It was in this opening, promising and budding environment that I met January.

One of the vehicles in the yard was a large black truck. I passed it regularly and noticed that it was relatively luxurious, very well equipped and always clean. I caught sight of the pretty woman who lived within it from time to time. She was one of the founding directors of the Oak Dragon, often involved in the impossibly long daily meetings, and she seemed quite secretive. Although I was curious, I kept my distance as with everyone else.

And then, late one night when most people were asleep, I found myself in the meditation room in the house alone with her. We talked for ages. She had been in the camps movement ever since they started and seemed very knowledgeable about group dynamics, healing and spiritual matters. The atmosphere was warm, relaxed and intimate.

Before I knew what had happened, she was sitting in my lap. My insides felt an impossible mixture of coming home, gooeyness and hunger. I knew that I had found my lover and partner for the next period of my life. At last! I was in love.

The next few days were hectic, unfolding in a blur of speed and we all found ourselves operating on a sort of chaotic autopilot. Planning, preparing, packing. All involved were going flat out, hearts determined to manifest this wonderful dream, and I felt more and more a part of it.

Palden was the inspiration behind it all. He was a very intense intellectual and visionary who inspired all who knew him with possible planetary futures of depth and insight. He had the rare qualities of an initiator, capable of inspiring other high-energy people to form a formidable team in order to bring his vision into physical reality. He was chiefly responsible for the birth of the trailblazing and successful 'Glastonbury Camps' from 1984 to 1986, and, refining his dream even further, of bringing the Oak Dragon into existence in 1987.

On first sight he seemed quite 'normal', but that impression soon faded. He was very accessible and was capable of speaking fluently to anyone whether politician, policeman, priest or pauper. Although he had his weaknesses, my first impression of working with him was of a new-age leader, pretty enlightened, with the wherewithall to actually 'do something about it' in a difficult world.

From time to time he would get us all together for a communal meeting or sharing. We would meet outside in the garden if the weather was OK, and we would begin by holding hands together in a silent circle. In that high energy-shared space I felt both a heightened sense of individuality and also an integral and important part of the group. After a suitable time we would feel the person sitting next to us give a gentle hand-squeeze. We would return the squeeze, open our eyes, and let go. The meeting would then start, usually with a round of sharing.

Everyone had a chance to introduce themselves, talk about how they were feeling and what they hoped would result from the meeting. I was impressed how those speaking opened themselves up for everyone else to see, sharing with so much honesty. In addition, all the others seemed to listen closely and repectfully to what was being said. It was a rare sort of real-life participatory game where both the speaker and those listening were equally honoured. This managed to create unparalleled conditions for clear communication.

All of this was new to me, and I observed it all with great excitement and nervousness. When it was my turn to speak, I was terrified. In a panic I would mumble something as briefly as possible and pass on the talking-stick. I would be very relieved when the attention passed from me! I was both surprised and thankful that I was accepted for who I was despite my dubious performances, and no judgement seemed to be directed towards me for my inexperience in communication or group work.

Despite my uncomfortable feelings these cheerful and communal gatherings in the spring sunshine left a deep and lasting impression on me. They symbolised for me a new way of working and communicating. Sitting in a circle with a band of companions, all with voices that were heard with patience and respect. I felt a swelling anticipation that a lot of the hopes and dreams I had held dear for so long were soon to manifest for real.

Finally we were rolling! I drove a large red 16 ton Boxer truck down through the beautiful landscape of Devon and Cornwall. In my mind's eye I was following the St. Michael ley, or the Dragon Line, as I call it, towards its source. This particular ley-line joins the place we had come from, Glastonbury, and led to where we were going, West Penwith in Cornwall. I was very aware of it as we travelled along its length.

The land is criss-crossed by lines of force called ley-lines which seem to link certain conspicuous features such as ancient sites, milestones, ponds, crossroads, churches and bridges. Many of these objects could be described as 'sacred sites'. Although most ley-lines are local phenomena and stretch only a few miles in length, some major ones, such as the 'Great ley', or 'St. Michael's ley' run from one side of the country to the other.

The one we were driving along is called the 'St Michael's ley' for the reason that it runs through many sacred hills, on top of which is a church dedicated to St. Michael. For example: St. Michael's Mount near Penzance; Brent Tor, West Dartmoor; Creech St.Michael, near Taunton; Burrowbridge Mump, Somerset; Glastonbury Tor; Stoke St. Michael near Shepton Mallet, and so on. If you were to look up its course at Beltane (the few days around May 1st) you would notice that the sun rises exactly over its sacred path. I wondered how much of our magical, healing celebrations at the Beltane camp would affect the surroundings and fly up the Dragon ley, touching the hearts of everyone in the land as a whole. As the miles flowed beneath the wheels, the earth-energies became stronger and the roads became progressively smaller. The landscape grew wilder: I recognised and greeted the land of my birth.

Finally I drove onto a gently sloping field under the pyramid-shaped Beacon Hill close to Sancreed in West Penwith. There was no point in unloading until the following morning, so I climbed the beacon, planted a crystal from Crystal Mountain and played my flute. In my playing, I introduced myself, Oak Dragon, and the dream we were attempting to realise. I asked the land to recognise us, protect us, and help us on our magical journey. As if in answer, the sun set in pink and purple fire above the vibrant land. The field where we would enact our creation myth seemed so small in relation to the surrounding landmass. As I watched, a fire was lit and faint strains of singing and guitar playing reached me on the breeze. Feeling hungry, I climbed down to join the rest of the crew on site.

Over the next few days a canvas village sprang up like a collection of huge multi-coloured mushrooms over the site. This consisted of two smallish fields, each about three acres in area, sloping gently downwards to the bottom of a small valley. Two marquees appeared, then canvas covered domes and tents of varying colour and size, then tipis, trucks and living vehicles.

At this time I was also introduced to the bender, an ethnic and beautifully simple semi-portable nature home. The main building materials are long whippy hazel or ash poles. Construction starts by sticking their thicker ends into a circle of holes in the ground. The top ends are then tied together to make a frame like an upside-down basket, and other thin poles interlaced horizontally with the structure for strength and rigidity. A window or two can be attached to the frame to let light into the space, a doorway fashioned, then tarpaulins thrown over and fastened with rope.

In goes a woodstove, and a tube of flexipipe, swaying defiantly in the breeze, appears like a silver snake through the roof. Note: between the metal pipe and canvas roof there needs to be adequate insulation. Benders burn very well indeed! Onto the floor goes a sheet of plastic and on top of that a carpet. Soon small planks of wood are tied to the frame with string, making excellent hanging shelves, the stove is pumping out wonderful waves of heat, and a new, comfortable home is ready for living in! If made properly, it will provide shelter from anything the weather throws at you, and it is relatively cheap to get together.

We were lucky to have Brian on the site, bender-maker extraordinaire, man of the land, and a secretive character. I was completely inspired by the home he quickly and efficiently built for himself. Throughout the camp I created as many chances as I could to check out his handiwork, and I practiced making these lovely structures as part of my official work. I got the hang of it fairly quickly and experimented with each one.

A drive-on shower unit was parked on the field, hissing, banging and covered by strange people wielding large spanners and enthusiastically toting sledge hammers. The steam team was led by the designer Ian, who for over a week tried to reassure everyone that the 'last minute adjustments' were nearly complete. Finally a burping, banging, hissing steel monster was pumping a continual stream of hot water over the welcoming bodies of up to a dozen people at once. For some, it was the only effective way of getting warm and was a godsend.

Tipis, graceful swans of the alternative dwelling circles, were erected and shown off. Tipis are Native American sacred spaces in the shape of beautiful aesthetic white cones, and they lend any site a special dignity. For the first few days I slept in one. Lying next to an open fire on sheepskins with a beautiful woman was my first introduction to their sacred fire energy. Ho!

In a matter of five days the fields were transformed. A brand new, colourful and functional village with all the essential services stood and swayed in the brisk sea breezes. Fragrant smoke issued from the orifices of a hundred hot chimneys poking up from the most incredibly-shaped structures and dwellings, promising multiple steaming cups of the real amber nectar. The only real hazard on the site was accidentally being given soya milk instead of real cow juice!

Standpipes and steel sinks poked up from the grass providing a good water supply, and a fully functioning cafe served three healthy and hearty vegetarian (and vegan) meals a day. The shower unit was by now erratically operational and, as an evacuation showground, the field boasted half a dozen or so different and outrageous ways of moving one's bowels!

There was the 'going for a walk with a spade' type of bowel movement; the very conservative chemical toilet experience reserved for the sick; the single 'sentry box' with lockable door, for those with a strong sense of privacy and a preference for a good sit while they shit; the private 'long drop' for squatters which was dug close to one's dwelling and covered with a lid; the single long drop hidden behind a screen – the 'shit with a view'; and finally my favourite, the outrageous communal multiple long drop, consisting of a long, deep trench covered by a twelve foot long sheet of thick plywood, pierced by six bum-sized holes. A wonderful way of greeting your friends in the morning!

Then there was the Wellbeing space, a large dome run very efficiently by Emma, a loveable, fussing and caring woman skilled at both alternative and allopathic medicine, and delighting in any excuse for a chinwag! Apart from its obvious healing intent, Wellbeing was also a safe and dry place for people to come to if emotionally or mentally upset, or even if flooded out by a collapsed tent in the middle of the night.

The theme of this first Oak Dragon camp was to celebrate Beltane, one of the eight ancient solar festivals spread evenly throughout the year. Held at the beginning of May at the height of spring, people of the land have celebrated this, the most intense and fertile period in nature's growth cycle, since the dawns of time.

This was the time of the maypole, under which the young ones would weave their beribboned, ages-old dance of life. There was also the sacred Beltane fire, over which young couples would jump to initiate their partnership or marriage. The May Queen would also be chosen amongst the eligible maidens of the community as a partner to the May King. Amongst flowers, blossom and the profuse abundance of nature, they would marry or 'handfast' for a year and a day to symbolise the successful fertility of nature during the next growing cycle.

All in all, it was a wonderful time to launch a new project. Young, ripe and bursting with energy, we were ready to celebrate the birth of a potent new group entity on the land. Our intent was to create a new, relevant mystery school on the good earth, to share our knowledge with whomever were drawn, and to grow in wisdom ourselves through our service. We were ready!

Various teachers had been invited to attend in order to share their knowledge and skills in an experiential rather than cerebral way with the participants. Some of the subjects offered were: Earth energy work including dowsing; music and dance from many cultures around the world; Neuro-Linguistic Programming (advanced communication skills); massage and aromatherapy; ceremonial magic; group dynamics skills; voice workshops; astrology; labyrinth and sacred space building with their uses, and so on.

So, all was as ready as could be. The crew were dressed in a riot of theatrical costumes and radiated both the excitement of a new adventure, and the bubbling life-force excesses of Beltane. The atmosphere was magical and carnival: the organisers strode purposefully around the field, the crew's children were already bringing the Children's Area alive with shrieks and laughter, the weather was sunny and warm, and the teachers were intent with last minute preparations.

All this time I had been gainfully employed bashing in stakes, erecting all sorts of structures, digging pits of all shapes and sizes, and generally helping out. As the site became increasingly complete, I found I could relax a bit and find out what was going on.

My first impression was of the richness and variety of all the extraordinary characters present in one place, all at the same time. The space was full with dreamers, dancers, shamans, musicians, the faery folk and representatives from all the sentient life-forms inhabiting these lands, thinkers, artists, doers, poets: rainbow people all. My eyes feasted on the rare treat and I took pride in being part of it all.

Where did I fit in? I had no idea, yet I trusted the process that brought me here in such a definitive way. Until I had a more definite idea, I would continue to help create sacred space inside which both myself and others could meet and interact together. For I had heard the calling, dropped everything and made myself available. Isn't that the basic idea behind living a life guided by Spirit? My shyness and fear prevented me from joining in very much with the social aspects of it all, but I contributed my bit to the overall space simply by being myself. I have always dressed eccentrically, and I certainly didn't hold myself back in this department, given the circumstances!

I played my flute when appropriate, worked with the crystals and wove the threads of my personal magic into the dream-tapestry of the collective group soul. Besides, I was in love with January, and this kept me focused on opening my heart and getting in touch with my deep feelings, much to my existential alarm and ecstatic excruciation! Relationships and communication became the centre of my reality, with my site work ever present to keep it all grounded.

One of the dreams of the organisers was to build a small stone circle to emphasise and enclose the central sacred space of the camp. A couple of days before arrivals day the whole camp was galvanised into action, searching for suitable materials for a circle. We found and erected some lovely granite standing stones, and were finally able to stand back appreciating our handiwork. A new minilithic stone circle had been born on the land, each stone thrusting maybe eighteen inches into the sky, happy and rejoicing new birth.

And then it was arrivals day. A broad cross-section of society arrived, singly and in small groups. They were directed initially to the Gate bender where they were greeted and 'processed' by the gate crew. Having paid, 'changed speed' and given appropriate information, they trickled onto the site looking, in the main, lost. There they were picked up by minders who looked after them, showed them the camping areas, water supply, loos, and the other facilities. Helping hands were extended to erect their tents if needed and when they had landed, the helper would go and find somebody else.

The site was full of milling people, young and old, experienced and nervous, secretive and highly social. Supper was served for those that wanted it, and an air of expectancy hovered thickly over the field. All at once the piercing note of a conch signalled a gathering in the cafe marquee for everyone on site.

There was a hushed atmosphere in the marquee which was illuminated in golden light by hurricane lanterns and candles. People sat in a double circle inside the canvas wall, lounging on straw bales and all sorts of improvised seating. We were then invited to hold hands, and the magic started to flow.

Everyone in the circle was included in the journey that was starting. It promised to be a magical mystery tour through the Beltane gateway, an exploration of the ancient secrets of the land, and a journey through our Selves. All of this would unfold in the company of like-minded people who wanted to play!

Palden eventually called the meeting to order and gave a stirring introductory talk about what Oak Dragon was all about, described what was intended for the camp, and introduced the teachers. They gave a short description of what they had to offer, and then it was the turn of the crew.

Charged with a sense of the start of a new era, I sat in a shadowy part of the space and watched closely. I saw the elements of a new consciousness swirl and eddy through the space, attracted by the innocent and vibrant circle that had joined there that evening. We had held hands and created the magic circle: we were now 'on air'. I watched the light generated inside the marquee assume a sparkling, dancing intensity and, bursting to capacity, spurt through the joins and holes in the canvas. It radiated into the ancient land beyond, in celebration of a new birth.

A dream had come true for me that night: to be part of a group of people which was consciously working with spiritual energies and was committed to manifesting them safely to earth. To birth. I observed the rest of the circle, and on one level or another everyone knew that something very special was happening. We were all actors and actresses in a cosmic fancy dress extravaganza. I wondered who the characters were that we were to become and, indeed, what the play was!

We completed our gathering by holding hands in silence once again, and then trooped out into the starry night. The 'eternal fire' prepared during the day was then lit in a ceremony which involved everyone. Ros, Palden's partner, was dressed in a long green flowing robe and was the priestess officiating the ceremony. It was my first real-life magical ceremony with all the trimmings, and I was both fascinated and a little nervous.

The sacred fire was to be the 'barometer' of the camp's spirit, and the idea was that each of us would commit ourselves to ensure it stayed alight until the end of the camp. Then it would be closed down ceremoniously, again involving everyone on site.

It was built close to the marquee in a spot perfect for group gatherings, and for generally hanging out close to a source of refreshment. That first evening we made music, danced and sang together under the sparkling stars in celebration of finding our rightful place at last, and of coming home.

January and I took up residence in her black truck, which turned into a sort of 'inner Gate', a space where everyone entering or leaving the camp had to pass. People frequently dropped in for a cup of tea, a natter, or a bit of support. As the camp progressed we found that our inner clocks were reversing themselves: we began to stay alert and awake at night, resting during the day. Thus we found ourselves guardians of the site while the others slept, keeping an eye on the field and walking regularly around the space, 'beating the bounds'.

Beating the bounds is a very old practice of defining one's own space. In the olden days, at the beginning of springtime when life started to fill nature with new shoots and the first flowers were appearing, the entire community would make a procession around the village boundaries. It was a festive occasion – any excuse for a party – with fancy dress, musical instruments and games for the children. Using branches and twigs of the birch tree, magically used for completing the old and blessing new beginnings, they would celebrate the death of winter and welcome in the spring while magically redefining and protecting land and homes.

January and I would enjoy our night strolls, walking the boundaries of the camp, stopping along the way and saying hello to any beings we met on our rounds. It was an adventure of the grand sort, and we were both delighted to have somebody close to share it with.

The camp quickly settled into a rhythm which reminded me somewhat of a rural village in India. Bright colours flashed everywhere among a shanty town of strange structures, and an atmosphere of quiet intensity hung over the site. Mornings and evenings would see aromatic smoke issuing from chimneys, drifting down the valley like gossamer on gentle breezes. Many open camp fires would radiate warmth, inviting the traveller to rest awhile for a drink, a story or a smile. At the same time the rattle of pots and pans, the concussion of hammers, the scraping of shovels, and clothes lines full of dancing colours attested to the more earthy sides to the gathering.

During the mornings and afternoons there was relative quiet on the field as people attended workshops. I avoided them while adjusting to this way of living. If I had any spare time, I would wander around drinking in the atmosphere, spend time with January, or go for a walk.

In the evenings, of course, it was celebration time! I was delighted to experience so much home-made music and rhythm. There was an enthusiastic drum and percussion contingent at the camp which congregated as often as possible in ribald and disciplined abandon. The drums would come alive both for the sake of pure joyful, spontaneous music, and also to generate extra energy during group ceremonies or the like.

I would linger in the shadows around the fire, filled with nervous anticipation, and wait until I was kissed by the muse. When this sometimes happened, my body would start to move with the heat of the beat and my flute, or rattle, would come alive. Then I would meld with the group in a space that knew no barriers, and my joy would dance with the others in spirals and beautiful patterns throughout the night.

In addition to the confident, enthusiastic and primitive rhythm section, other instruments emerged from their hiding places into the light of day (or night). Shy, tending to be highly strung and moody, they joined the throng singly, in twos and threes, and at times en masse in a spontaneous camp orchestra. There were guitars, flutes, saxophones, violins, a dulcimer, an oboe, marimbas, dijereedoos, and many more exotic personalities. What a collection of sounds, moods, and creative energies! Slowly, I grew increasingly confident to play in the presence of others, which was another of my many long-held dreams which were now moving on their way to coming true!

During that first camp I surrendered as much as I could to the torrent of new experiences, new types of people, and some very strong brand-new feelings coursing through my being. Lost and in the main loving it, I was swept along in this new way of being.

I was aware that entering the world of humans brought with it a new responsibility: to become conscious of myself. To be, and grow with other human beings requires a commitment to hunt for the truth in every situation, and to be willing to change. I became uncomfortably aware of the areas that I desperately tried to avoid in normal life, and realised that I had committed my shadowy bits to be tweaked from now on until I changed.

A local couple, engaged to be married, heard about us and came to visit. They were so impressed and inspired with what they saw that they asked if they could be married in a pagan ceremony, choreographed by the appropriate Oak Dragon individuals. That got some energy moving! The day was decided upon; the couple and those who were involved got together in the planning of the ceremony.

The blessed day arrived. I remember a day of sunshine and flowers – lots of them – and everybody on site dressed up in their most cheerful and colourful clothes. People laughing, chanting, solemn, flashing eyes, joyful, galvanised for outrageous action:

Here I met the labyrinth for the first time. I watched it being made by Sig, a loveable tweedledum figure in rainbow braces and basketball hat. I confess that I wasn't all that impressed. How could a few sticks and lengths of twine do anything meaningful?

Sig explained that the labyrinth had been used since the beginning of time for consciousness changing. The Goddess Herself presided over its serpentine shape and through it, invited the supplicant to contact Her. As a problem-solving device it works wonders, and there are specific questions to ask at particular stages of the route. Whatever the motive, and however it is used, a magical adventure is guaranteed to anyone entering its coils, yet a warning needs to be given: beware all ye who enter here, for it may change your life forever!

One afternoon I waited until everyone on site was involved in a ceremony on the next field before consciously working the labyrinth. I stood in front of the entrance, flute in hand, and introduced myself. I asked for its blessing, then felt an irresistible urge to bounce right in. I skipped and danced my way through its twists and turns, found myself encapsulated in a bubble that separated me from the world outside, and arrived somewhat breathless at the centre.

I looked about me. Everything was the same as before, yet subtly different. Outside the labyrinth, the world seemed tenuous and on the verge of disappearing. I felt that the smallest skillful effort or magical invocation, focused in the right place, would be enough to send it over the edge. The ground immediately under my feet, on the other hand, felt solid and enduring, endearing, a floating platform of reality. I stood confidently, anchored to the Centre and a part of me knew that I could go travelling in this bubble if I wanted, materialising anywhere I wished like Dr. Who in his Tardis.

I knew that I was being shown something very special, but I didn't really know what to do with it. I started to get a bit agitated, until I had the idea to express my gratitude for the experience by playing my flute. Feeling a little self-conscious by the proximity of so many people but encouraged by not actually being able to see any of them, I started to play.

And it worked. The feelings and beauty I wanted to express flew out of me like a flurry of shooting stars. They flashed and flickered awhile in the space of their birth, and then shot off to fill the camp and surrounding landscape in streaks of multi-coloured light.

In a dream I found myself outside the labyrinth again, unable to remember retracing my steps. I went for a wander, feeling very strange and needing to move my body. Walking helped, and later, talking to a friend, I was told of the strange events that had happened at the ceremony.

At one point very strong feelings had erupted, and a few people were drawn into an argument. As discord split the proceedings, my flute had entered the situation and wove its beauty in and around the group. Smiles appeared, the atmosphere had cleared, and the ceremony was led towards a satisfying completion.

Amongst other things, this was a very clear teaching for me about one manifestation of group dynamics. Whether all the members of a magical group are physically together or not, they will still interact and affect each other as if they were. I was out of sight and not conscious of what was occurring in the other field, and vice versa, yet both the larger group and I interacted as if we were in a circle. The interaction was probably deeper and more real, as I was not inhibited by the presence of the others. I wondered how far away from the site I could have travelled before my actions had no effect. Maybe time and space made no difference.

Then I wondered about the global family. We are a group, a circle, arn't we? So when thousands die of starvation in Africa, or are tortured and shot in other parts of the world, surely this must affect us all in deep and profound ways?

During the camp Sid, hero of the Stonehenge festivals and unofficial chief shaman, was asked to baptise and perform a naming ceremony for a young child. Her father lived nearby and had visited the camp on numerous occasions. He was fascinated by the way we worked.

I have memories of a warm sunny afternoon, a group of about twenty people laughing, playing and celebrating the magical child, dancing and skipping along the road and track leading to Sancreed Well.

The well itself is very beautiful, a calm and peaceful pool maybe eight feet below ground, enclosed by a moss- and fern-covered chamber. Access is by a flight of well-worn stone steps, the atmosphere is deep and sacred and it is evident that the well is still used and honoured by the local people. The holiness of the well moved me very deeply, and it fired me with a passionate love and caring for this rich and beautiful land.

Little nooks and crannies in the walls encourage offerings like coins, crystals, or a candle. One can easily lose oneself in the tiny yet complete worlds of microscopic plants, cobwebs and insects that one notices out of the corner of one's eye. From the trees nearby, gaily coloured material and ribbons flutter gaily: how beautiful it is to see the sacred places still honoured and worked by the people of the land!

We all congregated on the grass by the well, wide-eyed at all the varieties of spring flowers that graced the spot and the brightness of the sunshine that ranged freely over the wild Cornish landscape. Sid conducted a simple yet powerful ceremony, and I wondered how the energies at play in the moment would change the course of the little girl's life. Such loving, gentle, caring power generated by so many well wishing souls was directed towards her. Surely it must have affected her, being enclosed in such a magic bubble of support, love, caring and belonging!

I watched Sid closely, with his ruddy face and benevolent bulk, trustingly inviting the ancient spirits of the land, the Goddess, and all benevolent beings to watch over and protect the child. Somehow the occasion took everyone through a sort of time-warp into a world where dragons and mystical creatures still roamed the planet. Magic took form all around us and the faery spirits of the land, the elementals and little people came to bless us on our journey that afternoon.

We all became little children to be baptised and blessed in the ancient, loving, natural way that always has been, and always will be. We were blessed four times: bathed in the waters of the sacred well, nurtured and supported by the flower-bedecked earth, our skins stroked by the playful breezes, and our souls kissed by the youthful summer sun.

Camp life wasn't by any means all flowers and laughter. Although the group intent was to kindle the fires of creativity and magic, there were plenty other types of fire that appeared from time to time, including the odd explosion! So many high-energy people in one small space undergoing their own deep personal journeys, in addition to the group processes, presaged a very intense time. Even our sacred shamans had a serious go at one another in a ceremonial situation one afternoon inside the stone circle!

Considering the situation, the high-energy people involved, and the profusion of intimate interactions being staged, the camp was surprisingly harmonious and flowing. This state of affairs was no happy accident. it was largely due to a process that was an integral working of the Oak Dragon, called Pow-wow.

Pow-wow is based on a communication technique used by the Native American Indians, and can only work within the dynamics of the circle. It is a method of sharing that gets energy moving both on an individual and group level. During Pow-wow, all other planned activities on site were suspended and everyone was encouraged to participate: it was seen as a healing for the entire camp and treated with due respect.

It was usually felt necessary to have a chairperson to hold the space and remind the circle about the rules, but the process was usually self-regulatory. All those present would sit in a circle and align with one another by holding hands in silence, with closed eyes. Then the 'talking stick' was passed around the circle. This was an object, sometimes a stick but possibly a feather, a crystal, or anything that could be easily held. Often it was a special stick with a particular history, and had, for instance, been painstakingly decorated over a long period of time. The "official" Oak Dragon talking stick was a two-foot piece of yew, painstakingly polished; it flashed in all colours of the rainbow and tinkled with fairy bells.

Whoever held it was given the chance to speak, alone, with the total attention of everyone present. One by one, each person would share their feelings at that moment and speak them aloud, or silently, to the centre of the circle. As each individual completed, the talking stick would be passed on. The next person would then have an uninterrupted space in which to speak, and so on.

Listening was given as much priority as speaking, for to hear properly is as important to self-healing as sharing. Listening with full attention honours and encourages the speaker to speak, and supports him or her to unburden themselves of anything that may be causing an obstruction in their flow. In this simple way is the healing process furthered. When one round was completed, another would start and the sharing would continue until it came to its natural conclusion. On many occasions, Pow-wow would start in the morning and then continued until early evening. What marathons!

Sometimes, when the process was nearing completion, the stick would be left in the centre of the circle by the last speaker. Anyone needing to share could then pick the stick up and complete, rather than waiting for it to go all the way round again.

The immense range of human expression that emerges during a Pow-wow always amazed me. True, heart-felt communication is a wonderful phenomenon to experience. There are always those who don't understand the spirit of Pow-wow, who want to complain, or rabbit on with no energy.

But often there is a new, dynamic quality that fills the space with aliveness and potential. When that spirit is present, the atmosphere becomes electric and every word, every movement, vibrates with healing and change.

There has been many a time when the speaker, sometimes the most unlikely person, has been filled with courage and a completely open heart, and spoken with power. This visitation of Spirit is often instrumental in shifting the energy of all those present into a state of deep healing and transformation. Whatever the quality of Pow-wow, it is a special tool in encouraging movement at the energetic centre of each camp. If feelings are shared, the truth is out in the open and there is no stagnation. A healthy environment is then created for all.

Experiencing it for the first time, I was terrified. And the next, and the next. I still am. Yet I recognise its extraordinary potential, and gladly take part in smaller circles. Needless to say, I avoided them at that time like the plague and it was only in my third season with Oak Dragon that I started to attend regularly. So at that first Beltane camp I flitted about the field or went for a walk, enjoying the silence and absence of human activity during those occasions.

About half way through the camp, Sid, our chief shaman, started to act very strangely. He was often to be seen wandering about the field in strange attire (or total lack thereof) and mumbling gibberish with a vacant look in his eyes. Not unusual for a shaman, you might think. Yet one of the definitions of a shaman is a person who has the ability to journey through all sorts of different states of consciousness at will. It was blindingly obvious that Sid was not in control of events, and quite unhappy with his state.

He became a frequent visitor to the black truck, where he was looked after as well as we could manage. He found it difficult to trust people and really needed a safe place to hang out. January and I welcomed him regularly. We didn't actually do anything much except ply him with lots of tea, and were available if he needed someone to mumble at.

One night well after midnight, January and I were lying together in bed awake, enjoying our late night vigil together. Suddenly the door burst open and there was Sid in all his shamanic regalia, looking wild, and definitely not occupying the state of consciousness usually described as 'normal'. My initial feeling of outrage at being invaded was quickly replaced with alarm and adrenalin: raw power was present in the truck that moment.

Cracking the air with a large white feather in one hand and with a tomahawk in his other, our unannounced guest danced around the interior of the truck, incanting unintelligible words and looking very fierce indeed. The atmosphere became increasingly electric and I felt that anything could happen. There was a point when it did, actually, but what did, I couldn't say.

Eventually, we had a wild-eyed, steaming shaman bending over us, waving a very business-like tomahawk in the air and creating little explosions around our heads with the feather. I found it very frightening, as if I was under the control of forces that were way out of my experience, a helpless plaything of fate. At the same time, I felt incredibly honoured to be witness, indeed the joint focus, for such an outpouring of raw magic. Eventually, Sid placed the weapon in January's hand, blessed us, then was gone.

In the vacuum left after his departure, we lay next to one another in shock. What happened? Did whatever it was actually happen? We had the tomahawk to prove it: January was still holding it on the pillow. We were eventually able to talk, and agreed that some sort of ceremony had occurred which involved a blessing both individually and as a couple, a marriage of sorts, and the bestowing of the tomahawk.

Despite the shocking manner in which it had occurred, we both felt it was a beautiful and powerful thing to have happened, an important milestone in our relationship together, and we celebrated one another.

The camp drifted through the waters of timelessness. People appeared out of the mists into shining sunlight, interacted together in the interweavings of golden rays, and sailed back into the mists of becoming until the next emergence. My initial nervousness abated somewhat and I enjoyed the freedom of 'do as you will'. I wore my robes of flowing colours and danced my innocent dance with whomever came my way, whether spirit or human, organic or non-organic.

I realised that I had made the decision to come out of my lifelong isolation and learn to interact properly with other humans. In the camp arena, a very young, vulnerable and scared part of Ivan was emerging for the first real time. How can one be old, wise, stupid, innocent, vulnerable, confident, terrified, experienced, and confused all at the same time? Easily, I soon found out. I never quite knew when I would be one character or another. As I came alive in small degrees, my exposed wounds began to hurt. Part of me rejoiced, part of me quaked.

The air was full of spontaneous magic. It emerged, sometimes shockingly, into daily life. One such example happened on a shopping trip into a nearby town:

Finally, biting deeply into our pasties, the gateway closes and a semblance of normality returns.

Once upon a time I naively believed that everything would soon be all spiritual and OK and wonderful and that the suffering would stop automatically. Now I know differently. At present, if I can stay awake and aware when the pressure's on, I am truly grateful. Yet in the era of the birthing camp scene people were so optimistic, everything seemed so full of promise, and enlightenment was only around the next bend. We all inhabited a children's world, partly in innocence and trust, partly because an adult's world was too real and too frightening to contemplate.

My spirits soared to heights never before experienced, and plummeted into abysses so cruelly deep that I thought I would never again see the light of day. Nevertheless I began to experience my humanness and heart connection (and absence of it) with others on a regular basis. I recognised and celebrated newly-born upwelling feelings and increased life-force as a real breakthrough in my life, and gave thanks.

One experience, a special gift given to me by Spirit, gave me the certainty that I was on the right track with a no-messing lightning-bolt precision. I was attending the final Pow-wow of the camp and wanted to give every participant on the site a meaningful present. The previous winter I had picked up handfuls of acorns in order to plant them in suitable places around the country. I thought that it would be admirable to give everyone an acorn as a symbolic gift from the spirit of the first Oak Dragon camp.

I was at the centre of the stage and the spotlight was on me. I somehow managed to tell everyone what I intended to do, and then walked slowly around the circle holding a small basket full of the acorns I had picked. I offered it to each participant as I passed, and at last everyone had taken their acorn. I reached inside the basket for mine – there was only one acorn left! I kept my presence of mind, extracted my acorn and then, dramatically, turned the basket upside-down. There was an intake of breath as everyone realised what had happened. I felt incredibly honoured to be chosen as the channel through which Spirit had manifested.

In this Brave New World I swam for my life amongst waves of outrageous feelings, played on islands of amazing beauty among wonderful natives and met only the occasional poisonous animal. As the camp came to a close, I realised that I had survived! Not only had I survived, but I had not disgraced myself and was still welcome within the group.

I found it eminently suitable that, not only did the sacred fire stay alight through gale and rainstorm, it did not want to be extinguished when it was time for us go. It died fighting!