I stood on top of the Hill of Tara at the centre of a huge earth-wheel spanning many counties and kingdoms. From here it seemed as if I were in touch with the whole land, and the view seemed to stretch into infinity. The clouds still rushed overhead, making me dizzy if I looked too intensely at their passing. The wind bent the trees and grass this way and that in a minor flexing of nature's muscles. How easily we humans, so-called masters of nature, are rendered helpless at her smallest ire! Leaves whirled through the air like brittle bats; twigs and the occasional dead branch lay strewn over the ground. I stood tall on the high ground, feeling strong and in my power, panting and rosy-cheeked from my ongoing wrestling match with the elements that day. I leant into the wind and it felt as if I were flying.

From time to time the sun burst through chinks in the sky's armour, directing laser beams downwards which scoured the countryside clean in random patterns. These irradiated the land in a brilliant, ghostly green light. I was alert and ready to run for cover if one should come my way.

Tara is one of the major power points of Ireland. From the top of the hill where I was standing, the High King of the whole land would stand once a year and cast his eyes over his realm. All the lesser kings and their retinues would assemble there among the impressive earthworks. In concentric circles in order of importance, they would support him, renewing acquaintance, lawmaking, sporting, and deciding upon the policies for the next year. I tried to imagine these historic, archetypal scenes, and felt a deep desire to see those now in power stepping out into the wildness of nature, sitting in a circle on the high ground, and working together until all differences are resolved under the huge inspirational dome of the sky.

As I gazed into the dark green distance, that fecund, fertile distance, I felt I was able in my imagination to touch every mountain, every spring, every forest, every river, every person and every animal that collectively comprised the entity that is called Eire. How I love you! Eventually, when I was able to move again, I left a crystal inside the tumulus called the Mound of the Hostages.

One day there will be unity again. One day the prisons of our own making will dissolve and we will stand free again, flowing in the river of life given to us as our natural birthright. We must remember that we are the children of Heaven and Earth. One day the emerald Irish wheel will spin again, united and at peace.

The last of the four crystals was planted under a unusually-shaped standing stone on Holy Island off Anglesey, and I cruised home, satisfied, to the Ashdown Forest. I got back into the routine of making jewellery at the cottage and playing in Happy Valley. As soon as I returned, I attempted to retrieve my jacket plus crystals from the three mad Irishmen from Timoleague. I wrote once: no answer. I wrote twice: no answer. Dejected and attempting to stem my rising panic, I tried a third time. To my relief and delight, a large bulky package was delivered soon after, and the contents were all intact.

I had seriously thought that I had blown it on a deep spiritual level. If the crystals had disappeared for good I would probably never have forgiven myself. Like children, they had been entrusted into my care. I had taken full responsibility for their safekeeping and eventual planting. When they were returned to me, I realised that I had been lucky enough to be let off with only a warning.

Naturally, I held myself fully responsible for the near-disaster. I had allowed myself to lose consciousness. I am particularly vulnerable to losing my Centre, and had forgotten what it really meant to be fully committed to fulfilling the task of Crystal Bearer. I had also forgotten the fact that I simply couldn't fail: far too much depended on the success of the Crystal Journey.

I was also big-hearted enough to forgive myself. I had to expect to make some mistakes on my journey. However, I knew it was time to apply myself to healing a big wound: my tendency to abandon my truth, or awareness, through fear. In situations of intense pressure I repeatedly let myself down through cowardice, or giving in to seeming unendurable or unstoppable circumstances. Self-betrayal. How I wish I could say it would never happen again! Still, my intent was clear enough: I must become somebody I, and others, can trust whatever the odds.

At about this time the Green Dragon entered my life. Mark was leaving soon for Australia and wanted to find a good loving home for his trusty steed, an old dark green Bedford ambulance. I had already experienced the pleasure of its company on my earlier crystal-planting trip to St Michael's Mount, and we had got on well together. Excellently, in fact. It had seen many turnings of the celestial wheel yet its spirit was strong, and I knew it was ready and willing to take on anything of an adventurous or magical nature.

It contained universes under its thin green metal body. Hidden inside was a double bed, woodstove, gas cooker, living facilities and plenty of flat surfaces for cooking. Lining the walls were shelves handmade from twisted, gnarled, natural wood. They carried crystals, artwork, and a proud collection of glass jars containing all manner of pulses, herbs, spices and unidentified dried foliage. Strange glittering objects hung from the ceiling, filling the space with rainbows and indicating how level the Green Dragon's attitude was at any time. An on-going psychedelic mural by the rear doors invited the creative contributions of anyone who felt so inclined.

The Green Dragon had an extraordinary presence. It seemed to exist in a bubble of its own, inside which space and time slithered and gyrated to laws of their own making. It was a sacred space on wheels. Very strange things tended to happen to those lucky enough to spend time in, or around it. Life inside this amazing Tardis became a sort of continual ceremony; it had a mind of its own, and had an unerring sense of where it had to be at any particular time. If one had different plans, well, tough. Concerning the Crystal Journey, it had a habit of sniffing out the most obscure spots in the countryside. They would be secret and long forgotten sacred spaces that needed a visitation, a little loving, and reconnecting back into the network.

Now that the crystals had safely returned from Eire, I made ready for the next journey. This would be another extended one, and would happen with the support of the Green Dragon.

The Peak District was the next area on my list to visit: an intensely alive and magical wilderness country on the very spine of England. A land of magical hills, valleys and fresh running waters, the Peak District is populated by few humans and vast numbers of happy Nature spirits, some as old as these islands. It was a joy to travel through this wonderworld on such a mission, in such a friendly mechanised space which throbbed and purred so reassuringly. Formerly I carried my home on my back, now I ride inside it, in luxury, traversing the lands of my dreams. I suppose it is progress.....

I visited springs and wells along the way and planted my seeds of joy. Old trees, churches and simple beautiful places were touched by our passing, and I felt a little like a twentieth century motorised Cernunnos loving and inseminating his Nature Goddess wherever he went. The crystal network was consciously growing, too: there would invariably be a crystal on the highest point of any area, and from that point, the surrounding highest points could be seen, and so on.....

Arbor Low was a sacred site high on my list of priorities to visit. I had heard so much about it that I was eager to experience it at first hand. After a lovely breakfast in Buxton one brisk morning, I cruised along the ridgeway towards the south. I parked and then walked to the site. On entering the henge I took in the view: on top of a ridge in the middle of moorland, one could see for miles towards the east and the west. Small pockets of woodland dotted the countryside which provided good cover for the wildlife that bounded and abounded there. Again, I felt that transformative feeling of being at the centre of a spinning vortex of earth energies that profoundly affected the surrounding area and the land as a whole.

The henge is carved out of the land, creating a flat area on the top of a hill surrounded by a ditch and bank. Inside it are up to fifty large stones which are, all except for one, lying flat or 'recumbent' on the ground. Close by are burial mounds which sculpt the area into surreal and exciting configurations. From the air it looks striking and symmetrical, 'like a clockface'.

Arbor Low sits at the centre of a centuries-old pilgrimage route called 'The Gypsy Switch', a circular journey around Britain that incorporates many important sacred sites. It is said that over fifty leylines intersect here, and by the feelings I was experiencing, that was probably true. It is placed at a crucial, most central position in the British Isles, and I was prepared to accept that it was some sort of 'Axis Mundi' type of centralised sacred space for these lands.

I walked and explored the area for what seemed hours, and discovered magic mushrooms in great profusion. They were the largest I had ever seen, and I ate a few as I found them. I planted two crystals in appropriate places and rejoiced. I discovered a well a little downhill from the stones to the southwest; I felt this to be of some importance. After a picnic and some flute playing I left and looked for a place to park for the night. One mile to the south I found a car park sheltered by a small wood. It seemed ideal for my simple requirements, and I parked under a small tree on a spot with a wonderful view. I boiled the kettle and had a cup of tea. Refreshed, I set a stew to cook slowly on the stove and made myself comfortable. After a while I had an urge to play the didjeridoo so I took it out of its case and put it to my lips. The double doors at the rear of the Dragon were open; the dij projected its unique earthy sound into the landscape.

After a few minutes I started to feel strange. A feeling of intense fear grew in my solar plexus, and I stopped playing. I felt as if I were under attack, although I had no idea by what, or where from. A strange sound grew in intensity from the other side of the wood. It was so eerie and uncomfortable that I quickly closed the rear doors and prepared myself for an emergency. The sound increased rapidly until it was screaming, and I could feel something terrible drawing near.

Suddenly the wood was hit by a huge gust of wind which contorted the trees into impossible shapes and the Dragon lurched as if it had been hit by an express train. My heart stopped and for a split-second I thought we might tip over, then a shower of twigs and small branches rained down onto the roof.

All at once there was silence. I looked out of the door and the ground was strewn with debris. A couple of minutes before, it was clean. This meant that there had been only one gust, and that had happened while I was playing my didj. Was there any connection? Without exception, whenever I had played my didjeridoo in the past, I had felt that the land had loved it. So what was different now? What was going on?

I decided to find out. Feeling as if I were dicing with death, I placed the mouthpiece to my lips and blew. I had hardly begun when that same primal terror hit me in the guts again and I immediately stopped playing. I closed the doors and battened down the hatches. The shrieking of the wind rose to a crescendo, and the woodland was thrashed again by that huge force. The Dragon was hit and rocked suddenly, turfing a few bits and pieces out of their comfortable shelves onto the bed and floor. Then there was silence.

I felt that I had got off lightly. For the rest of my time there, I tried to make as little disturbance as possible. After a peaceful night, I set off on the morrow both rested and cheerful.

I waited, wracked by painful anticipation, in the arrivals hall at Glasgow airport. Kim was due to land at any time! I hadn't seen her since India, and we had arranged to meet, travel together for a month, and plant crystals on the way.

Her flight was called and her plane landed. I stood in suspense, watching the bizarre every-day airport events happening all around me as if they were some sort of crazy cinema performance on a wide-angled screen. Suddenly she was there in my arms. We hugged for ages, and then I took her out to introduce her to the Green Dragon. A cup of tea was speedily made to settle any sort of jet-lag (both hers and mine!), and then Kim underwent a thorough introduction to the magical steed which would carry us both on a brand new, shared crystal adventure.

The Adventure, appearing almost before it was summoned, fidgeted in excitement as it waited for the go-ahead. I began to realise that Kim and I were hot stuff on the astral levels, and there was probably a queue of Adventures vying for the opportunity to accompany us!

Well, this particular one enveloped us with a huge grin and a question in its eyes. We welcomed it, teased it awhile, then accepted its gifts with gratitude and anticipation. We activated our time and space machine, looked long and deeply into each other's eyes, and then we were off!

It was wonderful. Impressions. Memories of long roads and green loamy forests, dark, looming mountains and bleak moors. Silver stones glowing in the atmospheric light. Driving by day, wind-ruffled hair and gasping at the beauty around us. Driving at night, lights off, the full moon shining silver off snowy slopes. And the Green Dragon throbbing vitally, happily, all around us. Nights parked deep in pine woods, owls shrieking and smells of flaming, crackling, resinous wood. Shadows dancing in creative movement, alive in themselves. Our trusty stove roaring red: naked, sweaty skin, diving shrieking into snow drifts to cool off.

Kim alive, velvet frog on shoulder, wild laughing freckles, red hair, green flashing eyes. Strong magic, strange synchronistic situations, abandonment to the Unknown. Sunsets over lochs, burning gateways to the underworld revealed by the silhouetted, shadowy land. Duets in voice and flute, composed and performed in the moment, celebrated, passing but never forgotten. Dancing, laughing, deep stillness. Pain and woundedness emerging, accepted, shared, soothed. Steeped in Adventure, where colours are that little bit brighter, the air one breathes is just a bit sweeter, and life both vibrant and meaningful. And, of course, the Green Dragon rolling forever onwards, a continual vision quest.

On Iona, we rented a modern bothy for a couple of nights, and then set off to explore. We walked to the western beach for sunset and sat next to the murmuring water. My special, personal crystal felt heavy in my pocket and I took it out. I stroked it and remembered all the adventures we had shared. It was even instrumental in bringing Kim and myself together in Manali. It felt tired, and I realised that it had completed its current phase of work on the planet. On impulse I stood up, kissed it goodbye, and hurled it as far as I could along the shimmering red carpet into the dying sun.

The Green Dragon pulled into a small lay-by after a long, grinding climb up the side of the mountain. I drove it onto wooden chocks to level it, then lit the fire. Soon we were relaxing and enjoying the view with welcome cups of tea steaming in our hands. We caught our breaths. Seemingly on top of the world, it was as if we could see into infinity. We were nestled on the side of a huge snow covered mountain range. Deep jagged valleys plunged away into shadowy ravines, and the reflections of the diamond sun flickered blindingly off ice and frozen snow crystals. We waited.

During the afternoon we went wooding and collected enough fuel for our needs. We both knew that it was going to be a long night. As the sun lost power and started to turn orange, preparing itself for the long lonely journey through the underworld, we donned our warm clothes and made ready for our appointment. I stroked my silver flute. It was time.

In brightly coloured flowing clothes, we cross the road and enter the field. We walk regally, king and queen of the silent, high spaces, across the crusty crunching snow towards our court. As we approach, all of the elements in the unfolding drama stop for a moment and acknowledge each others presence.

Kim and I face a ring of old, time-scarred erect stones which stand silhouetted by flaming pinks on top of the mountain: guardians, ancient Beings surveying the World.

The instant passes and we move again. Our walk becomes a dance. Our robes and multi-coloured, flowing scarves make strange vibrant patterns as we swirl and gyrate across the field. Earthily stomping, then, with wings outstretched, we powerglide through the thin air. We dance and celebrate as guided by Spirit. Both alone in our separate bubbles, and together in an eye-catching mirror-movement celebration of life, we dance our hearts out.

Then we find ourselves at the threshold of eternity. We slow, stop, breathless, glowing. A silver sparkling over the mountains to the East heralds the Goddess of the Night. Helpless, we watch as The first brilliant purple-silver ray of light hits us both on the forehead. Spellbound, transfixed, we contemplate the moon, full and pregnant, as She emerges from the shadowy realms into the indigo heights. She reveals herself to us fully, and I know that I have a friend who will be my guide and lover through the inevitable future times of darkness.

Blessed and released, we both move together into the stone ring. My silver flute, reflecting starfire indigo, floats to my lips and, breath steamy, brings the night alive in music and haunting tones.

Silver sparks shoot over the land, through the valleys, around the world and disappear into the heavens. Echoes, playing duets and threesomes with the dancing flute, touch then entwine multilayered in a sensual celebration of Life with us. Pan and entourage are roaming the mountains indeed tonight!

The energies rise and fall, bubble and spiral. I experience joy, pain, ecstasy, fear and all sorts of emotions new and old. The entire mountain range, clad in a luxurious silver-white robe, comes alive and dances with us as moonbeams reflect off a billion unique ice crystals. The whole world is sprinkled in angel-dust. Kim dances as if possessed, I play my silver flute-wand for all I'm worth. The stone ring becomes a magical roundabout which starts to revolve, building up speed, and sparkles phosphorescent in the wake of its passing. We make contact with the rest of the world in a blur of joy and power, and dragons roar as they awaken. A spinning whirlpool is created and the reality of space starts to bend. In front of our eyes the stars rejoice and sing as they are funnelled into the centre of the stones, into the centre of the Earth.

Spirit truly makes love with the Earth this magnificent night!

There is a riot of whirling movement, and the chaos of ecstasy.....and then there is silence. The final rhythm of the cycle holds sway, before the eternal return and the point where movement starts up again. I lean against one of the stones while returning slowly to a more physical reality and soak up the glorious night. A shooting star splits the heavens and I make a wish. An owl hoots from one of the trees in the wood ahead, and is answered from the ridge opposite. A dog howls from an invisible, lonely farmhouse in the valley below. The whole landscape hums with life-force and I feel honoured to be part of this dream-drama.

I become aware of the stones, the cold, and the things of the earth. With a start I realise that Kim and I are not alone. A small shadowy group of people are huddling together among the large stones which form an enclave towards the centre of the circle. One of them stands up, separates out from the rest, and approaches.

"Excuse me... er... are you Druids?", he asks nervously.

Pause.

"I don't know", I answer truthfully.

Silence.

"W-what were you just doing?"

Pause.

"I'm not all that sure", I say slightly wobbling. Well, it is obvious, isn't it? "I suppose you could call it being spontaneous, or celebrating life, or something like that".

"Oh. Do you think it would be OK to light a fire inside the circle?"

Pause. The rules say very definitely no. But circumstances say very definitely yes.

"It sounds a great idea", I say, "but we must make sure we don't hurt any of the stones. You look cold. Would you and your friends first like to come to our truck and have something hot to eat?"

A chorus of "Yes please!" ensues.

Back we tramp to the Dragon where the fragrant stew is simmering on the stove. Tea and bread are shared. Bodies, formerly freezing, cram together like sardines and partake of the roaring heat: the thaw has arrived!

The newcomers are art students hiking around the wild places of the Lake District, sketching unusual real-life scenes they discover on the way. They want to spend full moon at Castlerigg like Kim and myself, but are very cold. As if in answer to an unspoken prayer, The Dragon comes to warm them up! Kim and I radiate life; they are a little awe-struck at our appearance, our mode of transport, and the way we behave.

We talk about magic, stones and moon cycles. They show some interest but don't seem to want to travel too far away from secure ground. No matter. What are words, compared to our shared, raw experience, on a night like this?

Warm and fed, we emerge to hunt for extra wood. There is a surprising amount close by, and soon there is a large cheerful fire blazing away within the stone circle. The silver darkness is dispelled. The snow melts. Shadows dance in contorted free expression while the Old Ones come alive and celebrate their rebirth. Oh happy day! Oh, happy night!

Off duty, Kim and I relax by the fire and enjoy the stark beauty of the night. The moon, hissing down and scattering silver sparks off a million tiny mirrors, is rising high over our heads and claims ascendency over creation. I gaze at our little group under the vast canopy of stars. Strangers meeting. Strange ones meeting. Few words need to be spoken, for we are all consciously or unconsciously honouring the darkness, the Silence. Not that it would have been easy to break, of course.

Not tonight, not now. I realise that we are the sacred seven, whatever that means. It sounds and feels very appropriate, though. Togetherness and silence shared, we hold vigil at the gateway between the worlds, and send simple prayers of peace and encouragement spiralling outwards to all Beings, everywhere. An innocent, spontaneous night where all is possible, beauty reigns, and all that is needed is to be.

At last the circle breaks, and our companions move off to find a more sheltered spot in which to camp. Kim and I linger awhile, then share our gratitude for such a wonderful experience. We stand and say goodnight to the stones, the moon, and the world. We wander back hand in hand over the snowy field to the Dragon, stoke up the fire and prepare for sleep. Shortly, accompanied by friendly dancing shadows, we slide into dreamspace.

A sharp rapping on the back doors woke us in the morning, and I got up see what was going on. A policeman was standing there. I experienced an initial shock. I could see that it had snowed heavily in the night, and the mountainscape looked like Antartica.

"Just checking, sir", he said. "You alright?"

I could see that he was genuinely concerned, and hastened to reassure him.

"Yes, thank you", I replied. "We're well prepared for all eventualities in our vehicle".

Kim wriggled her toes deliciously into a warm, damp, sensitive place and I could imagine her mischievous grin. I struggled to keep a straight face.

"All right, sir", he said."Sorry to have disturbed you".

"Thank you", I repeated, and I meant it. I closed the doors again, stoked up the fire, and disappeared under the duvet into the arms of a toasty Kim. Who rushes to get up early in Antarctica?

Kim and I worked well together, and had little need to discuss the crystal work. It all seemed to unfold naturally, and often we found ourselves in strange high-energy places doing wierd and wonderful things spontaneously, not needing to analyse or reason out what, or why we were doing what we were doing, at any particular time.

We are walking over the high moors with the deep blue dome of the sky above us. The plateau hangs high above both the world and the petty concerns of mortal men. We are separated from everyday life by far more than physical distance. The air crackles with high energy phenomena and we are both aware that anything can, and does, happen. We feel blessed to be alive in such wondrous times.

We are exploring another earth temple, a megalithic complex of circles, cairns, tumuli, avenues and standing stones that unfolds like an ancient energy mandala, a sacred map on the surface of the Mother. Today is one of those rare times when the gates to other dimensions are open and we have been invited to enter. Kim and I dance well together, and we flow over the inhospitable terrain, aware of the dangers we face but feeling totally protected.

We live and move through infinity. I am aware that we will probably never understand what is happening to us on a rational level, but this does not disturb me in the slightest. My body feels strong like a bull, a lion, an eagle. Whatever power or knowledge it is that fills me now lives inside me like a feeling-map that can be accessed at any time, whenever I generate suitable energy-states.

We have entered a vast space, devoid of people and filled with the presence of the Ageless Ones who watch and who wait as the planet evolves through millennia. The breeze is cold and pure in the rarified air. It is gentle and almost playful at the moment yet I am aware that its mood could rapidly change. If this happens, we don't stand a chance. Lost in a world capable of unimaginable violence, we would be consumed by the frozen wastes as if we had never existed. Nature, extreme. Crunching underfoot, the snow is not impressed by the weak sun and we are pulled business-like by our internal guidance systems along the pathways.

We have been criss-crossing the plain in a strange dance, planting crystals in each of the nodal points of this important stone temple, and are nearing completion. One more stone circle to visit, and our work will be done. It is about another half mile over this winter wonderland. We traverse a small rise. But what is this? I check the map. It shouldn't be so close....

We follow the animal track towards the stones, which are large and enticingly shaped. Its form tweaks my interest and I look forward to exploring it. At about four hundred yards or so, the stones start to fade. At about two hundred yards, their outlines become a shimmering mist, and suddenly they are gone. By the time we reach the site, there is only snow, some exposed heather and the occasional tuft of coarse grass left to see. I am not so much shocked as puzzled. What is going on? I feel that something important is unfolding, and I want to understand. I sit down on my bag in the centre of the phantom circle, and stop thinking.

Slowly, a train of thoughts and images appear. I can see how, over the years, I have been building a stronger and deeper relationship with the ancient stones and sacred sites of these lands, and am endeavouring to understand their purpose and function. This I have gloriously failed to do; yet something has changed and I feel increasingly at home with them, knowing exactly what I have to do (or not to do) while in their presence.

In Dartmoor a couple of years previously, while visiting the Merrivale stone complex, I received instructions that I was, from that time onwards, empowered to 'rearrange' the local stones in accord with any strong feelings I had. This excluded, of course, any original stone or feature still standing.

Until that moment at Merrivale I had studiously avoided moving anything, as that would have meant changing my role as 'witness' to something else I was not then ready to assume. Since then I have learnt to read landscapes a bit better, and from time to time am drawn to make small changes in sacred spaces, such as re-erecting a fallen stone, if convinced enough that it is necessary.

In addition, I am beginning to recognise those natural and energetic features which herald sacred space. For instance, I have strong feelings around certain locations which tell me they would be perfect upon which to build a new stone circle, or to position a standing stone.

Today's experience is the latest development in a progression that started a long time ago. In a flash I realise that I have been taught a significant lesson today: that sacred space exists independent of time and space. I understand that all sacred space, whether actual or potential, already exists in one form or another and can be perceived by those who need to know. The gift of knowing where to create sacred space, and how to do it has been transmitted to me and I feel empowered to build stone circles and megalithic spaces `when I am called to do so in the future. I know at this point that I will build stone circles when the conditions ripen.

And it's simple! I can do this simply by tuning in to and recognising the space, 'seeing' the finished stone circle in the Dreamtime, and then get on with the job of recreating it. All the materials and people involved exist already, and my main task will be to create such a state of silence inside of myself that I can 'hear' them calling.

I plant a crystal inside the Ghost Circle. A wonderful feeling of potency, of being finally able to do something that really matters, overcomes me. The old 'I am not worthy to do anything like that' thought also emerges, is heard, accepted, loved, and allowed its freedom. I know that whatever happens in the meantime, I will eventually build stone circles. As I stand in the centre of the space, I feel as if I have graduated from some sort of Dreamschool.

I also know that it will be a long time before I am ready to make such an earth temple, but I can wait. Thank you, dear earth, dear planet, for trusting me so much with what is so important, so needed in this day and age. One day I will put into practice the art of re-creating that which I most love. Isn't that one of the greatest reasons for incarnating onto this wonderful planet?

We finish our dance that day planting a crystal in the last (manifest) stone circle of the complex. As the sun disappears, the sky and icy land become awash with blood. With regret we make our way quickly back to the gateway which leads homewards, and slip through as the first stars appear. The long curved lake in the valley bottom seems otherworldly in the twilight. The still water, as if holding its breath in the presence of the Ancestors, becomes a hole into a fascinating, starry universe. Very tired now, we avoid its compelling lure and walk back to the Dragon. Soon we are parked, surrounded by mature trees and protected from the biting highland winds. The stove crackles, the kettle filled. Need I say more?

The Green Dragon pulled into a space at the side of the track, gravel crunching under its wheels. We were high in the mountains on a scrubby plateau and humming sunrays pierced the clouds to sear the valleys way below. A circle of magnificent stones stood erect a few yards away, grey and forbidding in the sulking snow. I sat still, unwilling to move as sadness overwhelmed me. A feeling of desolation filled me with emptiness and a terrifying void. Life had been so safe and charged with meaning while occupied with the Crystal Journey; as this reality started to reach completion I could not imagine existence without it.

I shrugged off these uncomfortable feelings and left the Dragon. Kim and I wandered about the site, admiring the stones. They didn't have such an immediate, obvious effect as those at Castlerigg but they affected me in a different, more internal way.

We wander through the circle. It sings to us of an adventure almost complete, and rest after a job well done.

I take out the small tin which contains the last few crystals, and open it. I count eighteen small rainbow seeds and place them gently into the palm of my hand. I suddenly realise there were eighteen such crystals at the site of the first planting in Britain, at Alan and Sue's in Cornwall. Symmetry. I gaze at them, and then a strong, intense feeling builds up inside of me. A pressure fills my belly, a growing expectation of something incredibly important. I start to feel panic. What should I do?

My fist clenches hard around the crystals. Clammy sweat exudes from my pores and I start to shake. I know that I should be aware of something earth-shatteringly important, but I am deathly afraid that I am missing it! I am going unconscious again. I start to groan, terrified to make any horrible magical mistakes. I experience an increasing powerlessness and paralysis until it all becomes unbearable. Suddenly something snaps deep inside me. With a scream of pain and release, I catapult up my arm, and open my hand wide.

In slow motion a handful of flashing crystals flies upwards, spinning weightless into space. Rising, spinning, slowing. Then, like a time-lapse sequence of water droplets in a fountain, rainbow dust-motes in a sunbeam, they tumble outwards and then downwards into the snow-spattered turf at my feet. The ground embraces their living beauty, and swallows them without trace.

On the way back to Sussex and Happy Valley, we made a small detour down the Wye valley. Parking the Green Dragon on the side of the road, we walked to the middle of Bigwier bridge. Standing over the black waters separating England and Wales, I took out the last of the Parvarti cliff crystals, a cluster maybe two inches across. Kim and I kissed it. Whispering a little prayer, we sent it spinning into the river.

Kim, magical Being who appeared at the start of the Crystal Journey, you are here again, at the end. Alpha and Omega. I honour and thank you, whoever and whatever you are.

I still held safe the original 'Mother Crystal', the rainbow-filled gem I found lying on the pathway so long ago near Shat. Although it would eventually be placed into the Earth as the final action of this extraordinary adventure, it was not yet time.

But for now, the first stage of the Crystal Journey was complete.

Ho!