walked slowly I could manage a couple of hundred yards before having to sit down for a few minutes, but I was still plagued by a constant nose bleed and background headache. Soon Batal had disappeared behind a bend in the valley, and then I was alone.

As the sunshine crept down the mountains across the river the air became warmer. I settled into a steady rhythm and was able to take in the magnificence around me. I walked on a narrow animal track which was sometimes dusty and soft, but was mostly covered by a broken slate-like rock which slid, metallic and brittle, under my feet. It wound along the steep valley side which rose thousands of feet to immense mountain peaks above. These created a huge wall which blocked out the early morning sun; the shadows were thick and viscous to the touch and held their power for two or three hours after sunrise. The Chandra river (Chandra means moon) roared icily to my left, a dispassionate grey torrent of water sometimes a hundred yards wide in its gentler stretches, and much narrower when it thundered or hissed noisily over rapids or through ravines. The mountain range on the far side of the river was beautiful, colossal. Most peaks were snow covered and one particular mountain, shaped like an icy cauldron, carried an iridescent glacier which flowed invisibly, remorselessly, towards the river.

I drank in the vastness of the landscape. Nothing had prepared me for this. I soon realised that spatial relationships in these extreme conditions change their normal behaviour, and I had to readjust my perceptions appropriately. Whichever feature in the landscape seemed at first to be a short distance away seemed to stay the same size hour after hour of hard trekking.

Although sojourns in the desert had put me in touch with huge spaces and the Silence, the mountains of the Sinai were mere pimples in comparison with these. This titanic landscape stretched my senses into another dimension. I found my thoughts slowing down, and a sense of patience, of timelessness, growing as I entered deeper into the mountainscape. Despite the river's constant thunder shaking the air, silence held this magical landscape in its thrall.

The sky was deep blue and vast. It felt as if I had direct access to outer space from my tiny terrestrial stand-point. In my mind's eye I watched myself watching myself from the top of the mountain to my left. As a minuscule ant-like creature scurrying about the grey wastes far below, I observed myself thinking I was the centre of the universe, carrying schemes and plans of world-shattering importance, perceiving in terms of hours and minutes, the next meal, the next cigarette.

I then became the top of the mountain, witnessing eternity. My timeless eyes observed the workings of the river, the wind and temperature changes as they, over millennia, shaped the planet. I watched the mountains, still growing, unfolding upwards like titanic crystalline flowers. They constantly battled the forces of entropy which wore them down slowly, insidiously, filling the valleys with their constantly sloughed stone-skin. I saw the river repeatedly metamorphose and wriggle along different channels as it slithered towards the distant sea, and the form of the land undulate as it danced a time-lapse mutation over the aeons.

Which of the two perceptions was more real? I had a fit of slightly hysterical laughter which halted my progress for a while. My body felt it was falling to pieces, dying, and my spirit was flexing its wings in anticipation of soaring free. Ivan was somewhere in the middle, sometimes worrying, sometimes in bliss. Life is nuts. I was on my way!

The path then started to climb above the level of the river and I found it tough going. My progress was down to maybe a hundred yards between each rest, and I could see no sign of my goal: Chandratal, the Lake of the Moon. It was only twenty kilometres from Batal, and ordinarily I would have had no trouble in walking that distance. Estimating my progress so far, I doubted I would make it before nightfall.

There was now almost a sheer drop down to the turgid river on my left, maybe one hundred and fifty feet or so. One slip would have been enough to summarily snuff out my life, and in my state of exhaustion I had to be very careful. The path was no wider than an animal track and in some areas quite perilous. Nevertheless I was grateful to be able to experience joy and beauty as well as my pain. My spirits were in fine fettle.

In the early afternoon I mounted a small plateau, losing sight of the river completely, and a wonderful sight met my eyes. The incessant dull blacks, greys and browns of the mountainside gave way to a carpet of rich, vibrant green. A strange, large igloo-shaped stone house swelled like a prehistoric mushroom out of rich grassland. As I approached I saw a spring bubbling out of the ground, ringed by flat mossy stones.

Butterflies, dragonflies, all manner of flashing insects and small birds hummed and twittered about the small rivulet as it tinkled through the meadow. The grassy lea sloped gently down from the path to the rim of the plateau where it disappeared from sight. I paused for a drink. The water tasted like champagne, and was bursting with life. While contemplating resting awhile, even spending the night there, a man came out of the house. Hurriedly I donned my rucksack and moved on, waving to him. I couldn't stand to be with other humans right then, just having found the Silence after so long.

I carried on, and soon found I had lost the pleasure in walking. The constant pain generated by my unfit and sluggish body clawed its way to the ascendency and stayed. I managed another couple of miles and then found a small cave, an overhang really, which would keep the frost off during the night. Thankfully I slid the rucksack off my back, relaxed, and looked about me.

I stared in amazement. My preoccupation with pain had blinded me to a very unusual topography. The landscape was surreal and highly atmospheric: I felt I had entered a different world consisting of strange angles, moving shadows and roaming elementals. A desert plain almost as flat as a table top stretched for a few miles in each direction. Sudden sharp outcrops of rock weathered in strange angular shapes heaved themselves out of the dust like dinosaur's spines. The wind made low moaning sounds in the coolness of the early evening like wraith-like creatures lost in the vastness of the mountain spaces. I shivered, and not only from the cold. I felt very far from home in this strange space. I prayed that there would be no storm that night as the location I had chosen offered little protection.

I ate some bread and cheese, and watched the sunset. I celebrated the fantastic sights and experiences that had entered my awareness and tried not to worry about what would come next. My nosebleed, still flowing pretty constantly, was a bother but as soon as I slipped into my sleeping bag I fell asleep.

As I opened my eyes the next morning, a silver wonderland greeted me. A layer of thick frost lay on the ground, a crystal fairyland glistening gently in the soft morning light. It was cold – very cold – and my water bottle had frozen solid. I had to move. Reluctantly I left the relative safety of my sleeping bag. Shrinking from the touch of icy fingers, I packed my rucksack quickly and set off. Soon I was warm, hands in pockets, my feet crunching at every step and white steamy breath trailing behind me.

The sun burst gloriously over the mountain ridge above me and for a few minutes I walked over incandescent crystals, a denizen of a world of exploding rainbows. All too soon, like a film on fast forward, the frost dissolved except in those areas defined by deep shadow. After half an hour the sun was already hot and I forged ahead along the plain.

The terrain changed again. Some sparse grass appeared and I felt closer to the lake. Weather-worn rounded hills swelled before my eyes and cast surreal shapes against the sky as I guessed my way forward. A white rounded Buddhist stupa graced the top of a larger hill overlooking the path, and gave a little cheer to a tired and semi-lost traveller. The map I had finally acquired was very rudimentary, giving no fine detail such as tracks or fording places over rivers. I was not amused, and was aware that my life hung frequently in the balance due to governmental paranoia. It felt as if I was following the main track towards the lake, but I could never be sure. The hills soon gave way to an open windswept plain of tall rustling grasses, concealing small dried-up lakes under whispering, waving reeds and rushes.

Again I felt very tired and headachey in the piercing sunlight. I had to stop more and more frequently. My energy was waning and I was plagued by irrational, frantic thoughts. Where was this bloody lake? It seemed as if I had been walking miles further than the estimated distance. Had I passed it? On the map it seemed huge and impossible to miss. At every rise I was sure it would appear before me, and every time my hopes would be dashed as I plodded my painful way onward.

Finally, around noon, I crested a small hillock and before me in incredible shades of azure and turquoise lay the Lake of the Moon. I collapsed where I was and took in the view. Ringed with lush grass, serenaded by twittering birds and the muted hum of multicoloured insects, a huge bowl of liquid crystal reflected the craggy heights above like a long-lost sacred chalice. I felt as if I had come home after a long enforced absence of lifetimes.

It was immediately apparent where my base would be: directly in front of me a shepherds shelter nestled comfortably on a small ridge close to the water. It felt very much like a home and base to me, and seemed to attract my attention. It would allow me a large sweeping view of the surrounding mountainscape, and would protect me from the worst of the winds that I guessed sometimes swept the area. Eager to make base camp, I hauled myself up into the vertical position and walked to my new home.

A more simple structure would be hard to imagine. It consisted of a three foot high stone wall in the shape of a horseshoe, built on a flat dusty area next to the path. I moved in my belongings, and immediately rigged up a sun shade. By building up the walls in certain places, and stretching my lungi (a wrap-around length of cloth Indian men wear like a skirt) between them with string, a delicious area of shade was created which was large enough to cover me like a cool, soothing blanket. I lay down in my new bedroom and slipped into an exhausted reverie. As I dozed, a recurrent dream from my early childhood flickered before my eyes.

I am very young, maybe four or five. I am in bed asleep, safe and warm. Suddenly, in the depths of my unconsciousness, I hear a familiar humming sound which wakes me and fills me with dread. There is no escaping, however, by pulling up the bedclothes and so I get out of bed. It is dawn and the familiar view from my window is beautiful. Dew shimmers from the grass and hedge, lending an unreal, dreamy feel to the scene.

There is a little tinkling stream at the bottom of the garden (called the Ebb) and a hedge. Everything on this side of the hedge belongs to us. On the other side of the hedge are fields which are very large and take ages to walk across. On the far side of the fields are friendly hills which rise up towards the golden sky, and I greet the countryside. I have seen it, loved it and walked its green body so often that I can truly claim it as mine. I know the trees in the corners of the open spaces and the hedgerows, the muddy tracks between the fields, the wildlife that inhabits the area, and the secret places I have so often explored and played among.

The humming is getting louder and I see the sun appear behind a notch in the hills. It disappears awhile, and reappears a bit further along the ridge. It peeps over the hill, and drops back down again. Retracing its steps it hugs the top fields, and slips down this side of the hill behind some trees. The humming is louder as the sun gets closer; as it hides behind objects such as trees the sound fades.

It is snaking along the top field and about to go down the track between the upper and lower fields. As it does, it is lost from sight and the humming diminishes. I am fascinated and terrified, for I know that the sun is searching for me. The hunt is on. It moves over the field to the right and disappears from view around the side of the house. Soon the humming intensifies and it moves across the field from right to left, searching.

It disappears behind the garage to my left, and I know that there is little time remaining. Like a mouse confronted by a poisonous snake, there is nothing I can do and I simply wait for the inevitable.

And then the humming gets much louder and the vibrations start to make things shake. A brilliant, blinding golden glow fills the world, and the sun is there just outside my window.

It has found me.

I awoke a couple of hours later, when it was a lot cooler. I had thought that, after a couple of months of Indian sunshine, my skin was well acclimatised. No chance! After only one and a half days at this altitude, even my face and hands had sunburn. This amazed me, and made me doubly aware of the extremes I was to experience in this new world. Piercing, harmful sun during the day, and sub-zero temperatures at night! I tended to my burnt skin, and, in addition, had to learn not to smile or laugh due to cracked lips. Cracked lips don't normally affect me, and I carried no lip salve. What a mess! No – don't smile – OW! – too late!

Later, I wandered over to a rocky promontory and sat on a boulder overlooking the lake. Crystal clear in the shallows and with shades of deeper blue merging towards the centre, the lake hosted large fish which jumped occasionally, breaking the somnolent silence with startling reports. These sudden splashing sounds echoed eerily from the sheer mountain wall behind, and seemed to me to be messages transmitted to the world from the bottomless hidden depths of the planet. From my vantage point, the lake was roughly crescent shaped, about three-quarters of a mile long and a quarter mile wide at the middle. Beyond the grassy banks on the far side of the lake the mountain rose more and more steeply until it shot sheer for hundreds of feet into giddily moving cotton clouds. The view was sublime and I gave thanks for discovering, or being guided to, this sacred spot.

To my left, bare rocks cracked and splintered in the hot sun. Lizards and insects moved from face to crevice, from light to shadow, in their dance of life and death. On my right was a dry reedy lake which presumably filled each springtime with the melting snows. Behind me, looking back over the muted Chandra river, was a huge glacier almost blinding to the eyes. It was in the process of eternal birth from a sea of sparkling ice enclosed by a huge rocky cauldron, formed by a separate ring of mountains within the whole range. I loved to observe those tall icy giants that were sitting in eternal session, forming a horseshoe shape with the opening towards the river. Such timeless beauty!

I was aware that it was time for a simple but profound little ritual I frequently performed, especially when entering a new region, land or country. In order to introduce oneself and get to know the spirit of the new place, what better way can there be than to submerge oneself in its essence? I would find an appropriate body of water, be it lake, stream or waterfall, consciously immersing myself in the essence of the land, and greet it.

So I walked down to the water's edge, took my clothes off and, without further thought, dived in. Now, I'm pretty inured to cold water but the sensations on my body in that electric excruciating instant were so extreme as to be ridiculous. I was burning! My head was in serious pain, my body in shock, my mind in panic, and pure animal instincts took over. I broke the surface screaming, flailing madly with my arms and legs, and made it back to shore in record time. How anything, even fish, could survive in that cold I had no idea. Reassured that all my members were still functioning and that no permanent damage had occurred, I soon warmed up in the sun and gentle breezes. I was happy that I had met the Spirit of that wonderful place, however fleetingly!

I pottered about a bit, remembering to be gentle with myself, ambled down to the water and followed the shoreline. I felt cleansed at a profound level; my thoughts and perceptions were crystal clear. I moved gently, exploring the little things of nature as I went. Little flowers, insects, collections of mosses and small stones almost the size of grains of sand. I returned to my vantage point towards sunset and was spellbound at the reds and golds flashing off the glacier as if it were an active volcano, expelling burning lava which followed its only possible course down towards the river. The sun finally disappeared over the icy horizon in a last burst of glory which plunged me into a delicious melancholy.

I dreamt.

I am the only human being on a planet or moon much further out than the orbit of the Earth, at the edge of the solar system. My impressions and feelings make me think of Neptune; the sun is is only marginally larger than the other stars in the night sky.

Still, it is the sun, our sun, and there is a feeling of familiarity and identification, of belonging, a centre to relate to, and even a hint of warmth. It is getting close to sunset, and a deep melancholy holds my soul in its barren caress.

Finally the familiar source of light kisses the inky horizon and merges slowly with the desolate iciness of the frozen planet. As we revolve silently through outer space the sun is squeezed to a mere pinprick. Suddenly it is gone. The stars are now rulers of the eternal night and my only reference point has dissolved into the void. The feelings of loneliness and isolation inside of me become almost unbearable. A song by the Rolling Stones plays itself inside my head:

"I'm so very lonely, I'm two thousand light-years from home".

It is if I am the only member of humanity on this icy world at the edge of the solar system, and my sole companion has been taken away from me. Must I always be driven to create and experience these wild extremes in life? The answer immediately arrives. Somehow, somewhen, I have chosen to be a space traveller, discovering and charting the Unknown. I know then that it will always be so, and I celebrate my good fortune.

I return then to my body by the shores of Chandratal. I notice the increasingly bright presence of Jupiter to the west, circled by his children, and this gives me new playmates to get to know. I watch as the sky darkens in silver and indigo while the stars become visible; more and more appear until the heavens fill and overflow in twinkling diamond dust. My loneliness is long forgotten and my heart opens. I journey through the heavens in the abandonment of innocence. I dance over stars, celestial stepping stones, which sing their songs of Silence and speed me on new adventures through the Unknown and the Unspeakable.

At last, weary and happy, I wish Jupiter and my new playmates good night and sleep my first night at Chandratal.

For the next few days I explored this dreamland, and delighted in the beauty I found there. On the third day, when I felt I had some of my strength back, I walked around the lake. Not far from my home, there seemed to be quite a lot of bird activity. A little group of them were making a lot of noise and acting strangely. As I approached, they got increasingly frantic and I was careful to move slowly so as not to frighten them.

Then I saw what the problem was. One of the youngsters, on a training flight, had crash-landed into the lake. It was still floating and flapping weakly. Its beak was above the surface of the water so it could still breathe; but not for much longer. I took off my boots and socks and waded in, careful to disturb the water as little as possible. Soon the frightened little bird was in my hand and I carried it away from danger. I placed it on a flat bit of rock suitably distant from the lake. Identifying strongly with the fledgeling, I spoke with it awhile and then left, leaving nature to take its course.

This little adventure moved me deeply. I prayed for a similar helping hand to appear at the right time and carry me away from danger so that I could follow my rightful path again.

While I waited, perhaps my greatest joy was sitting on the opposite shore to my new home, watching the reflections of the glacier bounce off the mirror-still surface. The focus of my eyes would sometimes play strange tricks, and the reflections would seem more real than the actual mountains. At these times my perception would fold in on itself and strange universes would appear in front of my eyes. I was not afraid, and helped the process unfold as much as I could in a state of willing, focussed abandon.

I swam in the crystal waters every day, although 'dip' is probably more accurate! It felt a little like sacrilege to break the serene surface of the water, but my guilty conscience was soon appeased when I found that the mirror would always regain its purity again. My energy body became very clear and centred, and I breathed the healing currents of that blessed place deeply inside me for as long as I could.

At ground level little alpine flowers appeared in profusion, dotting the greenery with delicate stars and circles. I spent many a happy hour gazing at the myriad types of different mosses and lichens which grew like miniature forests on the rocks and grass. I experienced such delight with my daily excursions into this hidden nature home!

Despite this joy, a feeling of despair was my constant companion. My body still ached, I couldn't catch my breath if I moved too strenuously, and my headache and nose-bleeding still continued. I refused to dwell on it too much as it would have taken me immediately to a place of hopelessness, and the psychological results would have been be too shattering. I simply trusted and waited. For what I didn't know. In the meantime I rested, filling my days with ever-new discoveries and the soothing sounds of silence that cloaked this extraordinary land.

One lazy afternoon I heard a strange and, at first, very intrusive noise. I finally identified it as a cow bell. I climbed a little hillock nearby and saw to my delight a herd of horses grazing on the grassy plain. The leader, a magnificent orange stallion, wore the bell around his neck and wherever he led, the rest followed. I spent many hours watching the antics and natural grace of these lovely animals. As I watched them, I became aware of the freedom of movement denied me by my damaged body. Part of me wanted to stay by the lake for ever, yet the choreographer of my life-path knew that something had to change soon. What was going on? Would I have to return the way I had come or would I somehow forge onward to meet my destiny?

The day after I arrived at Chandratal I took out my personal crystal and spent some time with it. It was a large single crystal of clear quartz, and it seemed to celebrate its freedom from confinement. I greeted it, and allowed myself to enter its rainbow caverns and fissures. I said hello to the myriad beings that inhabited its crystal universe, chasing flickering sparklets and bathing in iridescent sunbursts. After a lovely reunion, I remembered my introduction to the world of gemstones, and this special crystal in particular.

Sue, my partner, hands me a small cardboard box and says simply: "This is for you".

I open it and inside is a wonderful clear quartz crystal, one of the biggest I have ever seen. As I pick it up rainbows seem to fill the room and it glitters with a friendly but enigmatic light. I fall in love with it at first sight and know something very important has entered my life.

"I visited Ra today" she says, "I told him I was living with someone called Ivan and he asked me to give you this crystal".

In this innovative period of my life I am researching the mysteries of ancient Egypt. I am designing and building pyramids, experimenting in all sorts of sizes, colours, and different materials. Ra was chief sun god and father of all the gods and goddesses in Egypt. I feel very honoured with his entrance into my life in this way, as if he is blessing my path.

And how that crystal starts to work! The next day as I unlock the building containing my workshop, I trip and nearly fall in the the dark stairwell. Looking down I see hard glittery pebbles scattered everywhere. I pick them up and hold them to the light. They are crystals: blues, purples, yellows – all the colours of the rainbow, in assorted sizes! I learnt later that one of the craftsmen in the building was in the process of moving out when he dropped a box full of crystals and couldn't be bothered picking them up again.

That night, when I return home, I get out my candle holder which has a wide metal plate on which to support large candles. With a couple of tubes of superglue I stick the crystals, in layers of colour, on top of one another in a semi-circle. Thereafter, whenever a candle is lit, it burns slowly down through the colours, creating a rainbow adventure as it flickers magically through my darkened room. After this, many are the evenings spent with friends journeying through the spectrum of our inner selves, in silence and companionship together!

From that day on, bizarre crystal things happen to me. I study about the different types of crystals and their scientific, structural, energetic, and magical properties. I spend hours with my crystal holding it, speaking with it, and gazing into it. My favourite way of getting to know it is to hold it in front of a candle in my darkened room, allowing the light to reflect and refract through its rainbow body, highlighting all the fissures, bubbles and shapes inside. I imagine myself journeying through it.

One day as I am browsing through a mystical bookshop I see a book about crystals written by Ra. I buy it and take it home. When I open it, I see some writing, in ink, on the inside cover.

'Best wishes on your journey – Ra.'

I am completely gobsmacked. What on earth is this thing called life, anyway? Something very strange is going on! The hairs on the back of my neck rise and my scalp feels electric. On an impulse I return to the shop a few days later and check the rest of the books. None of the others have been written in.

After travelling so far my crystal seemed a little travel weary, so I took it to the lake and left it in the water for a day to cleanse and revitalise itself. How it sparkled when I took it out! I made a little nest for it in the wall of my home and it looked very happy there. It became a little shrine for me, and I spent quite a bit of time gazing and simply being there with it.

Two days later I remembered with a thrill the subject of a chapter of Ra's book. It was about tuning in and 'bonding' with your own crystal. It involved finding a suitable rock sticking out of some body of still water, tapping the 'blunt' end of the crystal against the rock three times while saying "Come alive!". I knew that I had to do this simple ceremony, and when it felt right I took my crystal for a walk along the shores of the lake. It was at the silent time just before sunset when I found the rock.

It was round, gentle, and emerged from the water like an island in a tranquil sea. I waded gently out to it in order to cause minimal disturbance, and held the crystal aloft. It felt as if we had been travelling together for awhile, discovering our compatibility, and it was now time to deepen our relationship. We were committing ourselves to a partnership, a marriage of sorts.

As the sky caught fire over the glacier and the water of the lake changed colour, I rapped my crystal sharply, softly, against the round solidity of the rock. Tiny ripples swam for a short distance into the lake. A strange otherworldly feeling overcame me and I knew, for that moment in time, anything was possible. I asked the crystal to come alive for me.

And it did.