Back in Ashburton my space started to look like a military operations room. Over the months, I had pinned Ordnance Survey maps over one long wall and had joined them accurately together. They covered the area from Lands End to Glastonbury, which is an awful lot of maps! Rings identified potential crystal homes, dots inside them signified completion. The Crystal Journey unfolded slowly but surely, and the maps started to fill. I spent time connecting the dots with long lengths of thread fixed to the maps by drawing pins. Some extraordinary patterns started to emerge.

Carol, in one fell swoop, sorted out my problem concerning the planting of crystals in other countries. Until then, I had no idea how I was to accomplish this, and I certainly hadn't the resources to do it myself. One day she breezed into my room and asked if I minded giving her two or three crystals. Some friends of hers from Findhorn were on their way to Peru, and would gladly find homes for a few crystals if it felt OK to me. You bet! From that day onwards, there was a steady stream of crystals leaving for all sorts of exotic places around the planet, carried by people well tuned-in to the earth and whom I trusted implicitly. Networking works! I gave Carol a 'float' of perhaps twenty crystals and, invariably, on returning from one or other of my journeys, she would meet me all bubbling and excited.

"Three crystals are on their way to China!" she would say gleefully. Or "Lake Titicaca and Peru here we come!" Or "Russia and Siberia will soon be linked in!" It was an exciting time, watching how distant lands joined the giant web we were both spinning. And so it went on. I was eating, breathing and sleeping crystals, completely surrendered to the steady inexorable current that was carrying me along.

One morning I left the house and walked to the A30 a mile away. I had fifteen pounds in my pocket and was determined to go wherever I was taken. The first car that stopped was going to Carlisle, and I accepted with excitement. I had never been to Scotland, despite being half-Scottish myself. On the way I bought a map of Scotland, but my next lift was to Stranraer on a truck that was en route for Belfast. Although I had too little money for the ferry, the driver gave me a free ticket. Across the water!

Early the next morning I was hitching out of Belfast. Luckily the map I had bought included Northern Ireland, and I made for Ballynoe stone circle about fifty miles to the south. In the early afternoon I arrived after a stiff walk, and lazed in the sunshine among the magic stones which enclosed a grassy mound. Lizards stalked drowsy insects on the rocks, and many types of birds flew around me. A little stream tinkled in the near distance, and all was well with the world.

After a simple crystal planting ceremony I walked to Saul church, the first Christian church built in Ireland, and a crystal found a home there. By the time it was getting dark I was climbing St. Patricks Mount nearby. Every year thousands of pilgrims climb the hill on St. Patricks Day, spiralling past the various stations of the cross on their spirit journey to the summit. I spent a stormy but snug night on the top, the trees shrieking and crashing in the wind. In the morning I awoke to an extraordinary all-round view, stretching for miles in every direction.

The next few days found me in various sacred places in Northern Ireland, and many crystals found new homes there. It was delightful to discover, especially in the country, that people in cars would stop and ask if I wanted a lift, whether I had my thumb out or not! Thank you, Ireland, for your generous and curious inhabitants, who love a good story and still have a warm place in their hearts for travellers!

At length, money and food exhausted, I made my farewells to a beautiful, friendly country. From the deck of the ferry the last crystal of that journey was thrown into the sea mid-way between England and Ireland. I made prayers that Spirit would soon unite these two lands in peace.

Over Christmas I was asked to look after a smallholding owned by friends of Carol's, right in the centre of Dartmoor. They had a small flock of sheep, two dogs and three cats. The farmhouse was large, well loved, and three lively children usually had the run of it. This was my chance. A whole month in the middle of one of the largest and most important energy centres of Britain! I wanted to cover it liberally in crystals, both because I felt it essential to the Crystal Journey and to the land as a whole, and because I knew its personality so well. Out came the maps and I went over them finely, plotting walks of varying duration to cover every area I needed to visit. I planned gentle circular routes for areas close to the farm, long straight slingshot paths to places at the edge of the moors, and for all eventualities in between. I would have to be walking almost every day and hoped I would be fit enough to last a month without collapsing. I was happy and raring to go.

In the late '70's I had lived in a caravan on the side of Sharp Tor in the centre of Dartmoor. This beautiful, regular-featured personality in the landscape was like an old friend and teacher, and I knew that it would play an important part in helping me lay a new crystal network across Dartmoor. I knew most of the region like the back of my hand. While planning my crystal walks I recalled a lot of what I had learned and discovered at that earlier time, and looked forward to renewing my relationship with Dartmoor in a briefer, but much deeper way.

Sharp Tor is a particularly striking hill. From some angles it seems perfectly conical like a classic volcano. It became my tester, teacher and provider for the year-and-a-half I lived on its roots, even providing simple food after I had created a small vegetable garden on its virgin slopes. Although its sides are steep and sheer in places, a protected platform at its peak provides a space perfect for meditation, dancing or sunbathing. It is a special place of power: I have experienced many strange and illuminating things there, and so too have many others, some of whom have shared their experiences with me. A place of initiation is the description most often used about Sharp Tor. It has certainly given me some wonderful experiences about the nature of reality, introducing me to new and unusual realms of perception.

Following my determination to be able to function in the dark and having learnt to walk at night in the Sinai, Sharp Tor provided my advanced course on the theme. I had been studying Tai Chi for two years and I experienced much delight in learning to move in balance with as little effort as possible. Using my newly found skills, I grew proficient in walking at night on Dartmoor, learning to find pathways through the moors even at the dark of the moon or in the most severe mists. In addition, I was getting to feel more and more confident with the particular beings who live there. One night stands out in particular:

Finally the guardian at the top of Sharp Tor challenges me and I greet it, an old friend. Here I relax for a short while. Time has lost its meaning: I could have been underway ten minutes or ten hours, yet I cannot tell which is more likely, and it doesn't matter. It has taken as long as it needed to. I pause on the invisible summit for only a short while, as there is still the second half of the adventure to complete. The opposite side of Sharp Tor has a cliff face, one I haven't yet got to know. I feel awash with energy and know I have to continue. I traverse impossible terrain this night. My body knows it and celebrates its freedom from 'normal' physical reality. Without even having to go onto my hands and knees I walk down the cliff, slowly yet steadily, until I stand on relatively level ground again. Then I find the nearest friendly path. Soon I am home again, making myself a cup of tea.

Walking in the dark opened up all sorts of new possibilities for me. By preparing myself for Adventure, quieting my thoughts, and stepping out with a brave heart into the darkness, completely new worlds revealed themselves to my magical sight. Access to these worlds teaches the self new skills which will enable it to function with heightened efficiency and fluidity in the world we describe as 'everyday life'.

Another gift Sharp Tor gave me is the ability to see the stars and the workings of the heavens in three dimensions:

Perception. Perspective. Power.

It was early December and it had started to snow as I made my way out of Ashburton. I managed to hitch half-way to my destination before drifts blocked the way, and the driver of the car had to turn back. Luckily the snow had stopped falling as I started to walk but the wind was bitterly cold, driving small ice crystals horizontally through the air into my face. The sky looked menacing yet I was warmly clothed. I looked forward to walking through the arctic snowscape.

I fantasized about a new Ice Age, forcing huddled remnants of the human race into hidden pockets under the earth. I was the only one prepared to wrestle with the rampant, chaotic elementals which held sway over the surface of the earth, willing to fight to survive in an impossible climate. In my mind's eye I became a sort of Conan, a world-saver.

Come to me, whirling ice devils, show me your worst! Let me uncover the wild elemental energies in myself to match yours, spin icicle-winged with you in a dance to celebrate the death of the old! The shrivening north winds may howl and scour the surface of the planet in search of movement, and destroy. But I, Ivan, challenge you to a dance to the death, for I have nothing left to lose. You are the power at loose in nature now, and I am the only human left. I challenge you! For either I learn to dance with you, or die alone!

Breath steamy, feet crunching, heat rising, feet pounding through frozen surf, deepening drifts. What beauty, virgin, new beginnings! I had found my rhythm, arms swinging, and sang at the top of my voice. Trees swayed and bent before the wind, roots grappled with the elusive earth on the exposed moor, trunks polarised pure white to the windward and dark black to the lee. Clouds, grey and heavily laden, scudded towards me and swirled away over my shoulder. What a welcome home!

I had reached maybe the half-way point of my journey when I suddenly stopped. Something had caught my attention and I searched around for what it could possibly be. For a while I saw nothing unusual, yet I couldn't move on. Then I saw a twig lying about ten feet away, on the snow-covered grass verge. It was the only thing that wasn't covered by snow, and it looked decidedly odd. Out of place. I walked closer and picked it up. It was a slow-worm! I had no idea what had made this cold blooded creature leave its winter nest in the middle of a blizzard. I picked it up, thinking it dead. It was rigid, solid, and I impulsively put it into my coat pocket to give it a decent burial when I arrived at my destination.

The walk was longer than I had remembered, and much later, tired and desperate for a hot drink, I stumbled into the farmyard. Soon I was in the lounge, the ice on my rucksack and coat melting by the fire, relaxing with a cup of tea and the welcome ministrations of my friends. After a while we noticed that the cats were acting strangely, and stalking something on the floor. After investigation, it turned out to be the slow worm: the heat of the fire had revitalised it. It was very much alive, exceedingly wriggly, and the object of potentially terminal feline attention!

We found a new hibernation spot for it under the woodpile in the barn and left it well wrapped in a nest of hay. Afterwards, around various Devonian open wintertide fires where stories are told and retold, gathering mystery and momentum with each rendition, a particular story is related. It is 'The Day of the Snow-Worm'.

My routine at the farm was simple: wake early for dawn and greet the sun as it rose weak and watery over the moors, make breakfast for myself and the animals, check the sheep and then decide where to go during the day. This depended a lot on the weather. In the evenings I lit the fires to keep the house warm and dry, fed the animals again, and had time for spiritual practice, supper and research. What a lovely few weeks I spent there!

During the daytime I walked like a madman, driven by the irresistible force of my task, and I covered the moors in all four directions. I visited places both familiar and new, comfortable and strange, welcoming and forbidding. All of the time I was hyper-aware of the objects of my search, the nodes of earth-energy which connect and transform the streams of life-force which flow over the landscape.

By following my intuition as well as the information I had gleaned from libraries, I discovered many things which were not marked or recorded on maps. I got a good idea of the strong streams of earth energy flowing across the vibrant land, linking up special spots along the way. I noticed how some energy leys seemed to flow in straight lines despite the form of the land, and how other natural currents would follow contours and were obviously moulded by the shape of the earth (or was the earth moulded by the shape of these currents?). My senses became alert for the particular feelings associated with sacred space, and I spent time at those special places exploring the different 'gateways' they presented.

My creative madness allowed me to experience the Earth Mother on many levels at once: I saw the physical landscape, solid underfoot, move past me while immersed in the sensations filling my body; I perceived the earth energy covering the land like a silver mirage, an iridescent sea stirred into vortexes and rushing currents which interacted harmoniously with my life-force; I stalked through an anthropomorphic land, where every flower, rock, valley and rise took on an individual, numinous quality. Beings of every shape, size and character peered at me as I moved through their territories, and I greeted them with respect. In my wanderings it was not unusual for me to perceive in ways I did not recognise. 'Don't Panic', as written on the cover of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, became my catchword and all was taken in my stride.

I was also aware that my arrival at many sacred places was coincidental, more often than not, with high-energy phenomena. Whether my presence with the crystals created the effect, or whether I was tuned in to 'appointments' at different times, I never found out. I reckoned that it didn't really matter. As with the experience with the dragon at Glastonbury, or discovering that the first five crystals I planted lay on a straight line, strange and highly charged events seemed to greet me wherever I went. I loved it, and I took it as a sign that I was on the right track. It was valuable feedback that I was following my guidance correctly.

And so I started my working sojourn on Dartmoor. I soon found that the youngest dog, a collie, wouldn't allow me to walk without her expert guidance and experience of the moors. I tried at first to sneak away without her seeing, but she always sensed when I had left and would soon be running circles around me, and smiling at me as if to say, "So you thought you could pull the wool over my eyes, eh? No chance!"

We must have become a familiar sight to the pixies and sprites as we roamed the moors together. At first, there was no way she would respond to my commands, so after a short while of angry commands and intense frustration I just let it all go and trusted. As soon as that happened she looked at me as if to say, "At last, you're learning!". And then she became a wonderful companion. We walked and walked. We both grew fit, shiny haired and glowing with new vital energy.

As more and more crystals found their final resting places the moors became increasingly familiar. A three dimensional map grew in my mind of valleys, streams, ridges and tors, and their interrelationships. From every high spot or tor on which a crystal was buried, I could see and recognise perhaps four other prominent places where I had planted crystals. Without physically moving, I could project my consciousness to those other four spots, and from each one of them, onwards to yet other crystal locations and so on.

In time, from nearly anywhere on these islands, I could visually link up to all other crystal places from wherever I stood. As the web of interconnecting crystals grew so did my satisfaction that something real was happening, and my heart sang. I was also learning to see and treat the land as a living sentient being, something that is easy to do with ones thoughts, but very difficult to live and experience in everyday life. It has a lot to do with connection, where every isolated bit is related to every other.

Daily, I was making small discoveries which gave me joy. An uncharted spring here, a standing stone there, a secret little valley hidden behind that spur. I was on a voyage of exploration, and the abstract contours of one of the most beautiful and powerful places in Britain were becoming increasingly open to me.

About ten days after I arrived at the farm I was guided to the central power-house of the Dartmoor energy complex. I was on a walk to Erne Pits on the south of the moor, and had about thirty miles to cover that day. I really had to go for it, visiting many different energy centres on the way:

That evening, after dark, I arrive happy but exhausted back at the farm. I have walked a good twenty-five miles today. The animals are pleased to see me and we spend a cosy night next to the fire.

Each place I visited had its own very individual character and atmosphere. The Central Generator was very impersonal and powerful like a brooding volcano. The circle at Erne Pits was like a vacuum cleaner, sucking in the energies of the virgin moors surrounding it, directing them towards the generator. It had a playful feel, also. Merrivale was a giant ceremonial centre, and in my mind's eye I could see thirty or forty brightly coloured robed men and women performing their magical and spiritual work under the vast dome of the sky. A throng of hundreds could have stood surrounding the site, adding their innocent and devout energies to the ceremony. It made me aware of all the separate components needed to create a whole, balanced, functioning organism on the land, or indeed in any context. I determined to explore and research all the different elements comprising the power point network on Dartmoor, in order to understand the workings of energy in general.

One day a little island in the river Swincombe called me and I spent an hour or so sitting on a large rock while bubbling clear waters swirled past on their serpentine passage to the sea. As I dreamed of fish and foam the spirit of the world's children called to me. Happy children in green nature played in the pinkness of health while oppressed and starving hollow-eyed babies begged me never to forget them. I realised then that the crystal journey, and my life's work, was really devoted to the children who would eventually take over and guide this planet's destiny into the starshine future.

All the time I explored. I spent time in hidden places, getting to know the local spirits dwelling there. I would enter their domain only if I felt I had been invited, and then I would wait for the inhabitants to appear. They always did, revealing themselves by a feeling, or by using rocks, shadows, or the landscape to communicate to me. I would leave my gifts, a crystal if appropriate, prayers, a dance, or a tune played on my flute before I left. It is not commonly realised that the land also gets hungry, or lonely, and it is in our power to balance, feed, or touch the land as if it were in our care. All Beings respond and grow through love and caring. It is so simple, yet how many of us actually, actively, love the land?

Midwinter's Day was approaching, the darkest and longest night of the year, and I wanted to celebrate in a special, appropriate fashion. This is the turning point of the year when the sun, weak and remote, finally reaches the most distant point in its yearly cycle. From this point on it starts growing in strength towards its maximum on Midsummer's Day. I decided to make a pilgrimage to one of Dartmoor's most spectacular scenes, Score Hill stone circle (pronounced Scorrill).

I had never had a chance to visit it before, and had heard exciting descriptions of its beauty and power. I worked out another mega-route over the moors to the north-east which linked up a string of sacred places and stone complexes, another thirty mile walk!

At dawn, cheerful and sunny, I started on my way. Past the stone avenue and standing stones on Laughter Tor, where I lamented the insensitivity of Man for building a wall straight through the stone avenue, cutting it in half. Then on to the rocky platform of Bell Tor, the former home of the sun god Baal, or Belios. On its flank is a small complex of stones including a circle, an avenue and a small fairy-size cromlech. For the little people.

I paid my respects and strode onwards towards Postbridge. There I rested awhile on the Clapper Bridge, a wonderful ancient bridge constructed from huge slabs of stone which reaches over the river Dart, and dropped a crystal into the river as close as possible to a silver-bellied trout below me.

I crossed the road, and the northern part of the moor opened its maw as I greeted it. It then swallowed me in heathery purple-green as if I had never existed. The moor is vast and I felt very small. Following the tracks marked on the map I then shifted into top gear. The natural pathways are manifestations of earth energy lines over the land. The animals know it and instinctively walk where it feels best. Soon permanent pathways are created. If one keeps to them there is a bounce to every step and the traveller feeds off the energy of the land. Invigorated and happy, my body started to fly over the moors and melted into the endless space under the deep blue sky.

After an hour and a half I came across the double stone circle called the Grey Wethers. Two large impressive circles each maybe twenty yards across stand on the east side of Sittaford Tor. The heavy grey stones reach out of the peaty soil to waist height, and give a welcome feeling of solidity. Here among the valleys, streams and rolling hills lives Hu the gentle ploughman, according to legend the last of the old gods and goddesses that used to inhabit the Tors and hidden places of Dartmoor.

The legends say that the moors were once a stronghold for the gods and goddesses on earth, and that they were a vicious and bloodthirsty lot who demanded regular sacrifice from the local people. If the inhabitants did not comply, some form of destruction or devastation was exacted. Hu was the exception to the rule, and whatever happened, he was consistent in his love and attention to the earth, all living beings and the plants that inhabit it.

The Old Ones' days were numbered when Jesus Christ and fellow pilgrims landed on the south coast of Cornwall and journeyed through the southwest towards Glastonbury (along the Dragon, or Michael leyline?). This new god-human brought with him an energy that the old divinities could not compete with: unconditional love. The only sacrifice that was needed in His scheme of things was total surrender to the whisperings of the heart.

Unable to handle their own energies which were mirrored back to them, they fled over the seas towards the south in search of a new home, and have never returned. Only Hu, already resonating to the Christ energy, welcomed Jesus and carried on his work, which he does until this day. The Grey Wethers stone circles mark the spot where he lives, and he welcomes the occasional traveller.

And onwards. The dark green vastness of Fernworthy Forest appeared on the horizon and I changed my direction towards it. The tall still pines enveloped me and I followed a wide footpath until a clearing opened up to my left. Surrounded by the silence of the trees, a long double avenue of stones stood lichen-covered amongst heather and long spiky marsh grass. A quarter of the way along the avenue is a wonderful stone ring, and I dubbed it the Pixie Circle. Such a feeling of silence, warmth and intimacy hovers here. I sank into the welcoming heather on top of an interesting mound and, staring at the slice of sky between the treetops, drifted into a dream:

Catalysts of life and health, do what you are destined to do in order to shift our inertia, our complacency, our ignorance. Guide us to the paradise, the heaven on earth that is our birthright, whose potential radiates all around and through us for those who have eyes that can see!

I came slowly back to the stones and the trees about me. I stood up, brushed off my clothes and had a last look at that gentle little place. And off, through the mature pines, along forestry tracks until I reached Fernworthy reservoir. Completely still and reflecting the trees off its black surface, it seemed bottomless, a huge mirror-like gateway to the centre of the earth. I skirted its western edge through boggy land and made to the north, away from the trees and back onto the open moors. A large standing stone, ten foot high, lives a mile to the north of the lake and I spent some time with it.

Then, half a mile onwards on a gentle rise sprawls a strange patterned stone complex. The stones are small, on average perhaps two foot high, yet avenues run this way and that across the flat hill. Its purpose is a mystery, forgotten thousands of years ago, yet it fills the observer with a sense of wonder and awe.

And on! The afternoon was well progressed by now and I reckoned on another four miles to go. As I walked down a shallow slope towards Score Hill, the sun was dropping steadily toward the horizon. Midwinter's day is the shortest day of the year, and from this day onwards the sun warms the earth in preparation for another cycle of growth and harvest. A little rhyme started to repeat itself in my head, and for the remainder of the walk stayed with me:

I walked over the top of a small hill and the circle came into view. Still distant, it stood out shadowy and mysterious on the slope opposite. As I approached, the stones started to reveal their characters, and they were a wild bunch indeed! The circle reminded me of a huge shark's mouth sporting wicked, jagged teeth. Despite surface impressions it felt strong yet not dangerous, and I looked forward to entering it. I was climbing down a small valley side to cross a rushing stream, waterfalls roaring, when I saw a flash of colour inside the circle. I stopped and looked.

A woman in brightly coloured flowing clothes was standing at the centre of the stones. She looked quite magnificent and magical in that setting, her arms raised in salute to the sunset. She glowed flaming red, pink and gold in the rays of the dying sun. I hadn't met anyone all day and I looked forward to meeting her. I crossed the stream and climbed up the other side.

As the ground levelled out and the stones reappeared, I couldn't see the woman. She must be behind one of the stones, I mused, and approached the circle. I stopped at the entrance and asked permission to enter. As I stepped in, two impressions hit me at once. First, the strength of that sacred space was magnificent, and made me feel like a tingling, ten foot tall warrior. Secondly, it was devoid of human presence.

There was no way anyone could have disappeared on that exposed hillside during the time I had lost sight of the circle, maybe three minutes. I checked behind the stones in case she was playing a game or a joke on me, but nobody was there. An enigmatic stone circle, indeed!

I played my flute as the sun went down, stirring the molten sky into multi-coloured currents, and planted some crystals. The stones looked like frozen dancers, very alive and poised for action. I waited for the spell to break and the shadowy angular shapes around me to spin and gyrate. When I had finished planting my seeds, I sat and watched the evening sky. The dragons were out in force celebrating Solstice. I left my body behind in the circle and joined them. The stones, freed from the heaviness that keeps matter normally in thrall, wove patterns and spirals in light on the hillside. I spun and wheeled about them in my joy, playing tag with those magnificent otherworldly creatures, then I dived and stroked the earth with my golden belly-scales. I soared again, cutting the orange air with playful, powerful wingbeats. I radiated a prayer that eventually the Great Mother and all of her individual parts will be united, and at peace again.

And she will.