It was my fifth day at Chandratal. As I relaxed in the shade of the shepherd's shelter in the midday heat, my senses suddenly switched onto full alert. For a while there seemed no reason for my state of bodily alarm, but then I heard human voices in the distance. They grew steadily louder, finally assaulting my senses and completely destroying the silence of that hallowed place. I was convinced that a group of unruly tourists were about to annihilate the space in the innocent way they do the whole world over, when two women and a man appeared through the high waving grass. I waited for the others, but when they failed to appear, I realised that these three were all there were.

Partly wanting to rush out and hug them, eating them alive in the joy of rescue and companionship, and partly wanting them to pass as quickly as possible into the far distance, I waited for their arrival in a storm of conflicting emotions. Their chattering stopped as they neared me, and I knew that they were wondering who had constructed such a gaily fluttering shelter so deep in the mountains. The wall against which I was leaning concealed me from their sight.

They appeared from behind the wall, robust and glowing examples of healthy humanity. They sat down just outside the shelter, and we introduced ourselves. Sue and Kate, two Australian women in their late twenties, had planned a trek for ten days or so duration in the high mountains. They had hired Norion, a seventeen year old Indian guide, to accompany them on the round trip from Manali. Their route was by bus to Batal and then by foot to Kyelang via the Barrelacha Pass. They were going my way! I in turn told them of my adventures, and of my present predicament. We exchanged a few more pleasantries, wished each other well, and then they left to make camp on the other side of the lake, in the direction of the Barrelacha-La.

When they got up and left, I suddenly felt alone, lost and forgotten. I realised how much I had hoped that they would somehow do something to help me, although I wasn't sure quite what. But they had gone. On to their fit, healthy, and trouble-free trek through the high mountains. What right had I to hope, or expect, that they would lumber themselves with the added responsibility of a sick and unfit burden in this inhospitable and extreme terrain? Still, despite all rational considerations, I felt devastated.

I pottered down to the lakeside. Feeling sick and drained, I returned quickly to my shelter and collapsed with no energy. There I lay until just before sunset, when I heard a soft voice behind me speaking my name. I rolled over, and saw Norion standing there. He asked if he could enter my space. I invited him in, and we talked.

As we spent time with each other, I found myself liking him more and more. He glowed with health, his white eyes and teeth smiling often through deeply tanned skin. He spoke excellent English with only a slight accent, and was obviously very intelligent. He had bags of energy, and spoke animatedly on the subjects he loved. I realised that it would be very easy to get fond of, and trust this remarkable young man.

His body was tight and ultrafit yet fully relaxed, and I could see that his spirit was at one with the mountains. He loved them and they loved him in return, and I was sure that in their time together they had revealed to him many things that most people would never guess existed. At times he would go silent, stare beyond the horizon into infinity, and was obviously in frequent contact with eternity. A bit like me, I thought, smiling.

"I've been talking with Sue and Kate," he said after some time, "and if you would like to come with us you are most welcome."

My relief and joy was obvious, and also my fear.

"I'm very unfit," I replied, "and I'm not sure that I could keep up with you. As an experienced man of the mountains, do you think it would be OK to have me along?"

"That is up to you," he said, eyes twinkling and laying down a challenge. "For we won't stop for you. We will climb at our own speed up and over the Barrelacha La, and turn left towards Kyelang. If your plans are still to travel to Ladakh, then you will leave us there. But you must keep up with us, as we won't wait."

"I'm coming," I said simply.

"Then be with us at dawn tomorrow, before we leave."

I hardly slept at all that night, for I knew that my salvation had arrived. Help and guidance had been sent for the next stage of my journey, and I didn't want to blow it completely by oversleeping. When I imagined the first silvery glow in the east, I got up and packed. Although they had camped a good twenty minutes' walk away, I nevertheless arrived at their tents well before dawn and while it was still dark!

When the sky started to turn silver we set off. Although I was still very unfit, my headache and nosebleed had gone. I felt well rested from my days at Chandratal, and happy to have found guidance on my path. As the lake fell away behind us I turned and gazed at it with gratitude. I promised that I would be back again. I knew I could never forget it; I considered it the most beautiful and healing place I had ever visited. I still do.

As we proceeded I soon realised that I would have had terrible problems in finding the path if I had walked alone. Most of the next stage of the journey was over bare rock which left no discernible track to follow. Norion also took what at first sight seemed illogical and unobvious choices in direction. Only afterwards could one see that it was the only way to traverse a particularly difficult stretch of the path. I shuddered at what would have happened if I had had to make those decisions alone.

And then the pain started. It was the pain experienced by all members of humanity in the process of climbing out of the pits of unconsciousness we have created for ourselves, towards our freedom. It was the pain of breaking through the boundaries of our safe and lazy lifestyles which cushion us from the realities that surround us. It was the agony of an energy body realigning itself with the vibrations of the Source... I suffered, yet I was able to smile grimly at the way I had tricked myself again into action that I hadn't the energy to complete alone. Firstly, I had created an 'ultimate journey', which activated my dreams and gave me the enthusiasm and impetus to reach 'base camp' at Chandratal. And then, having ground to a halt, I had created a group of energetic and super-fit people to haul me out of my inertia and hopelessness. The fact that two of them were attractive women and the other a boy half my age had probably quite a lot to do with the state of my determination, too!

On the first day I lagged well behind, yet managed to catch up while the others took breaks. Although it was soul destroying to struggle through such pain, desperately wanting a rest and never managing to, my heart rejoiced at being on the move again. I was also aware that, what had seemed impossible the day before was now actually happening. I gave thanks, and witnessed myself starting to acquire the will and physical fitness necessary for the hard journey into high Tibet.

We were climbing constantly now, with our progress repeatedly blocked by deep valleys sometimes hundreds of feet deep. Rivers, crashing and rumbling in their shadowy depths, transported the snow melt from the glaciated slopes high above to the hungry river Chandra. We would slither down one side, cross the inevitable cataract with greater or lesser difficulty, then scramble up the other.

A word about rivers. They are the most common cause of fatalities in the high mountains. In these realms there are no bridges: one is obliged to ford them. You can tell you are approaching a lively stream or river one or two kilometres in advance, when you hear a noise like thunder that reverberates through the valleys and shakes the ground. Because the angle of descent is so very steep, the water is under great pressure and rips huge boulders out of the mountainside. Rolling and bouncing their way down in the torrent, they smash into others with explosive force, producing fearful crashings and grinding noises.

To attempt to cross in these conditions is suicide. The usual way of dealing with the situation is to camp the night by the side of the river and strike camp before sunrise the next morning. Then the water level will be at its lowest level in the sub-zero temperatures, before the sun starts to thaw the snows and glaciers high above. Then, carefully, one crosses the water by choosing the shallowest crossing point, leaning into the flow and moving slowly to find secure foot-holds. If there is a group of people, linking one another with rope and moving together across the river is the safest way to proceed.

We reached our first deep river that evening and pitched camp. My travelling companions had two tents, and I was invited to share one. We shared a simple supper of rice and daal – they had a kerosene stove and fuel in their baggage – and got to know one another a little. After a beautiful, convivial evening under the stars it was time to go to bed. After a moment of indecision, I wished them all good night and slept out under the stars. And how welcome sleep was to my tired body!

Next morning Norion woke us and we packed silently. We moved towards the river and, indeed, it was much lower than the afternoon before. Nevertheless, even though the crashing and banging had ceased it still seemed deep and fast and I didn't relish the idea of crossing. Nervously, we took off our boots and socks, tied ourselves together and waded in.

The icy water rose alarmingly around Norion's waist – he led – and it seemed that even he was having difficulty in keeping his balance against the strong current. We all gasped as we entered the water for the cold was intense and painful. Norion pressed on and started to emerge from the water onto the far shore. The rest of us were taller than he was and were not so low in the water, yet we were inexperienced and each of us slipped at least once .

It became obvious how much safer it was to cross as a group. After a few dicey incidents we had all crossed successfully. Afterwards, resting on the other side we all experienced a deep sense of accomplishment. The areas of skin which the water had touched were painfully cold and it was imperative to get the circulation moving as soon as possible. We started stamping our feet enthusiastically and rubbing life back into our numb bodies.

On we pressed. The second day was easier for me and I watched my progress with both delight and deep suspicion. I was doing much better than I had imagined possible. Before joining this little group, I could only move my body slowly for short distances before having to stop and rest due to intense pain and breathlessness. It was actually impossible for me to have 'improved' so much in fitness and performance over only two days. The key of the situation eluded me, so I shelved it for the moment.

One event really stood out and opened my eyes to the mountaineering skills of Norion. We were walking over a small high plateau between valleys, and were approaching a canyon through which a torrent rushed towards the Chandra river. Suddenly the ground dropped away from us and we stood on the edge of a near vertical cliff which plunged maybe a hundred and fifty feet to the canyon bottom. My whole being shrank back from the edge, scared of the drop, when I saw Norion act strangely. He walked to the rim, turned around at us with a strange look in his eyes, turned away again and then simply walked off!

By the time we had gathered our wits about us and were looking over the edge he was already half way to the bottom, part walking and part sliding down the cliff side much as when I used to walk down steep sand dunes as a child. An optical illusion made it look as if the cliff were vertical, yet it could now be seen that it was a small angle off the perpendicular. Still, it seemed impossibly steep... Soon he was at the bottom waving to us.

There was nothing in my life up to that point to show me that a descent such as the one I had just witnessed was possible. I was in shock, my brain did not compute, yet at some level I rejoiced at my great fortune to be witnessing marvels. My mental boundaries, and all that I had formally defined as either possible or impossible, were being shaken. This experience showed me not to be too hasty in deciding what I could achieve, and what not. Indeed, by the end of my trekking in the mountains, I was able to perform similar feats, and more. Needless to say, that first time, we three mere mortals unanimously decided to descend by the long route!

That particular river was relatively tame and we crossed without incident. Soon we were standing on the other side, looking at the cliffs which awaited us . Norion still retained some of the madness around him, and started to climb straight up, an ascent of a hundred or so feet. His mood infected the three of us, and we followed suit. There were a few times on that ascent when I thought I wouldn't make it, and likewise for the others. If we had slipped and had started to roll or lose control, we would have been in severe trouble. Nevertheless there were four very happy, satisfied, and proud adventurers taking a rest on top of that cliff afterwards!

One evening after sunset as we camped by a river we heard a flute playing in the distance. It had a ghostly, wistful feel about it; it was played in 'Indian' style and the flautist was a master. It came and went on the breeze, a friendly and reassuring spirit, and gave me the feeling of being looked after in this vast space. We had seen the occasional flock of sheep impossibly high up on mountains on our travels and had even heard a faint flute, but this was our first contact with a shepherd. He came nowhere near our camp circle, however, and hovered in the shadows until Norion left the fire and walked to him.

Our visitor was obviously very shy, and he spoke gently with the minimum possible words. Norion reappeared from the darkness, picked up a metal bowl and went back to the shepherd. Returning with a triumphant look on his face, he presented us with a delicious dessert of sheep's yoghurt!

Early the next day as the stars still twinkled in the indigo sky, we prepared to cross the river. It was a difficult one, deep and fast. Norion seemed undecided, then made his choice. Off with shoes and socks, trousers as well, rope together. As we started to enter the water, a sharp whistle brought us to a halt. The shepherd stood on the edge of the cliff high above us, pointing upstream.

We turned around, got dressed again, and walked a quarter of a mile or so upriver until the next possible crossing place presented itself. We repeated the process, and entered the water. The shepherd was nowhere in sight so we presumed we had found the right place. It was the most difficult crossing we were to make together, but by now we were practised and it went well.

The experience with the shepherd left me with a strange feeling. It seemed to me that wherever you go on this planet (maybe elsewhere too) there will always be beings that inhabit even the most inhospitable of places. If a traveller has the right energy, the spirits he meets will help, protect and keep an eye on his progress. They could also ignore him, or in extreme cases, actively sabotage his efforts. The phrase 'You are never alone' kept repeating itself in my mind. . .

And on and on . . . by the fourth day I was holding my own with the others, and well capable of taking the lead when I felt to do so. My body was now a delight to travel with, and I felt there was a lot more energy inside waiting to be unleashed. I knew I had broken through an energetic barrier that had prevented me from true fitness in my life, and I revelled in a new freedom. The life-force moved through me like never before, and I looked forward to flying on the wings of a new level of awareness.

We were now well over 15,000 feet, and to our left the huge glacier that was the source of the River of the Moon glittered and flashed in the piercing sun. It was a vast moving mountain of ice, and the melting snow hissed and crashed as it fell hundreds of feet into the channel that would eventually guide it to the sea. On an impulse I took off my rucksack and laid it on the ground. I climbed on top of an inviting boulder, lay down on my back, looked up – and froze. In disbelief I saw that the sun was ringed by a perfect, strong and complete rainbow. At that altitude the sun seems almost a pinprick, yet very powerfully diamond bright, and the sky is very dark blue well on its way toward indigo. In a millisecond I was touched by magical dreams from childhood, and I recognised this experience as a key, a new level attained, or a dream from the distant past realised.

All this pent-up energy exploded in a howl which echoed and re-echoed from the mountains surrounding me. Again and again I let rip, noticing I was standing and doing a strange dance of joy. As I 'returned' I saw my companions looking distinctly worried, and I hastened to put their minds at rest. Yes, I am mad, but I'm very happy, everything is fine, and going exactly to plan.

We reached the top of the Barralacha-La at noon on the fifth day. By that time I felt like a mountain goat and was filled with an excess of physical energy. I found a delight in my body which I have rarely experienced in this lifetime, and radiated an intense joy of life. Gone were the gloomy thoughts of failure and lost causes; here was an enthusiasm that took life on at its own game. To win, or at least have a really good time living it.

We made an emotional farewell at the pass, and I found it difficult to express how I felt to my three companions and what meeting them had meant to me. Still, I think they picked up my feelings, and we parted company amongst rich blue sky, tinkling streams, snow-clad shadows and the rainbow sun. Their last gesture to me was the unimaginably precious gift of a tin of Heinz baked beans. Such bliss, amongst such beauty!

For the rest of the day I had the unaccustomed pleasure of walking downhill! I had a spring in my step and my laughter was often to be heard echoing off the cliffs. Little hobbit-like creatures appeared amongst the boulders, golden coloured and the size of small cats. It gave me endless pleasure to see how close I could get to them before they bolted into the cracks between the rocks.

The Barralacha Pass was another gateway. If the Rhotang Pass was the portal to a land of exquisite magic, expanded awareness and huge open spaces, this next gateway was one of pure energy and abundance of joy in life.

Imagine a bird with a broken wing. Confused and alone, it cannot understand what has happened. What remains is an overwhelming feeling of great loss for a state that was once taken for granted, and is now only dimly remembered. After a long time of patience, healing and vainly beating its wings, a day arrives when the air supports its weight and, with joy and an unfolding of forgotten memories, it takes to the sky again. This is how I felt as I descended from this second gateway on the next phase of my journey.

I flew over the rocky terrain. I couldn't feel the weight of my rucksack; it was as if it had become an integral part of my body. According to the map, I was travelling over 30 miles a day, and I felt I was taking it easy. I often had to restrain myself from running! I revelled in my body: it was built for endurance, speed and efficient use of energy.

Forgotten was the heavy burden of pain I had humped and dragged along only a few days earlier. I thought of the message carriers and long-distance runners in Tibet, some capable of over a hundred miles in one day. My body was beginning to realise for itself how that was possible. If this experience had happened when I was fourteen years old...

At the base of the mountain I traversed a wide plain, crossing a river on the way. Then I found the entrance of the large valley I was to follow to the Shangri-La, the last pass into Ladakh. The river at the bottom of the large valley was on my right hand side this time, and my progress was very different from my former self, journeying up the Chandra river!

So on I powered, alone in this wonderful wilderness, celebrating life and Nature on the roof of the world. In the evenings I played my flute and went on long journeys into the stars, experiencing them 3-dimensionally and seeing them in all their different colours and sizes. The stillness was tangible, thick and soporific, drawing my awareness free of my body into a dream world of creation and beauty. The insights and realisations I was given on that journey through the mountains! I could have filled a book with instructions of how to save the world, if only I had remembered a little bit of it after I had returned to the lowlands!

On the third day from the Barralacha-La, disaster struck. I had just reached the junction of two valleys and had pitched camp ready to cross the river on the morrow. Over the water ahead of me I could see the pathway winding up the side of the snow-peaked mountains towards the Shangri-La. Suddenly I became aware of a growling sound in the distance behind me, and I span around. Boiling purple-black clouds were forcing their way up the valley towards me. My heart sank.

One thing I had not anticipated nor prepared for was rain. I had no tent and only one very unwaterproof jacket for protection. Hurriedly I scouted the area. There were no caves or natural shelters anywhere to be found. I made a makeshift umbrella from my aluminium foil survival blanket, and huddled underneath it on the lee side of a large boulder. As the storm hit, gale-force winds soon shredded it and all I could do was to sit it out. Which took two days.

And what two days they were! On one hand they were cold, wet and miserable, on the other, it was one of the most magnificent exhibitions of elemental energy I have ever witnessed. Brilliant flashes of lightning stabbed through the artificial night as huge explosions reverberated from confines of sheer rock. Howling winds drove walls of rain and hail up the valley which hammered onto the naked rocks below. Shrieking black-robed sorceresses fought to the death with grey angry giants, while a human being watched on invisible and insignificant, yet very vulnerable to the frequent and shocking stray ricochets of energy. . .

Luckily there were breaks between bouts. The clouds, dark and grumbling, would retreat at irregular intervals to regroup their forces in readiness for the next assault. I would emerge to stretch my limbs and have a bite to eat, and take in the breathtaking view. Sunshine would beat down strongly from the deep blue sky as if heralding the first day of a new world. Snow now lay much lower than before on the mountains surrounding me; it would have been impossible to cross the Shangri-La in conditions like these anyway. Steam rose like fledgeling clouds from the grey surfaces dominating the land; I could almost hear it sighing in the piercing rays of the sun. My rucksack and other items of clothing would have time to dry, and my shivery body would warm. Despite this respite, there was cause for a growing sense of despair: the river, already the deepest I had met on my travels so far, had become a completely untamable torrent.

Then, all too soon, the distant grumble would swell in volume, the black shroud would advance and cover me once again, and ear-numbing detonations would strike from all sides. The mountains themselves seemed to dance in the strobe-like effect and all I could do was to witness when I had enough courage, or otherwise cower in my leaking shelter, cover my ears and hope.

Finally, on the third day, the clouds retreated for good. In a short while my belongings were dry and I hoped they would stay that way from then on. The river was obviously still impassable and I looked forward to trying to cross the next morning.

That evening I received unexpected company, if at a distance. A group of Japanese arrived on the opposite side of the river, obviously down from the Shangri-La. I wished I could talk with them but it was impossible to hear anything over the rushing of the river. We waved at each other, and I looked forward to meeting them on the morrow. I spent a dreamy night with the stars again, trying to understand a new feeling that had come over me. It was a deep command, rather than a doubt: I must not journey further. However I approached it, it didn't waver. Troubled, I fell asleep.

I was up before dawn, and ready to go. My rucksack was packed, my clothes and sleeping bag wrapped in plastic bags. I walked to the river; it looked black, flecked with foam, and wicked. It didn't seem to be any lower than yesterday. I waded in carefully. I was not even a quarter of the way across, and the swirling waters were already sucking and pulling about my waist. A couple of times I nearly lost my footing, and I was very aware that I was close to death. No way was I going to be able to cross it that day, so I returned to camp, wet and cold, and put on dry clothes while I waited until the sun came up to thaw me out.

It was a very long day. However I meditated, wrote, or read, I couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that I was bashing my head against a brick wall and ignoring Spirit's commands. A spirit bursting with vibrant physical energy doesn't like being caged, either. Impatiently I waited for the morrow.

The next morning was just as disturbing. I knew that there was no chance to cross the river; it seemed no shallower, and that oppressive, hopeless feeling hung over the proceedings like a curse. Finally I waded into the cutting water. Again I had to retreat, having nearly found a violent and watery grave.

That day was the longest I have ever lived. The weather was relatively gentle and I basked in the sun's rays like a lizard. My nerves jangled, desperate for the action my body demanded, and I found no peace from normally relaxing pursuits such as meditation or pranayama. As night came and I lay thoughtfully under the stars, I knew that it was do or die tomorrow. Sod it.

I lay awake for a long time under the sparkling sky, adrenalin coursing through my system, and meditated upon fear. It washed the shores of my being in waves, preventing me from the blessed oblivion of sleep. I knew I was standing at an important pivotal point on my path and wondered how it would all work out on the morrow. Fear was no stranger to me; on these sort of adventures, all one could do was to follow the flow and face it whenever it arose. And yet, my whole life was at stake here. I finally managed a fitful sleep just before dawn.

A brooding expectancy in the pre-dawn twilight awaited me as I awoke. The landscape seemed to be waiting for me, a merciless judge prepared to give sentence depending on the decision I had yet to make. To attempt the crossing, or to accept the ruling of fate. The cold I felt was not merely the physical temperature; a feeling of doom made me shiver violently. As the stars dimmed over my head I waited for enough light to start and prayed for success in my venture.

There was no question to what I had to do. If I had merely given up and returned home, I don't think I would ever have been able to forgive myself. This was the barrier to the fulfilment of my dreams – to reach Tibet and leave the world. As golds started to trace patterns in the sky I packed my belongings and stood by the river. It had lost none of its ring-pass-not feel, and like a condemned prisoner of fate I slowly started to sense my way into its rushing depths. The level had dropped a little yet not enough, and all my senses told screamed at me to stop.

The bull in me took over. I was going to wrestle with this monster snake, and win. Carefully testing the riverbed with one foot before changing weight to the other, trying to keep an easy momentum flowing at the same time, I moved slowly towards the middle of the river. The water was swirling higher up my body, trying to tip me off balance, and had already reached my lower chest. I was very scared. Just before the middle of the river, it was as if my opponent had decided to stop playing games. It lifted me bodily off my feet and pulled me under. I knew that this was the end.

Near-death experiences seem to be attracted to me like moths to a flame. They are totally unlike anything we can imagine before they actually strike. Strangely, though, experiencing them in real-life is an ecstatic 'peak' experience, and probably the state nearest to total relaxation I have ever been able to attain. Faced with the overwhelming archetypal forces which hurl ones body around in the gateway of death, all one can do is surrender completely to the inevitable. Withdrawing deep within, peaceful clarity, high energy and total surrender seem to be the required ingredients for dying. In addition, on each occasion the focus of my awareness has been directed to a particular vision.

As I was sucked away, spun helplessly and tumbled over the rocks, the Crystal Beings entered my consciousness. I gave them full attention. As I witnessed my death, my body relaxed, becoming loose and accepting. I knew at last true bliss. At the same time my awareness followed the crystal threads that had been weaving patterns throughout my life, tracing rainbow pathways into my magical reality, all coming together and joining in the confluence of the present moment. Crystals that I had once known, or didn't yet recognise, would appear out of the mists of time, some long enough for only a glimpse, others revealing a substantial story, only to disappear again. They whispered greetings to me and told me why they had appeared in my life, journeying with me awhile, what they had shared with me, and why they had left. They promised greater things to come, a far deeper relationship than had ever been before, and told me in particular to recognise and trust the guidance of my current crystal friend.

While this was going on, a parallel awareness was observing the process of my death. Rolling, upside down, rightway up, submerged, breaking the surface, submerging again, buffeted, leg hitting rock. A massive snake worrying and shaking a tiny morsel violently in its jaws. What was the point of all these revelations if I am to die? No matter. It just is. Accept. I watched with interest as I became the river. No fight, just flow; where it goes, I go.

There were no feelings of fear or regret. I was, completely, more present than ever before in my life and the life-force thrummed through my being like a live wire. Then I knew definitely that I was not yet free to leave the world and reach Tibet. That was a dream that would not manifest at the moment for I was not yet ready, and I became curious in a detached sort of way as to what would take its place. Crystals, no doubt, but in what manner?

With a jolt I found myself wedged between two rocks in a place easy enough to wade to shore – naturally, the shore I had tried so hard to leave! I dragged myself out, coughing up water, soaked and bedraggled, and lay on the dry rocks. I think I passed out, and woke later to the warmth of the sun piercing through layers of my coldness. I had stopped shivering. I checked my body and everything seemed to move alright, nothing broken. Soon I felt able to stand and spread my clothes out to dry. By noon I had everything repacked and recognised another side-effect of a near-death experience on my organism: I was bursting with more life-force than I knew how to handle. I knew then I still had work to do on Earth, and for the foreseeable future it was with crystals. All would be revealed as I took the path open to me in trust and goodwill.

I let go of my former dreams and they floated like fragrant feathers across the river, up over the Shangri-La, and on into Tibet. Any regret I had left with them, and I gathered all my resources for what now lay before me. With a last farewell Namaste to the river, I expressed my gratitude for the gifts it had given me. I started to power my way back the way I had come with a new purpose. I skimmed the surface of the land like a flat pebble over calm water, most of the time unaware of the ground beneath my feet. The landscape passed by in a blur of speed. Before I knew it, I was over the Barralacha La, and descending the other side. I didn't return the same way as I had come, but followed the military road to Kyelang. My perception was focussed deep inside my body and I became aware only of my pumping heart, swinging limbs, stretching muscles, bellow-like breath, and crunching feet. The outside world appeared and dissolved, a cinema screen of connected landscape images, while I became a human locomotive whose pressure had been increased to 'full' and was now in the red. Overload. For two more days I kept this up until I burnt myself out.

Coming to my senses after my obsession, I found myself exhausted, limping and depressed. In my frenzy, my right walking boot had split completely across the bottom and pinched my foot at every step. I had been unconscious of this in my former state but by now walking had become very painful.

My euphoria was spent, my feet hurt and my present return journey seemed an anticlimax. In a red haze of near-collapse I plodded onward, operating by now on the last dregs of my energy reserves.

I heard a vehicle coming up behind me. An army jeep! It stopped, and a huge, grinning, turbaned Sikh motioned me to get in. So my luck still held! Gratefully I joined him and we rattled our way through the mountains. We stopped soon afterwards opposite an army depot ringed with barbed wire defences, filled with all sorts of military equipment and yellow road building machines. We drove up a narrow track to a wonderful friendly-looking house where a group of army types with their families were having a barbecue on a threadbare lawn.

To my dismay I found myself the centre of attention. They all seemed horrified to hear the story (abridged of course) of my lone travels through the mountains. Most military or governmental authorities have an inherent fear of civilian activities which have any danger associated with them. Probably because they are involved in the subsequent complicated rescue operations. Having performed their duty by ticking me off for being so irresponsible they realised how exhausted I was and from then on I was looked after, fed, medicated, given a bed for the night, and cared for wonderfully.

The next morning the friendly Sikh gave me a lift to the bus terminus at Kyelang, and by nightfall I was back again in my simple room overlooking the trees and stream in Manali.

Two days later I was sitting at my favourite seat in the Blue Dragon. From this spot I had a good view over the small market square below, and further into the far distance where the beautiful forested mountainscapes towered into the sky. I spent a part of each day either writing, eating, relaxing or listening to good music in this hospitable and exotic space. I was regarded as rather an eccentric customer due to my habit of accompanying inspiring music with the rattle I always carried with me. I was glowing with health and energy, fit as a fiddle, and on top of the world. It felt as if anything were possible.

After my experiences in the mountains, it was good to be in a warm and protected environment and eating good food. My body revelled in the rest it so sorely needed, and I allowed myself to do whatever I needed to do in order to recover and feel good. I played with my life-force and the space around me in trust and innocence. I dreamed many dreams during that period, and allowed old memories to surface.

I am in my bedroom as a child. It is my special, private place and although my parents don't really respect it, I still have my hidey places and secret caches. I love my bed; it is the one place in which I am not interrupted by humans. My demons and invisible tormentors don't give me much rest, but that is different.

I revel in the worlds that open up for me at night, and I can't wait to slide into the realms where I can be king or Peter Pan, and where all my wishes come true. Probably my greatest joy is flying. The memories I have of flying around my room exploring the cobwebs and tiny cracks in the ceiling still give me much pleasure.

Then there are the stormy nights when the wind is howling outside and rain hammers in waves on the window. I allow my imagination free reign and can see leaves tumbling through the air and the clouds rolling past. The rushing, solid air is sliced by the tree trunks as they sway and bend in torment; moans of ecstasy rise and fall in the dark, exciting night. And now I am outside on the grass in the cosy comfort of my bed, sheltered from the worst of the wind by the apple trees. I experience the wildness of the storm and feel its power, yet I am dry and protected. Here I fall asleep in the realms of my friend and lover I call nature, protected and warm.

I relive the time I break out of my room for the first time, flying over the lawn and then down the lane towards the main road: I am flying over the fields and rivers to the northwest, revelling in the feelings of complete freedom of movement in three dimensions, and the rushing of the air over my super-sensitive skin. I fly high over the landscape I know so well, seeing it from a brand new perspective. I land in a wonderful orchard which seems to attract me in an unusual, compelling way. The river Exe runs along its lower boundary, and I feel at home here.

When I wake up, I am filled with excitement. I have remembered a particular detail I saw while flying down the lane, and want to check it out. Three old tyres were lying on the roof of an old barn two hundred yards down the road from our house: there is no way I could have seen them under normal circumstances, and I want to find out if my flight was "real".

I climb the side of the barn and reach the top. Sure enough, there are three tyres on the corrugated iron roof. After that I never doubt, and treat my flights as perfectly real and natural.

A year or so later I am travelling by train to North Devon for a gliding weekend, and we are just pulling out of Exeter along the tracks which follow the beautiful contours of the Exe valley. I spot a field next to the river and recognise it as the field on which I alighted on my first conscious flight, and the hairs rise on my head. So that experience was true, then, as well!

There is a game I play when in bed, and it requires a lot of skill. My bed is in the corner of the room, with the headboard and one side of the bed resting against one wall. The game is simple: while lying horizontal and without using my physical muscles, I have to revolve my body one hundred and eighty degrees so that my dream feet occupy the same space as my physical head, and my dream head the same space as my physical feet. Simple. It's really a case of lying dead still and relaxing.

Well, it's easy enough to start to float an inch or so above the mattress. It is still OK to start to revolve, but as soon as my back and head are projecting over the side of the bed, I know that the slightest thought of "this isn't possible", or "I'm about to fall!", or suchlike will destroy all my titanic feats of concentration.

If I fail at this point, I will be catapulted back into my body with such a God-almighty thump that my energetic body will experience a severe shock which will not be relieved until I am eventually able to fall asleep again. I need to exercise extreme balance and concentration inside myself to attain my goal, but what a feeling of achievement to be lying on my bed, looking at the other end of the bed where my head is superimposed over my feet!

I always wonder what would happen if I opened my eyes and stared at me, face to face, but a deep part of me is very relieved that this doesn't seem to happen!

That evening in the Blue Dragon I sat contemplating a spectacular sunset over the mountains. Gone were the clear, healing blue skies of Lahaul. I was back in the soggy greyness of the monsoon and this display of colour was actually an exception to the norm. I was waiting. An expectancy hovered near and I could feel that something was about to happen. The fine hairs at the nape of my neck were raised, and a heavy stillness surrounded me as my body prepared for action.

Raised voices close to my table enticed my attention away from its colourful reveries. A large bearded German man sitting at a table at the end of the room had become angry and was shouting at one of his companions. Another member of his entourage was saying something soothing, attempting to placate the situation, but it only served to infuriate him further. I could see he was working himself into a tantrum and I watched with interest. The situation was approaching breaking point and a tense silence had gripped the restaurant. I felt my crystal cool in my hand. In a detached sort of way I observed myself get up from the table, walk across the room, and face the wild German.

"Hold this for a while," I said, slipping the crystal into his hand.

"What!" He looked startled, then confused.

"Close your eyes," I spoke softly, persuasively. "Feel what is inside the crystal, and in a while tell me what you have experienced. No, don't say anything. Relax and then tell me what happens to you. It will be very interesting."

He did as I suggested, and the atmosphere around the table underwent a startling metamorphosis. Both his companions and I watched astonished as the knots and sinews of his body relaxed and untied themselves in front of our eyes. His head wavered then fell gently onto his chest, his breathing slowed and became silent, his empty fist unclenched. All eyes and attention in the room were focussed on the proceedings as I returned to my table. Occasionally excited whispers would break the stillness, then would fade away into the silence. After what seemed like ages but was probably about ten minutes, the German came over and returned the crystal to me. I asked him what he had experienced.

"Water," he replied."Softly moving, flowing water entered my arm from the crystal, and filled my body. It was beautiful. Cool. Really beautiful."

He seemed in a bit of a daze, completely relaxed and very feminine.

"This was a very special experience for you tonight," I said. "Whenever you feel tense or stressed out, remember the crystal and your journey with it. It will stay with you and be your helper, if you wish."

"Vielen Dank", he said with feeling, and was gone. I laid the crystal on the table in front of me, and thanked it for revealing itself. As the coloured lightbulbs and strange oriental decorations in the Blue Dragon flashed from its cool liquidity, I wondered what else it would reveal to me over time. Later, as I ate supper, one of the men at the German's table came over to me.

"May I sit down?"

"Sure."

He was an Indian mountain man, worldly and experienced in relating to travellers. He radiated calm and a silent strength.

"May I hold your crystal for a while?" he asked.

"Of course, go ahead."

He picked it up, closed his eyes, and was soon lost in its depths. Some minutes later he opened his eyes.

"A beautiful friend and helper," he said softly. "You work together very well. Do you know there are crystals in the mountains near here?"

The space took on that electric quality of deep significance, and I recognised the presence of Spirit. Something of importance was about to be revealed. I was suddenly alert and all ears.

"No – where?" I asked.

"In the Parvarti valley between Buntah and Manikharam", he replied. "Uranium also. A very special place. You can find all sorts of wonderful things there."

We talked for a long while about crystals, mountains, and the bizarre and magical secret lore of the Himalayas. He told me of a legend of the Red Crystal Mountain, hidden in the Himalayas, kept secret by all those who knew of it. Another adventure for the future, I thought to myself. I recognised that magical evening as another link in the chain of events that Spirit was crafting, and wondered where it was all leading.

The next thread in the unfolding adventure had been revealed to me in the muted monsoon sunset, my time of power: I had been given instructions to visit the Parvarti valley and find some special crystals.

The next day I was on my way.