Spirit moves in mysterious ways. As I approached the Callanish dreamstones, I remembered that it was my birthday. I seem to have a built-in resistance to celebrations such as birthdays and Christmas: unless reminded, I usually forget. If I do remember, I attempt to conceal the fact and create a quiet, meditative space for the duration. It struck me then that if I was to be re-born every year, I couldn't think of a better place to breathe my first breath of the new cycle than perhaps the greatest temple in the northern realms of Britain.

My sense of distance was well out and the shortish walk seemed to take ages. Like in the Himalayas and other high places, distance in sacred space does a sort of wiggle and is never what it originally seems. At least the approach view was wonderful. Regal silhouettes of the silent stones graced the horizon magnificently, proud black beings overlooking their island kingdom, alert, waiting as I drew closer. At long last I was walking up the steep hillside towards them. I had seen photographs of the site, but they hadn't prepared me for the breathtaking grandeur and sacred atmosphere I met as I got closer. Tall impressive stones coloured in gentle whites, greys and pinks stood solid, masters of the landscape, overlooking the sea loch amongst majestic wilderness. The sun, an intense diamond light in the rarified northern air, sparkled off water, rock and foliage.

An intense aerial activity immediately caught my attention. Birds flitted from stone to stone, and from one side of the site to the other. Large black birds flew high overhead, and the calls of many types of Feathered Ones filled the space from all directions. In particular I heard what seemed hundreds of haunting cuckoo cries from all sides. Never had I heard so many in one place at one time. They seemed to be the dominant species at Callanish, and whenever I remember my time there, I hear those eerie calls as an integral expression of the spirit of the place.

I resisted an impulse to enter the temple as quickly as possible from the side gate in front of me, and walked the extra hundred yards to the main entrance. From there I could approach the temple correctly, and I clambered over the stile at the start of the avenue leading to the centre of the stones.

The whole complex is constructed like a huge celtic cross. Two avenues of large stones intersect to make a cruciform design, the long axis being a double avenue. A circle of the highest, commanding stones is superimposed over the centre with a diameter of about ten metres. In the middle is an open chamber of small stones which seems to be the focal point of the entire complex. I walked slowly up the entrance avenue between the two lines of stones, greeting each one as I passed. At the centre, I shrugged off my rucksack and sat awhile on the side of the stone chamber with my feet in the hole. A strange sensation on the soles of my feet caught my attention, and I felt something change in the atmosphere around me. I started to dream.

As I gaze at the stones, the scene dissolves and I have difficulty in focussing my eyes. After a while I relax and let the process unfold naturally. I pass through a gateway and observe in wonder as the surrounds coalesce again: they have completely changed. I am now looking out of timeless eyes. In this new world there are no houses, tarmac roads, telephone wires or aeroplanes. I am awed by the strength, vitality and wildness of the landscape and the raw elemental beings that are the undisputed rulers of these open spaces. I sit amongst the stones at the end of the world, and realise that for the grace of Great Spirit go I: I would be blown away without trace if I were to lose my equilibrium.

With a start, I see that the stones are no more. In their stead stand ancient men and women, so old and gnarled that they only roughly resemble human beings, immobile with their roots buried deep into the ground. Part earth and part sky, they shimmer in a way that makes their outlines difficult to see. They radiate a timelessness and wisdom that spans aeons, and the Silence throws me deep into the places inside myself which resonate with these primal scenes. They seem to be telling me a story about the destiny they are collectively fulfilling. I become still and silent like the stones about me, and I listen.

From whence they came in the beginning, I cannot tell. Yet I see in a stream of impressions an intimate group of giant Beings, each practiced in the use of a particular great power, committing themselves to work together for countless cycles of time. They take their positions on the northernmost outpost of the habitable world, and create together a dynamic circle of power in order to shape and oversee the future.

Just beyond their sphere of influence and coinciding with the coastline, I see huge tidal waves of raw energy boiling and crashing for as far as the eye can see. In explosions of primal colours, a seething cauldron of chaos tries to sweep away the edges of the land but is prevented by a sort of forcefield, a protective bubble created in part by the mental powers of this sacred circle.

The Beings of Callanish are the guardians of the northern reaches, and work with other such groups which are positioned in different directions relative to the centre of the Land. They are in addition a sort of filtering system which admits that quantity of energy which the Spirit of the Land needs to nourish and replenish herself. At the same time they transform it into a form that can be used. I see that without their patience and unceasing work the British Isles would cease to exist, becoming either starved of the raw energy needed to live, or swept away and laid waste by the fierce energies of the north.

Other similar Beings appear then in the immediate landscape, standing at precise positions in an overall mandala to support the main group among which I find myself. They are connected by a web of interweaving, dynamic streams of light, flowing steadily, glowing silently, and forming vortices at certain junction points. This web interconnects with other long-distance streams which ultimately connect the whole planet. They branch off repeatedly so that every tiny part of the land is reached and nourished by tiny capillaries. Their strength seems to be, like electric cables, in proportion to their thickness and brightness.

I am still sitting at the Centre, immersed in, yet untouched, by this vision of wild splendour. I know I will never, can never forget. I vow then to spend as much time as I have left in my body to experience as much of this hidden, underlying reality as I am able. I will live my life in such a way as to open myself to this way of perception, learning to understand its rules, and preparing myself to enhance its workings in any way I can. I greet the Beings surrounding me, not expecting any sign of acknowledgement. I offer my feelings, for they are all I have: I am overflowing with love and respect for their work and their caring for humanity.

My eyes re-focus and the temperature grows warmer. The sights and sounds of the world fill my senses and I revel in the sensation of the friendly breeze which strokes my skin. As the sound of traffic and conversation enters my awareness, a disappointing flatness begins to make itself felt in comparison to the vitality and wildness of what existed before. Still, as my perception adjusts, a remnant of that former state remains and It feels as if everything is happening in slow-motion. I pick up my dijereedoo as through a viscous liquid. I caress its hard, smooth body, speak to its spirit, and then place it to my lips.

I blow. My didjeridoo summons the Silence which then covers the land like a dark blanket pulled over a sleeping child. Under its influence anything can happen; all is warm and safe. The air around me and earth below me vibrate with the song of Spirit, soothing the heart and emptying the mind. Spirit food for the earth. You are not forgotten. She rejoices.

Tourists and visitors to the Centre appear, knowing not what they do. They are welcomed. Gifts are exchanged. They appear out of metal boxes on the road and float through my awareness, gently jerking slow-motion through the mists, and pass by. Hushed tones. They know something unusual and special is happening. I see many things at once: a momentary shocked expression as somebody walks through the gateway, relaxes, and the Silence pours in. Thirsty people, all. Bypass your thoughts, and live!

A seagull hovers overhead, head cocked to one side, listening. Spellbound, some tourists sit down on the grass nearby, some lean against the stones and close their eyes. Silent access. May all Beings find the Silence, the peace that comes of being content with what simply is, now. Cuckoos call in surprising numbers across the moors. Come to the gateway! A fox ambles, playfully alert, over the heather. A child cries and finds solace at his mother's breast, a fearful man takes another mouthful of oblivion from his bottle. A silver salmon jumps high from the black water below and crashes back in iridescent spray. Everything is permeated by sea breezes and salty smells. I have come back to the land of my birth. I celebrate my incarnation into this wonderful world, here, today. I am at the centre of Those-Who-Were-Here-At-The-Beginning, the Old Ones. Will I be here at the end?

And still the cuckoos call.

I left the stones behind me, walked along the top of the hill overlooking the loch and stopped at the edge. I was hunting. From my present position I could see the whole valley below me, and I needed to find a place to stay. Two possibilities presented themselves, both derelict-looking houses by the water's edge. Remembering their positions, I continued walking down the hill and checked out the closest. The house was on a spit of exposed land jutting into the water. The feeling around it was wrong, and I was actually relieved that the wooden guts of the building were destroyed. There were holes in the roof offering no real shelter and, without any hesitation, I started out for the second house on the landward side of the loch.

Again, I found it a longer walk than it had first seemed, but I reached it in good spirits and at first sight I knew it was my base for the duration. About twenty yards from the water's edge, the compact little house burst out of a sea of swaying daffodils which filled the air with a strong perfume. The bright yellow pool surrounding the house was cheerful and welcoming. With excitement I approached the front door. As I entered my eyes took a while to adjust to the gloom. The bottom floor was destroyed and covered with years of sheep droppings. The stairs seemed in pretty good condition and I climbed them carefully: a couple were missing. There were two rooms on the top floor. One was obviously not suitable, so I opened the second door and entered.

My new home! With happiness and relief I viewed my base. The floor was strong, the roof still waterproof, and most of the panes of glass in the window were intact. There was even a fireplace! Some old tin cans littered the room, evidence of a former occupant, and I swept the floor with a handful of straw. Having tidied up, I moved in. I found masses of driftwood on the rocky shore, and twigs for kindling. Soon a cheerful fire was crackling and dancing in the hearth and the pot was on for a cuppa. After some dijereedoo, numerous cups of tea and a spot of meditation, I slept, warm and comfortable in my new home.

The megalithic complex at Callanish is one of the most beautiful and majestic groups of circles and alignments to be found anywhere in the whole of Britain. It consists of seven major megalithic temples around the head of Loch Roag, most of which are intervisible across the wild landscape. It is a source of priceless treasures for the 'energy seeker', the archeologist and especially the archeo-astronomer. The stones dotted over the moors are a excellent example of a working celestial observatory aligned to the sun, the moon and the stars.

When one is dedicating a temple to specific qualities, one aligns the structure with the sources of the energy in question. Callanish has exact alignments to the rising and setting points of the Midsummer sun, and the setting point of the Equinoctial sun. The major axes of the cross are aligned to the four directions, 'anchoring' it in space. There are alignments to the cross-quarter date points (Imbolc, Beltane, Lammas and Samhain), and a web of megalithic connections with the extreme positions of the major and minor lunar standstills. A few of these coincide with 'notches' and other prominent features on the horizon. The evidence points to the complex being built around 1800 BC, when certain stones were aligned to the rising points of two important stars, Capella and Altair.

Most impressive is the spectacular interaction with the Earth Goddess, as seen from the stone complex. The Clisham mountains to the south of Callanish are formed in the shape of a reclining woman, called 'Aeggid'. At the 'minor standstill' stage of the nineteen-year cycle of the moon, the lunar orb can be seen to rise from her womb, and set into her brow.

The precision and complexity of designing and building such a temple is staggering. So many variables needed to be taken into account. The ancient builders used precise geometry which obeyed certain laws of beauty, and complete accuracy. It has been said that some stone circles have been built with such exactness that modern man physically couldn't have reproduced them until maybe thirty years ago, when accurate enough instruments became available.

In that ancient time, all construction was related to specific features on the horizons such as notches and peaks in the surrounding mountains, which marked the rising and setting points of sun, moon and stars. It is simple to find one alignment to coincide with a notch on the horizon, say, the rising point of Sirius. A second feature defined by a notch, focussed onto a stone circle is highly improbable, but not impossible. For example, say, the rising point of the major lunar standstill. A third or more alignment is so incredibly unlikely as to be impossible, yet at sites like Callanish multiple alignments to notches and the like are relatively common. It is completely mind-blowing.

Other major alignments that had no natural foresights were marked by standing stones known as outriders, outriggers, or foresights. In a temple complex, every feature has to be placed so that it stands in meaningful relationship with the whole; energy is dissipated when individual parts of the complex are scattered. Callanish must have been the focus of an enlightened team of designers and dreamers over a very long period of time.

I don't like the way most people explain the construction of these ancient sites in terms of the intellectual triumphs and instruments used by modern man. How they actually were designed and built is of course impossible to say, but I believe that the state of consciousness at those times was radically different from what we can imagine today. There is a feeling hovering around the old sacred sites of integration and unity, of deep magic and wholeness. In the Silence I see men and women who lived and breathed as an expression of Spirit. I see people who perceived the world in a total manner, with no split between intellect, intuition, emotion, materiality or spirit. What may be for us a triumph of intellect and complex equations could have been a simple question of existential harmony and commonsense in those days when gods and goddesses walked the land.

Whatever the original motives and driving force behind building the stone temples, the main focus for me is how they affect me now, and what they seem to do in the landscape. There is no doubt in my mind that they honour the intricate interrelating celestial cycles and their dance with the Earth. Physical analysis and surveying can only uncover the final physical result of the stone circle builder's intent; all else is speculation. The only 'real' way we can discover why, how and when these temples were built is by spending time with them and allowing them to speak to us. The results obtained by those willing to employ this method may be all different, but what if they are all correct? We can only really guess or intuit what truly went on so long ago.

What does it mean when Callanish is aligned to the rising of Capella? Occult literature is full of the esoteric meanings and properties of stars, crystals and anything one cares to think about. So what if the esoteric meaning of Capella is 'A man playing musical instruments. It makes the wearer honoured and exalted before nobility and cures the toothache'.

Interesting about the musical instruments! Did didjeridoos even exist at that time? Also about the nobility, or Old Ones. Hum. Was that a twinge in my wisdom tooth I felt there?

Still, the only true way of exploring the quality of energy around any ancient site is to actually spend time there, observing what happens and feeling one's feelings. By building a relationship with the spirit of the site, one learns to interact in a deep and spontaneous way: a beneficial and interactive time is then had by all.

I am very interested in the experiential and transformative properties of these old temples, some would say obsessed! I have no doubt that they still work, although the ravages of time, religion and ignorance have blunted their once razor-sharp edges. I think that modern man has a lot to experience and learn from immersion in these sorts of atmospheres or energy fields. Consequently, I have a strong dream to create similar sacred spaces around the land, focussing not so much on places well away from civilisation, but close to large population centres where many people of all beliefs and persuasions will visit. I have spent long periods of my life exploring and experiencing sacred space and believe I will soon be ready to create it in appropriate ways. When I am given the go-ahead by Great Spirit, I will put this knowledge to good use.

The morning after my arrival, I called in at my next door neighbour, an old man who lived in a farmhouse a short distance inland from my home. He had been living there since childhood and we had a long natter about life in general and existence in the Hebrides. He told me that as far as he was concerned, I was welcome to stay in my new derelict dwelling place, and that I could help myself to drinking water from his garden tap. It's wonderful to have friendly neighbours!

For the rest of my stay by Loch Roag, about a week, I kept myself well occupied with walking, exploring, making music and meditation. Spirit loves those sorts of travellers who are foolish enough to walk out into the Unknown! I felt guided and protected, and was shown many secrets while I was there. The weather was calm and beautiful during my stay. Well known for the frequency and ferocity of its storms, the island held its peace and the elementals were in a magnanimous mood.

I walked for miles visiting the stones and sacred places dotted around the moors. There was a large stone circle behind the farmhouse, and an extraordinary one half a mile further inland. This second one was constructed as a double ellipse, quite a rare configuration in the British Isles. It felt very smooth and pleasurable to spend time there. Wonderful temples in their own right, I spent a long time in each group of stones, basking in their distinctive, unique atmospheres and dreaming of the different functions they played in the whole.

On the opposite side of the bay another smaller stone circle nestled in a valley, close to naked black cliffs. I walked along animal tracks through the moors to get there. Peat lay drying in piles of neatly cut squares next to the tracks, the islanders' winter fuel. This circle had a completely different feel to the others. Much smaller than the rest and sporting disproportionately large stones, it became a favourite dreaming spot for me.

Concealed and protected there, I felt safe enough to expand my awareness and follow it wherever it wanted to travel. I journeyed backwards and forwards in time and observed the land changing in accordance with the expression of the spirit of the times. I played with the nature spirits and observed the moody elementals. I reviewed the crystal journey with interest, and discovered ways and means of expanding the operation in more efficient ways. Many worlds appeared in my inner travelling which I hadn't visited before, and I spent time in each. Life is indeed a great mystery!

There were also some lovely animal tracks to follow and explore, well away from civilisation. They grabbed my attention as if thrilled to find a appreciative audience and took me on adventures on their welcoming serpentine backs through the magical moors. They introduced me to stones, little isolated hillocks sprouting from marshy pools and heathery dells, brave solitary trees, curious high energy spots and other strange personalities of the landscape. I always carried on my person some of the crystals entrusted into my care, and would plant one or more wherever it felt right. Those precious days in the north of the world were a treasure for me and I felt honoured to have been welcomed there in such a manner. I hope and pray that my presence made a difference to the land and the Beings who live there.

A silent all-embracing mist hugs the valley at sunset. A giant orange pulsing orb enters the quivering body of the Mother, bringing his song of warmth and cheer to her during the cold night, and prepares to impregnate her with the seeds of the new day.

Gentle dancing phantoms of colour are caught by rising, drifting mist. They gyrate and celebrate the day's passing, promising rebirth in only a few hours' time. A distant wading bird, or was it a nature spirit, calls sweetly, forlornly, from the other side of the loch. Shadows are released from the captivity of day and flit over the land in newly found freedom. Thoughts slow down empathically with the natural rhythms, the stars are still twinkles in wondering eyes.

A silver flute breaks the stillness, gently at first so as not to shock. Slowly, almost indiscernibly, it grows in volume, in confidence, as the place of greatest resonance between man and instrument is sought and found. The land grows silent, holding its breath. Stillness reigns, except for the lapping of wavelets on the shore. Nothing can stop the sea.

A huge void opens up, ready and waiting. The haunting notes take flight like birds of different colour: they enter the space, filling it with movement and dance. Each one carries a prayer, radiating outwards like a spark from a giant etheric furnace and homes onto its target. When the prayers are gone, the dance of life can begin.

The melody solidifies, only to dissolve and form again in waves. Harmonies fill the deepening space, remaining long after the physical sound has faded. Gossamer threads intertwine, weaving, waving and glowing with life-force. All I really have to give is my love and my longing. Distance dissolves as the heart opens. I am you, you are me, we are all together. You are everything. And I? I play, the servant of All.

As the threads descend and touch the first stones, they start to glow. The ethereal light seems to jump from stone to stone until the landscape hums with luminescence. The world is alive and responds. Soon the glow fills the valley and spills over. Long tubes appearing from distances unimaginable gather up the life-force like hummingbird's tongues searching for nectar, and not a drop goes to waste. They drink deeply of life itself and then transport it to the areas of the country, the world, the universe where it is most needed. Music, mist and mystery touch the hearts of all Beings on the land whether asleep, awake, in pain, in ecstasy, alive or dead.

The flute shoots silver sparks into the sky as I dream. I dream that I am playing my flute on the shore of a beautiful loch in the north. The music, created by my opened heart, fills the space with joy and is shared by All Beings everywhere. I am filled with gratitude at the magic and richness of life. I wonder, in passing, who or what it is that is dreaming me. The thought is swept away by the incoming tide. It doesn't matter. I look for the last time at the Old Ones. You are recognised and loved, and will never be forgotten.

My journey next took me through Scotland towards the East. On the way I spent a night in Ossian's cave, a large hole maybe two hundred feet up a rugged, sheer mountainside overlooking the Glen of Glencoe. It was madness, climbing up in the twilight with a full rucksack, in wet slippery conditions. There again, I'm not well known for reasonableness on my magical journeys! It was worth it just for the view. I could see for miles up and down the glen, and over the top of the mountains forming the opposite side of the valley.

Ossian was one of the few mortals to gain access to Tir Na Nog, the island of Eternal Youth, by falling in love with the faerie queen who lives there. He was repeatedly told that he had left his earth-bound home far behind, and that he could never return to it. Despite this warning, he persuaded the queen to let him visit his friends and family.

On his return, he found that they had all long since died, as time passes much slower on the enchanted island than on the mainland. He is said to have spent time in this cave on his return to Scotland. As the story fired my imagination and I wanted to forge a link with Tir-Na-Nog, I decided to spend a night in the cave and leave a crystal.

I then spent time in Edinburgh visiting the castle on the Black Rock, and found it a miserable place. The clouds were low and full of water, orange night-glow reflected from the sick sky. I found no shelter and got wet; with relief I moved on to Inverness. From Inverness I arrived at Cullodden moor, the site of one of the greatest battles, and tragedies, in Scottish history. A park has been created to commemorate this appalling black spot in the history of mankind, upon which a museum filled with objects and a pictorial record of the events of that period has been built.

As I walked across the battlefield, having read an account of the history in the museum, my imagination fired into top gear and the battle came alive again in front of me. On Cullodden Moor, the youth and hopes of Scotland were slaughtered and destroyed. Families and clans were turned against one another so that brother killed brother, father killed son, and son killed father. Here, the folly of mankind, the vicious 'male disease' was enacted to a triumphant and bloody finale. It broke the spirit of Scotland, and its legacy paralyses us still.

Looking deep within, I could tell that it actually wouldn't take much to tip me over the edge to kill like a madman, given the right set of circumstances. We, in Britain, can be infinitely grateful to be born into a culture of relative peace where we can grow up without the spectre of war or civil war thrusting guns into our hands at an early age. I hoped that some of the lessons experienced at Cullodden had helped this relative peace come about.

I became charged with emotion and contacted the grief of the mothers who lose their children to the demon of war. I cried for a long time that afternoon for the folly and blindness of the human condition. We as humans seem to be conditioned to constantly create disasters like this. In the centuries since Cullodden Moor, we still havn't really changed. Our ancestors fought and died on those cruel fields not so long ago, and it is our psyches that carry the awful legacy that affects us still. I cried for the human vulnerability to religious and political brainwashing which splits families and turns each faction against the other. I cried for a world that doesn't care for its children, teaching them to grow up as aggressive territorial and competitive machines, programmed to 'fight for right', whatever 'right' is in fashion at the time. I cried for all of the dreams, hopes and innocence which have been smashed and twisted in the name of duty, right and patriotism.

My tears, at first acid and painful, slowly grew cool and soothing and I watched them fall onto the earth. I wondered how many tears had fallen on this bloody moor. I supposed a lot, and I prayed they were helping to heal man's inhumanity to man. I left a crystal, charged with a prayer for the children, and then walked two miles downhill to the sacred sites of Clava.

A secret wooded valley enveloped and welcomed me after the loneliness and harshness of the exposed moor. Moss-covered mounds and standing stones appeared from the protective darkness of another age, another realm. To this enchanted place, amongst mossy stones and vine-entangled trees, the tears and blood shed on Cullodden Moor would have flowed, and may be flowing still. Here at last is a place of peace, a welcoming to the dark moist green of nature, a final resting place for those who have suffered so much. In the murmuring of the stream and the rustling of the leaves above, a great presence whispered:

"Come, come to me, all those who are wounded. Trust me, all you souls who have died through anger and violence. Let my loving arms embrace you, you who grieve. Come to me, leave your fear behind. I live in the dark green of deep nature amongst the moss, the rocks and flowing water. Shed your blood and your tears into my open body: I will accept them all. Express your pain in whichever way you will: I will receive it. Vent your anger and frustration, beat the earth, for I will listen, and feel with you. Know that I am always here for you. Open your heart, and there you will find me. For I will soothe you, and take away your pain. When you trust enough to share your deepest feelings with me, the silence and peace that live deep within me will be yours. Both you and I will be cleansed, renewed. Come to me, unburden yourselves, and live anew."

I stayed there a long time in silence, being stroked by an atmosphere of incredible love and I let the healing stillness flow for as long as it would. I was also unwilling to break the spell of deep peace hovering there with any sort of disturbance. When I was ready, I laid a number of crystals gently, carefully. When will you burst into new life, little ones, and what will you grow into? Maybe I'll never know.

Two days later saw me at Holy Island, Lindisfarne, off the north-east coast of England. I hadn't attracted very good lifts the day before, and spent the night in a garden shed somewhere in the borderlands. I was grateful that the gardener didn't come to mow the grass at seven o'clock in the morning! I arrived on the enchanted isle at noon and found out that it was run by the National Trust. I couldn't afford the entrance fee, and I had no energy to attempt entry by alternative means. I decided not to be disappointed, and lazed like a lizard in the sunshine. Why did I get a strong impression of Greece? Oh, well, these impressions, they come and go! I pressed my gifts into the sacred ground, and slowly made my way to the causeway that led back towards the mainland.

A small car stopped, and a woman with an American accent asked if I wanted a lift. She was travelling with two friends, and they were on their way to Durham. I got in gratefully. Suddenly filled with sparky energy, I assumed the role of the enchanted story-teller and related a simple version of the Crystal Journey for them. They were enthralled, like children. We had so much fun together on that trip, and a lot of spontaneous magic occurred. And the most outrageous rainbows! They seemed to anticipate our passage, and lie in wait for us. At the most synchronistic times, they would leap out and delight us. What a journey! Finally, I gave them a crystal to plant at Durham Cathedral, and a couple each to give to the earth on their return to the States.

I have a simple policy when hitching lifts. I start with telling the truth about what I am doing in a gentle way, then I play it by ear. I've never had a bad experience, and the majority of people are genuinely interested after the first onslaught to their reason. Some even become inspired and want to get involved in planting crystals themselves.

It is much easier and safer to explore unfamiliar territory when you have a friend and playmate to share it with. In a way, I offer myself to the people I meet as a magical child and invite them to play. If they accept, then together we will start to explore a world that is an ongoing adventure, very alive and real, where magic is an everyday occurrence and miracles happen all the time.

So, if you see a strange, large personage hitching by the side of the road with a rucksack, a top hat and a hint of rainbows shimmering about his person, stop and pick him up. If the mood is right and the gateways are open, you may be in for a journey you hadn't quite planned or expected!