January and I spent our first real continuous time at Hatfield Court after our third season of camps. We found it a delightful place, and we could pretty much live how we wanted. It was great to have our own separate spaces although it had obvious consequences for our relationship. I had my bender which nestled among the trees, January preferred her truck and we adjusted easily to the new arrangement. We got to know Jeremy and Phillipa who owned the house. He was a well-known author with a couple of best-sellers under his belt, and she was an accomplished artist and voice worker. They were a lovely eccentric couple who would end up in all sorts of unusual situations, creating a continually unfolding surreal tragi-comedy around themselves and all who came in contact with them. I kept aloof, however, as I felt not to get too involved. Our time passed pleasantly and creatively, and occasionally we would make trips to visit the outside world.

One night in late autumn January and I were gathering firewood in a small wood half a mile from the house. It was about midnight and silent except for the quiet crunching of the frozen grass underfoot. We were halfway across a field when I looked over my shoulder – and stopped dead. The sky was on fire! I called January and we watched spellbound as the heavens slowly undulated in reds and deep crimsons, waving amoeba-like, while beams of white light danced through them like searchlights.

At first we didn't know what we were looking at, but after a while we reckoned it must be the Aurora Borealis, or Northern Lights. Deep burgundy changed to dark forest green, then moved slowly through peacock blue to dark purple and indigo. These colours were vibrant, super-alive and not of this world: we felt deeply honoured to have witnessed such beauty. We later found out that this colour-show had been observed as far south as Southampton, due to incredibly rare atmospheric conditions coupled to violent sun-spot activity. Whatever the scientific explanation, it was the experience of a lifetime, and we both gave thanks.

In October I had a visit from Dan. He was nervous and ill at ease, looked terrible, and I knew he was up to something. Finally I got it out of him. He confessed he had made a mistake by giving me the Atlantean in his last give-away: he was terribly sorry but he had to have it back. I was deeply shocked. The little terracotta figure was one of the greatest magical gifts I had ever received. It had become the central object on my personal altar, and I had recently decided to paint each tiny detail on the surface of its rough red body.

I was thrown into complete chaos, and I knew that I had a very short time to come to a decision. I told Dan to wait, and I meditated on the issue. I realised after a while that there was only one course of action open for me. I was against forcing anything, and trusted that Great Spirit would guide me through life. If Dan wanted the Atlantean back, then fine. I had been given it and had received its energy: its physical presence was needed no more. In a spirit of trust and give-away, I gave it back and watched him as he slunk away through the trees.

It was at about this time that a long-standing dream of mine became activated once more and arose strongly into my everyday consciousness. This dream had been kindled inside me when I first became aware of Earth energies and healing and it generally lay dormant in my system. Occasionally it would arise and I would be obsessed by the hope of its realisation for a period of a few weeks or so, until it subsided again. I would search the countryside, combing the likely trees and woods in my efforts to manifest it, always to find myself facing a closed door. I knew it was so close, yet so far..... And this dream? It was simply to find a mistleoak, an oak tree with mistletoe growing in it.

There is plenty of mistletoe growing in this country, and its favourite host tree is the apple. Other trees it likes to colonise are the poplar, hawthorn, and willow. Occasionally you will see it on ash, but extremely rarely on oak. There was a survey done by the druids at the turn of the century, and they were only able to find thirteen mistleoaks in the entire country.

To find a mistleoak represents the opening up a new, special relationship with the Spirit of the Land, one of secrets and of deep, magical healing. Mistletoe harvested from the oak is called All-Heal by those steeped in tree-lore. This herb confers the magical ability to heal all wounds, whether physical, emotional or spiritual. In my delightfully willful way, I was determined to find one however long it took.

One winter's day, January and I were out walking when we met an old man clearing out a drain by the roadside. After stopping awhile for a natter, out of the blue I heard myself ask him if he knew of any such tree.

"Well, there used to be one near Aymestrey", he replied without a pause. "But that were awhiles ago, and whether it be there still, I don't know".

"Do you know where, exactly?" I asked him.

"No, I never saw it myself." He replied.

We carried on talking awhile, then moved on and wished him a good day. I was ecstatic. This was the first lead I had ever had, and I had to pursue it. Part of me wanted to believe that the old man had heard me wrong or was rambling, yet I could feel a chink moving in the armour-plated door. Was it slowly creaking open? Was this what I had been waiting for for so long? On my return home I got out my ordnance survey map of the area and pored over it. Suddenly I stiffened and blinked at the map, unbelieving. A couple of miles to the west of Aymestry there was written on the map, as plain as day, the words 'Mistletoe Oak'.

I searched the map for further clues: there was nothing helpful. There was a dot near the printed words, yet the tree could have been anywhere within a quarter of a mile. I reckoned that the map would take us only so far towards the magical tree and our intuition would have to do the rest. So the next day we set off, and enquired at different farms and houses as we got closer to the tree. Nobody knew of it, and we started to have doubts about the old man's tale. Nevertheless we carried on and parked as close as we could to where we considered it to be.

We decided on a strategy: to sweep the likely area in a circular route that would take us back to the car. With hope and optimism in our hearts we set off. Soon it became apparent that we were on a wild goose chase. The area was wooded and the trees within a radius of four hundred yards or so numbered many hundred. Still we searched, up rises and down into hollows, across clearings into wooded glades, jumping streams, ever onwards. We spent hours investigating likely trees. Some massive oaks down by the small river looked promising but proved to be false leads.

We were getting close to the car on the last section of our search. We were both tired and it had already started to get dark. We had all but given up when I saw it! I shouted to January and we ran to the large tree that seemed so promising – it was just a large ash! Deeply disappointed, I finally admitted defeat. Turning away, I saw something out of the ordinary opposite the ash. I walked up to the tree, and there it was. On the trunk of a large, very tall oak, only a hundred yards from the car, there was a small growth of mistletoe. January confirmed it. We had found one of the rarest trees in Britain: a Mistleoak!

After the initial celebration, my heart sank. The mistletoe was high above the ground in a tree with few branches, far too difficult to climb. Still, my intent was strong and I knew that if there was a way, I would manage it. Planting a little gift for the tree, we left full of high spirits and a couple of big questions!

Soon I had figured a way to get to the mistletoe, using a stone, string, rope and a long rope ladder. Or so I hoped. And so, late on the afternoon of the first full moon after Winter Solstice, we were back. I laid my equipment by the base of the tree and got ready. I hoped I had made my preparations well. After meditating awhile, I tied the string to the stone, and took aim at the branch just above the mistletoe. I knew that one mistake would be enough to make a complete mess of our magical endeavour, so I prayed for help.

Mistletoe retains its magical powers only if it does not touch the ground or any person. In addition, it can only be cut with a golden blade. Whatever happened, I knew I must not knock it off the tree with the stone, for it would be a terrible violation. Anyway, it would inevitably fall on the ground and lose any magical or healing properties it may originally have possessed.

It was twilight, the crack between the worlds. I needed enough light to see what I was doing, yet it needed to be dark enough not to be seen from the road. At last I judged the time to be right: I had made my preparations well. On the third attempt the stone, dragging the string behind it, whistled over the branch and returned to the earth. I attached rope to the string, strong enough to bear my weight, and pulled it up and over the branch. To the rope I tied the rope ladder, and pulled it upwards. When the top of the ladder had reached the level of the mistletoe, I secured the rope to the base of the tree.

The rope ladder dangled twelve feet or so above the ground. Earlier I had attached an extension to the bottom rung, so I could pull myself up the trunk of the tree until I was high enough to use the ladder itself. I checked all my equipment: fine. I have a poor head for heights and I inwardly cringed at the task I had set myself. Still, I couldn't not do it, much like swimming out to Fungi at Dingle. My goodness, that seemed years ago!

I said goodbye to January and ascended. I grazed myself in numerous places, but luckily the tree was fairly simple to climb up until the rope ladder started. Soon my feet were on the bottom rung, and I started to pull myself upwards. And if you have ever tried to climb a rope ladder, you will also know that it is not for the inexperienced or the squeamish. For most of that memorable climb – may it never have to be repeated – my feet were above my head, everything was gyrating madly, and I had to remember many times the magical instruction made famous by The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: DON'T PANIC.

Finally, arms aching and with lungs puffing fit to burst, I reached the top of the ladder. The ground seemed far away in another plane of existence, and I held tightly onto my precarious perch. I had, however, designed a nifty bit of apparatus which, theoretically, would enable me to hang on with one hand while I cut and bagged the mistletoe with the other. I was interested to see if it would work. It bloody well had to!

Tied to the cuff of my left shirtsleeve was a piece of string, and on its other end a clothes peg. The theory went like this: hold onto tree with right hand, attach clothes peg to sprig of mistletoe with left. Let go of clothes peg, hang onto rope ladder with left hand. Let go of tree with right hand, get golden sickle out of pocket with right hand. Transfer to left. Hold onto tree again with right hand. Let go with left hand. With free left hand, sever sprig of mistletoe with golden sickle. The sprig will then drop to the length of the string, and then stop (god, may it be so!). Transfer knife back to right hand, hold on to rope ladder with left. Let go with right hand. Put knife away, and produce bag from right trouser pocket. Open bag (home-made out of black velvet, lined with black silk, a plaitted drawstring with ivory skulls on its ends) with both hands (slightly risky), hold onto both bag and rope ladder with right hand. Drop mistletoe into bag by raising left hand high (again slightly risky) making sure not to touch herb. Let go of mistletoe by opening clothes peg, tie up bag, and then prepare to descend. Simple.

The operation actually went quite well. I attached the clothes peg to the magical healing plant and brought out my knife. It was a sickle, actually, made from a mixture of red, yellow and white gold, and sharpened to a extremely wicked degree.

One of my heroes is Getafix, the druid in the Asterix and Obelix comic books set in Gaul in the time of the Roman conquest. He was often up an oak tree in search of mistletoe, an important ingredient in the magic potion that made his tribe invincible against its oppressors.

His druidic tool was a golden sickle, and I wanted to do my task in a similar, comic-book correct way. I used to be a jeweller, and I had saved a piece of gold for a special purpose although at the time I had no idea exactly what it was to be used for. I had originally fashioned it into the shape of a snake with the fittings for a gemstone on its head, but hadn't completed it. It had been a simple job to bash it on an anvil into a rudimentary sickle shape, and then to sharpen it.

It cut the mistletoe cleanly, and the magical herb behaved in the planned manner. It was a little more difficult than I had envisaged to stuff it into the bag, wrestling as I was to keep my head above my feet and at the same time trying not to touch it, but I managed. Finally, all the implements of my trade, plus bag, were secured in one pocket or another, and I was able to relax a little. The full moon had been illuminating my dubious passage through the tree, and it was magnificent as it cruised through whispy clouds high above the welsh countryside. I could see for a long way as the tree stood on a little hillock, and the land shone silver in the moonlight. Such incredible liquid beauty!

I was aware that January was not really enjoying this as it was all somewhat dangerous, and so I made my way slowly down towards the ground. In a very short time I felt the earth beneath my feet, and I thanked whatever ally or angels that were looking after me that evening. They certainly have to work overtime, sometimes! When I had all the gear onto the ground, I measured the length of rope and ladder between the mistletoe and the ground. Thirty-nine feet. I would have made quite a crater had I fallen!

Soon everything was packed into the car and we set off homewards. We had joined another Adventure, and had faithfully followed its twisting and turnings until the conclusion. It sped off beaming and fulfilled; we did likewise. There was much celebration on many levels that night!

Then the question begged to be asked: How should it be used? I racked my brains, yet no inspiration came. So I stored it in a safe place until I received instructions. A while later, I visited some friends who had opened 'The Very Strange Shoppe' in Glastonbury, and they showed me a magnificent crystal of theirs that had fallen on the floor and broken into four pieces. I fell in love with it. Originally it had been about twelve inches long, thin like a lazer-wand, and beautifully clear. They asked if I would like to have it and I accepted gladly. I had some idea that I could somehow heal, and repair it.

When I got it back to Hatfield Court, I realised the reason for finding the mistleoak: I was to use the mistletoe to heal the broken crystal, and in doing so symbolically heal all crystals and the ruptured earth, broken and blasted by greedy Man. Ultimately I hoped my prayers would help heal the wounds and scars covering the Great Mother's entire body.

I figured that the whole operation would have to be gentle, so rather than making the usual 'magical brew' by simmering the mistletoe over a gentle heat, I would instead make a flower essence using fresh, sparkling spring water and the healing power of the sun. All I needed to do was to wait until the conditions were right. This occurred at the next full moon.

It is dawn. The sky bursts out of the darkness in pinks, blues and golds. Today is to be the day. I collect spring water from a local bubbling source and pour it into the stone bird-bath close to my little bender-home. I then wait until the sun breaks the seals of the day in a golden point of light, and I hold the pieces of crystal aloft. I greet the sun, symbol of wholeness and healing, then the elements, and the spirits that abound in Nature. Every aid for healing comes rushing to help when there is deep desire and recognition of the sacred laws! I clearly state my intent, place the mistletoe into the water, and then the four pieces of crystal.

I add a few drops of Rescue Remedy, a homeopathic flower essence mixture, to soothe away shock and to accelerate the healing process. I place four of my personal crystals in the positions of the four Directions in order to create a strong protective and healing mandala that will surround the large crystal. The golden rays of the sun are already bathing the 'operating theatre' in soothing, healing light and I withdraw to let it all happen in its own time.

Throughout the day the sun shines brightly and I feel it important to keep my distance. Once, peering at the crystal from the bender, I see a blackbird drinking from the healing liquid. I feel a warm glow in my heart when I realise that the Winged Ones are involved in the healing process too.

I feel that all is going to plan, even if I don't fully know that plan myself. When undertaking an operation such as this, I keep myself flexible and receptive to the commands of Spirit as they arise. Just before sunset when I would normally complete a flower essence operation, I am instructed to leave all as it is, and I wonder why. Later, it becomes very obvious.

Throughout the night the full moon irradiates the scene in blue-silver hissing light, revealing faery Beings who are dancing close and who assist in the healing. Both witnessing and taking part in such a wonderful, magical process makes me very grateful, and determined to generate and share this delightful energy as much as I possibly can in my life. This is the type of healing resulting from the balanced manifestation of the sun and the moon, man and woman, light and dark. Such is union, such is love.

In the morning I take the pieces of crystal out of the symbiotic healing mixture and leave them to dry in the sun. When ready, in the early afternoon, I glue them together with a special type of transparent adhesive that bonds when activated by ultra-violet light. Very appropriate, I muse! When I reckon it has taken long enough, I carefully clean up the joins with a scalpel, and to all intents and purposes, it looks and feels whole. I hold the now integrated crystal aloft, like a sword. It feels comfortable in my hand as if it were a good friend, and catches the sun's rays like a solar lightning conductor. For a fleeting instant I become a Sun-God, golden-haired, with flashing eyes bursting through bronzed features. I am omnipotent, youthful, and channel the power of the sun into my crystalline sword, down through my vital body, into the thirsting Earth.

The spell fades and realities change. I still have the last vital part of the healing process to facilitate: I need to return the crystal back to the earth. My good friend Sue, an accomplished earth healer, has taught me an effective way to do this. With a bit of a heavy heart, I choose a place that is suitable and dig a deep hole. With prayers and visualisations, I return the crystal to the earth in such a way as to further its healing, and, acting as a crystal acupuncture needle, to begin the healing of the land in the area.

The operation is a success, and I give thanks.

The previous summer I had felt ready to take on the role of 'focaliser' for the first time, and I asked January if she was also up for it. She agreed, and so we committed ourselves to the inevitable process. It was to be the 1990 Healing Camp. Soon after this decision was made, I was given the book Cutting the Ties that Bind by Phyllis Crystal. I read it and was completely inspired. Such is the way of Spirit. With the book came the vision and I was fired with a new Dream: the camp would become a sacred arena within which everyone present would undergo a rite of passage. The Working of the camp would culminate in a ceremony to cut the ties that bind us to our past.

I reckoned that we, both as individuals and collectively, had done enough processing of the never-ending psychological blockages, or 'stuff' as it is known in the trade. Sometimes it seemed as if we simply went round and round in circles and never actually got anywhere. It was time to make a solid commitment to change, and participate in a process, or ceremony, designed to open a one-way gateway into the future.

The idea took seed and grew quickly, surprising me by the strength of its roots and the enthusiasm of its growth. Whoever I spoke to about the vision was inspired and showed a lively interest. Support was offered on all sides. My mind and heart had became full, and I accepted the vision as my spirit-child.

I felt it essential for the success of such an outrageous operation to choose and assemble a suitable team as soon as possible. We would have to meet often to prepare for what would inevitably manifest at the camp. For I was under no illusion. We would be successful in guiding and encouraging others to enter the gateway of no return only if we had explored the way beforehand, and could illuminate the way with our own experience. Therefore, in the ten months or so before the camp, the team would meet together, undergo the necessary theoretical and experiential training and prepare for a camp like there had never been before. We would face our demons and this time I knew we would break through.

January and I chose a team of experienced healers and therapists with whom we had already worked 'in the field' over the years. Each individual had to be able to work well as an integral member of a team, and handle all the eventualities to be expected at such a camp. I anticipated there would be at least a hundred people in process at any one time, and if I thought too much about it, my mind boggled! That is an awful amount of raw energy to work with, and care for, in such a deep operation of the mind.

Soon we had our team, and one of the conditions I insisted on was that everyone commit themselves to meet over one long weekend every month until the camp started. I wanted everyone to meet one another, get to know one another in differing circumstances, and to undergo the process we were going to facilitate for the participants, personally. There is no point in trying to teach something on this level without having done it oneself.

There were fifteen of us: three focalisers, ten group or family leaders, one Healing Area supervisor, and one liaison person who would co-ordinate with the management and the site crew on the field. Others would slip into strong supporting roles nearer the time, but we would be the central core around which the whole camp would revolve.

The general strategy of the camp had been quickly worked out. The camp would last ten days. The first day would be for arriving, the setting up of living quarters, an introductory meeting explaining the intent of the camp, and then an opening ceremony. The next day would be spent in 'meeting the teachers', when each participant would choose the facilitator of the group he or she would join for the camp process. The camp process would begin on day three, culminating on day nine.

We decided to divide each day into two halves. The mornings would be would be for raising the energy required to undertake such an initiation. To do this, we would hold various dynamic workshops building in intensity, and practice in balancing, until the day of the ceremony.

The afternoons would be devoted to the family circles. We felt that the most effective way in which to guide people through a rite of passage was to do it in small groups of up to fifteen. These would be led by the ten group leaders who would take their respective charges through the preparation and processes necessary to undergo the rite of passage, offering a strong support system for each individual. Each facilitator would teach and practice their particular therapy or skill and adapt it for the purpose. During the group sessions, everyone would go through the ceremony in 'dry runs' until they were proficient in the visualisations and procedures as described in Phyllis Crystal's book Cutting the Ties that Bind.

All this preparation would lead up to the final ceremony which would happen on the evening of the last full day. After that there would be a feast, a celebration and a final completion ceremony on departure day.

Like eager lambs to the slaughter we met, got to know one another and explored what was really entailed in Cutting the Ties that Bind. In practicing the ceremony and undergoing the rites of passage ourselves, we entered all sorts of strange psychological states and healing crises. Through our own experiences we gained much invaluable practice in dealing with group healing dynamics. This had to happen if we were going to have any chance at all of leading others through the same doorway. I seemed to be chosen by the group to conduct the ceremony itself, although I felt there were others far more qualified to do the job. It felt right, however, and after doing a couple of practice runs without total disaster or mutiny by the team, I relaxed into the role.

One day, during one of our our weekend group processes, I was dozing in my chair when my mother appeared. She looked very young: I estimated her appearance to be as she was when I was about ten years old. We were looking at one another at a distance of about ten feet, and were connected by a red cord. It looked like the sort of plastic netting used as bags for vegetables, and it joined us at our navels. I was very aware and calm, and my mother was also. I took out my super-sharp whittling knife and cut the cord; I kept hold of it and pulled the remainder out of my navel. There seemed to be an inordinate amount of it, but I kept removing it until it finally pulled free of my body and fell at my feet. My midsection felt very weird. I placed my hands over it and sent blue healing energy into the open wound. When I felt complete again, I regarded the cord awhile and then dug a hole with my trusty knife. I then made a fire with paper, wood shavings and twigs, and when it was crackling strongly, placed the red netting on top of it.

It writhed and contracted as if it were a live snake, hissing and giving off acrid smoke. I bent back to avoid breathing in the fumes. After a while it collapsed back into the flames and was consumed while I kept on adding wood. Finally, when all was reduced to ash, I covered it with the soil knowing the results of the fire would provide good fertiliser for whatever grew there afterwards. When I stood up again, my mother was still there and she gave me a beautiful, natural smile. I felt great, and smiled back.

This was my experience. For me the 'dream cutting' of the ties was quite gentle, but I knew that the actual severance and subsequent healing would last from that moment on for quite some time into the future. Still, my psyche had symbolically cut the ties and this told me that I was ready to undergo the operation proper. I now felt qualified to guide the entire team towards completion.

The experiences of some of the team were not so gentle, however, and quite intense. It made us take notice that what we intended for a large number of participants was no picnic. We continued to grow together, tempering our spirits and cohering gradually into a potent team.

As we trained, the reports came in from the site and the management. It became obvious that the Healing Camp would be a sell-out, and we were asked if we minded increasing our limit on the maximum number participating. There comes a point in a gathering when it is no longer possible in one's mind to register everyone on the field and to remember their names. We have found it to be in the region of one hundred and twenty people. Still, the number of applications grew and grew. It was great feedback, for there is nothing like good, strong energy around something to attract people like moths to the flame. We decided to open the camp to however many people were guided there by Spirit.

Although we had chosen our central team, there were many more important support people to find and brief. There were the cafe crew, the gate, the children's area, and the healing area. The management of Oak Dragon would all be there, and the site crew had already been chosen. In addition, there were the unofficial helpers who would do the invisible things not usually noticed in such an operation.

The 'Grandmothers' would supervise a number of camp-fires throughout the camp in an invisible way and would provide help, caring, and a warm friendly space for anyone in need. Then there were a number of 'shepherds', aware individuals who tuned into people who for one reason or another had separated from the group process and needed bringing back into the fold.

There were the 'dog soldiers' who would patrol the camp boundaries providing protection from the outside world, and of course the group leaders who would patrol the 'inner spaces', helping those in need to deal with whatever arose in the process of consciously creating their freedom.

I knew that, in my trust, innocence and well-meaning, I had taken on more than I could chew with this one. I knew I needed help, and decided to use my special rune sequence again. I had recently made a very special wand with the opened hood of a cobra, and one opportune evening I burnt the runes into its handle. It was good. Looking at the wand carefully, I knew it would help to provide the extra bit of oomph needed for success.

The time was flying past. A month or so before the camp the group visited the site to introduce itself to the spirit of the place, meet the farmer who owned it, and to get a feel of the surrounding landscape. We were able to plan the site, picnic and enjoy ourselves in a beautiful setting. The field was on a hill high above a steep valley in northern Exmoor about five miles from Dunster. There were fabulous views all around: Wales was clearly visible over the Bristol Channel to the northwest. It was like being on the roof of the world, and the wide open spaces would facilitate good contact with Spirit. I just hoped that the weather would behave itself, for it was very exposed there so high in the sky.

And then it was time. January and I wanted to be the first people there, so we drove onto the site six days before arrivals day. We were completely alone in the empty field which seemed huge, and we spent a couple of days gently exploring the area. We hoped to find some helpful features in the landscape which we could work with in order to enhance the natural magic of the camp.

There were some lovely woods below the site and some eerie, deserted lime kilns which created labyrinths and hidden towers poised some twenty-five feet above the steeply wooded slopes. A small but lively stream flowed in the bottom of the valley, and there was a spring feeding a modest-sized pond a few hundred yards from the site.

On one of our forays I discovered a large rock that would do admirably as a standing stone. I carried it back to the field with difficulty and placed it at the edge of the sacred space where the ceremony would eventually take place. That evening just before sunset I carried our trusty spade up the field and felt for the spot where the standing stone needed to be. It was a very important operation, for this stone would be the pivot around which the whole camp would revolve. It would be our connection with the energy grid of the area, and the 'temporary home' of the spirit of the land.

There was a flat area on the top part of the field upon which the large marquee would be erected, and there was enough space outside for groups to assemble. It dropped away quite suddenly into the main part of the field. It seemed to me to be a place to take off and fly like a bird, soaring above the Exmoor hills. I felt the stone needed to be positioned at the edge of this flat area, just at the point of take-off.

I found the spot and dug. The small hole grew and suddenly I hit solid rock. With an agonised sound of metal against stone, bright sparks flew out of the hole into the evening air. I had found a huge outcrop of quartz! I planted a crystal and tucked prayers into the hole. Within a few minutes the stone had been erected, and the sun, wobbling red, hit the horizon. We had done all we could in preparation, the sands of time had almost completely trickled away and we had a job to do. I poured St Johns Wort oil over the stone, burnt some sage to help the healing process, and made a prayer for the successful manifestation of our dreams. We were plugged in to the network and ready to go!

As we sat in meditation the next day, the silence was rent by the blaring of loud horns and we saw that a convoy of dubious looking vehicles was blocking the lane. Like refugees from a Mad Max film, they negotiated the entrance gate one by one and roared across the wide field shrieking and hollering fit to bust. Ragged and colourfully dressed people hung off roofs, out of windows and through skylights while their steeds, having seen better days, rattled and bounced over the hillside.

I knew that our idyll had ended – the Vikings had arrived! After a few differences of opinion with the site crew, we all agreed the site plan and the Oak Dragon village arose from the hilltop in bright, cheerful colours and noisy enthusiasm.

Suddenly I found myself in battle with the forces of inertia and convention, for there were powerful elements on the field that did not like our new vision and inspired way of choreographing the Healing Camp. They wanted us to do it in the 'usual, tried and tested way', and would not budge. I was filled with adrenalin, and knew that I would not, could not roll over with my feet in the air this time and let other so-called stronger and wiser people trample over me. The new challenged the old, the old tried to defend itself and destroy the rival and contender. For a day the whole matter was poised on the edge as the forces of chaos threatened our fledgling spirit-child.

During the night I reached a conclusion, found unity inside myself, and help came. You see, I was now a parent and it was my child at stake. I found a place inside of me that was totally ruthless, and I revelled in it. Again, I had booked the Oak Dragon tipi as my essential fire space during the camp, and the next morning I collected it from the store pile. With a great deal of pleasure and without a twinge of conscience, I placed it in the exact spot which completely neutralised the threat to all of our dreams. It rose out of the field, a conical spirit-catcher, so as to block the sight of the central fire from our main protagonist. Geomancy works! And so the vision regained its footing, stronger than before, and was not seriously distracted again until completion.

The facilitating team arrived on site the day before the participants and we formed our circle again. It was good to feel our special group-soul become whole: it felt solid and invincible. We made final arrangements and wished each other well on our individual and collective adventures.

Arrivals day was bright and welcoming. Fire pits had been dug at suitable places around the field and lit. At least one experienced member of the team had set up home at each, ready to help and showing the site-plan for subsequent arrivals. It is so important to encourage people to camp in a circle around a fire-pit, for they are then not alone, and everybody faces inwards towards a common source of spirit fire that unites and cheers. It must be remembered that Oak Dragon caters for a large proportion of first-time campers and budding energy workers. For many, simply living in a field with two hundred other campers was quite an operation, let alone dealing with the camp process!

They came, and still they came! Individuals from the central group, the crew and other volunteers met each arrival and took them in hand. After checking in, a helper would take his or her new guest to the camping areas and help them decide where to camp, and erect their home for the duration. They were informed as to the whereabouts of the loos, the water supplies, the cafe, the shower unit, and had their questions answered. When each arrival was sorted out and on their feet, the helper would find another, and so on. One elderly lady I helped was called Bridget, and I welcomed her as the Goddess. I told her how grateful we were that our prayers had been heard and that a full contingent of guest gods and goddesses had come to our aid. If she needed any help or assistance, not to hesitate in asking! She was delighted. By late afternoon even more people than expected had arrived, and I knew we were in for an extraordinary time.

After supper we all gathered in the Big Top and Palden gave a rousing introductory talk about Oak Dragon. We then introduced ourselves, and discussed the aims of the Healing Camp. Afterwards, we assembled outside in a circle for the opening ceremony, around what would hopefully become the eternal fire of the camp. And what a circle! There were over two hundred people there in the fading light, and I was the one who had to address them!

Time stood still. My memory went back to that memorable opening ceremony on my first camp, the Beltane camp in Cornwall so long ago. I was in almost religious awe of the actors in the drama as they stood there, so sure of themselves in their robes and symbols of office. Just before the ritual began, I tried to put myself in their place and knew that there was no way I could work with so much energy. They were performing what was impossible for me: all I could do was to humbly honour their efforts and support them in any way I could.

And now, four years later, I was in their place doing the impossible in a ceremony I had mainly choreographed myself. I was celebrating my good fortune, petrified, and detached, all at the same time. It was my debut, my first time 'out there' in a magical sense, my empowerment as a group leader. It was now. I groaned.

I had built our central fire in the afternoon and had spiked it with some material soaked in paraffin. This beautiful fire had to work! January had agreed to lead the circle, singing a suitable chant, spiralling inwards to a pile of twigs close to the fire. There each of us was to pick up a twig, decide on an angel or quality we would carry with us throughout the camp, say it out loud, and put the now charged twig on the unlit fire. Spiralling out again, we would regain the circle and wait.

But where was January? She was to initiate and lead the proceedings. But she wasn't anywhere to be seen! I conferred with Diana and Suma, two strong, supportive medicine women who flanked me and they advised me that we just had to get on with it. I had better start the proceedings and lead the dance myself. My terror wrapped me tightly like a strait-jacket and I prayed a little prayer. Feeling the loneliest and smallest I had ever felt, I opened my mouth and let my words fill the dreadful Void. I explained the opening ceremony to the circle, feeling completely inadequate and hating the sound of my own voice.

The whole course of events were unleashed. From the time I opened my mouth the camp had a life of its own, and I learnt how powerless one feels on the back of a huge wave that is rushing along to fulfil its destiny, with or without the consent of its erstwhile creator! When I had finished my instructions and I felt they understood, the drum started and I led the circle on its way through the twilight to make its prayers and commitment. The long swaying snake danced and chanted into the centre of the circle and out again, touching all with new life. Words of power filled the air at the centre of the circle, and the spirit of the camp grew wings. This first part of the ceremony went excellently despite so much happening in such a small space, and soon everyone was back in the circle again. We waited.

Then two small children, a boy and a girl, emerged from the gate bender carrying a flaming torch. They walked towards the circle. The ring broke to let them through and re-formed behind them. They represented the magical child in all of those present: they walked serenely to the fire, and placed the torch in the hole which I had prepared. I prayed that they would remember what we had practiced, and where to do it...

The fire flickered and caught. Our guardian angels were at work. The children withdrew and the blaze reached for the sky. Soon the circle was illuminated by twenty foot high flames which joined the earth to the stars, and touched the hearts of everyone there. In that dance of awakening Spirit, we were shown the promise of what was to come.

The secret of a successful camp depends to a great extent on the preparation: the clarity of vision, determination to manifest that vision, and preparation in manifesting the vision. I felt we had done as well as we possibly could, and knew that we were coming from a position of strength in initiating the camp process towards Cutting the Ties that Bind.

In the experience gained from running Oak Dragon (and other) camps, we have found that a ten day camp process has some very definite stages. After arrivals day it usually takes three or so days for the participants to 'arrive' and be fully present for the task in hand. In these first days progress tends to be a bit jerky and distracted. At the three day mark, if the preparation has been done well, there is a sudden acceleration in the process which raises the magical energy of the camp.

By this time everyone present, both organiser and participant, has 'found the wave' whether they are ready for it, like it or not! This is the time to surf and keep ones balance, whatever the process brings up, for it is just as much a process for an organiser as for a paying participant. Whatever happens at the centre will affect everything else. If anyone feels they have 'missed their wave', there can be some serious wobbles that can threaten to rock the camp. This is where experienced 'spiritual helpers' will root out those people who are for any reason unbalanced or stuck, take them in hand, help them find their respective waves and return them when ready to their groups.

By the third day all seemed to be cruising. The groups seemed to be going well and the team was meeting every evening to share what had been going on for them. These daily meetings were invaluable for each member of the inner circle to 'plug in' to the help and support of the group as a whole. The danger I had perceived earlier on and had taken measures to eradicate, had not materialised and by now I knew had no chance of appearing. I found myself with less and less to do, except for keeping the vision of the camp clear and bright in my consciousness. It all seemed to be running itself and I was surfin'!

By the fourth day a camp is in the hands of fate: dependent on the way its course has been set by the intent, the vision and preparation, so will it be. The flow of the camp cannot really be stopped without dire consequences, although well-timed nudges can be applied by the central group to keep it on track. It will peak and find release on about day eight or nine, a sort of collective climax, and it is important to facilitate this in a healthy and natural way. There is so much power liberated by a operation of this nature and it is essential not to waste it. In our case we were directing it by our collective intent through a transformational gateway of no return: our freedom!

As a daily routine I played the 'wake up flute' for the early-birds soon after sunrise. It was gentle enough for those who wanted to roll over and continue their dreaming, and insistent enough for those who wished to wake and start the rituals of the day. I then facilitated the Dance of Life before breakfast. In general the weather was merciful, which was a good thing as I had a policy of dancing outside whatever the conditions! I wanted another chance to perform the shadow dance towards the end of the camp, and all seemed to be on course. There were plenty of takers for the Dance of Life, anyway.

The intensity of the camp grew and grew. I was relieved when the central group came together at the end of each day and linked up, for the energy flipped at these times and then normalised. Whatever individual problems or level of exhaustion affected the group, we were able to harmonise and recharge our batteries to a greater or lesser extent. This project was a lot to take on, and our tiredness was accumulative. I was prepared for it and was always able to rely on my will-power, but some of the others were affected quite severely. Still, as we continued to link up regularly, merging and sharing our strengths helped to carry us through.

The ceremony came closer and closer. The camp process was turbo-charged and approaching screaming pitch, wanting release. The group leaders were getting the worst of it as they were in the front line, and yet this was why they were chosen for the team. The participants were by now completely at the mercy of the current, unable to reach shore and approaching rapids. I was terrified, not of the process, but of what I recognised as my imminent personal initiation. In the past I would bow out of being the 'front man' when it came to the crunch, and let others take the role.

Many times this was energetically correct, but there were times when I knew in my heart of hearts that I was disempowering myself. At those times I knew I was both denying my personal evolution and also preventing the best option from manifesting. I am naturally very self-centred, yet I will avoid leadership situations like the plague. Strange.

In the evening before Ceremony day, a large group of us performed the Shadow Dance. This very special dance celebrates the magical realms of shadows, the energy body, night-time, and the 'Nagual'. I developed it from the Dance of Life, inspired to create good access to the Silence and the Dreamworlds. The only sounds are the muffled movements of the dancers and their unified breath, which is the circular breathing used in Rebirthing. It is designed to produce a deep and profound dream-like state which propels the group into Dreamtime.

The dance is performed at night. The dancers make their circle in, if possible, a circular space such as a large dome or marquee. They stand around a fairly strong unified source of light such as twenty candles or hurricane lamps placed very close together in the middle. Behind each dancer, projected onto the wall of the structure, will be their shadow which moves in a reflective mirror-like way (hopefully!).

The first round is danced to the chant of the Dance of Life in order to create a good, unified rhythm. At the start of the second round the group slips into the hypnotic, circular breathing that will propel them, as a unified whole, into the state of awareness that can create miracles. Here they will consciously dance with their shadows in a safe, sacred space. Here they will love their dark selves, merge with them, and build a new relationship with them. In an experiential way, the group will learn that the stronger the light, the stronger the shadow, and that each needs each other for its very balance and survival.

And so the individuals of the group danced their hearts out. We moved both singly and as a unified organism, dancing pathways into the landscapes of Dreamtime. We propelled ourselves with the power of our intent and created new realities for ourselves, everyone on site, and for the human race. All of us knew we were travelling together on a real, definitive adventure into realities there are no words for. On one level or another, I hoped it would somehow prepare the stage for the main ceremony on the morrow. And later, so much later, we completed and arrived back to the same, and not quite the same, space as we started from. It was good.

The day of the ceremony dawned bright and clear, and we danced the Dance of Life to golden sunbursts, deep blue sky and dew-thrown rainbows. There was an expectancy in the air, and I hoped that the rest of the day would be as fresh and alive! The family groups made their final arrangements, and I went on a long walk to experience some objectivity and peace.

There were some very strange and wonderful omens in the heavens that day. A complete sun-dog, or 'sun-bow' ringed the sun in a circular rainbow and irradiated the Earth with its healing rays.

Although I didn't really know what these signs meant in an intellectual sense, I could feel in my bones that they were harbingers of profound effects and changes in the world, and on all those present at the camp. It was the dark of the moon, which is an ideal time to weed out those old and outmoded parts of ourselves, and to change to a new way of being. That day, the moon would be conjuncting and at the same time eclipsing both Venus and Jupiter, extremely auspicious for the type of operation planned for the evening.

Venus was conjunct my natal ascendant and would be activated by the moon. Saturn was exactly conjunct my natal Chiron, the wounded healer, and I have found that when this asteroid is strongly aspected, I tend to be involved in strong healing situations that profoundly affect either large groups of people, or the land. I knew that the celestial influences would be particularly beneficial to our undertaking that day; I always consult the stars as a vital ingredient in the decision making process to choose what to undertake, and when.

The ceremony was to happen during and after sunset. I felt that the transition into darkness at the crack between the worlds would provide the best energetic setting for the ceremony; besides, it is my special time of power. A feast was scheduled afterwards as a celebration. After spending short while alone in preparation for the ceremony, I blew the conch at about nine o'clock. Its haunting sounds radiated outwards from the field calling all to their destiny. The rites of passage were to be held inside the Big Top, a very tall marquee with a dark blue interior and excellent acoustics; it always reminded me of the inside of a cathedral.

I spoke with the team and went over final instructions. January was nowhere to be found and at first I went into panic. How the hell was I to carry this off when my partner and fellow focaliser had buggered off, leaving me in the lurch? Then I remembered the opening ceremony, and I knew I could do it. She was empowering me in her own way. The atmosphere was electric and I'm sure that I must have looked a couple of inches taller because of my erect hair!

When most people were already inside, I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to relieve myself. And not just a pee, either! This is a usual symptom of mine before any important undertaking, and it catches me out every time. After a minute or two of confusion and internal conflict, I decided that I was running the bloody show so I would decide when it started. After a few reflective minutes over the long-drop I felt lots better.

When I was ready I entered the sacred space, and it reminded me of a cross between a cathedral and a fall-out shelter. It was huge, dark, and illuminated by lots of candles dotted around the central pole and any available free space. Bodies were strewn everywhere, covering the floor and leaving little room for movement. Everyone had been advised to dress warmly and bring sleeping equipment to lie on, for the ceremony would take a good two hours or so.

I moved to the altar I had placed near to the central pole, and checked my tools. Two candles, one for light and one for hope. My special crystals for centring, some feathers, stones and interesting pieces of wood from the field, and finally the cobra wand with my runes burnt onto it. When I was ready, I picked up the wand. It suddenly became very quiet.

I then started the ceremony as I had done so many times before. This time, however, there were over a hundred people in attendance, undergoing the rite of passage in earnest. From time to time there was the sound of crying, or moaning to be heard from the darkness. There would then be silent movement in the shadows and one of the team would be there, attending the person concerned and helping them through whatever they were experiencing. It was much better for me if I moved about the marquee, talking as I went, for I felt relatively relaxed doing it that way. I had to be particularly careful I didn't step on anyone in the gloaming, though!

I felt fully supported by the team, our guardian angels and all the allies gathered together in the Big Top. They were present to aid the transformation from the old to the new, spiritual midwives and healers all, and a wave of respect and love for all those helping washed over me. It made me determined to keep my side of the bargain and not screw it all up. That didn't seem to be about to happen, as by now I had found a good flow in my words and imagery. Once I had got warmed up I felt both capable and confident.

The ceremony went through its different coilings and weavings. I had to be sensitive and feel my way through the ceremony. It was so important how long I lingered at each stage of the process. Not too fast, nor too slow. And on it went. The Silence held all in its thrall, prohibiting movement or distraction and it felt to me that the spirit of all rites of passage was present. The atmosphere was electric and vital, frightening in its intensity yet protective of all those travelling uncharted oceans that night. Then we were coming out of the heavy Cutting Ties bit of the ceremony and letting the bindings of the past find their rightful places. Letting go, release.

Soon we were celebrating our new-found lightness and freedom with the dolphins who suddenly appeared, bursting through the pervious walls of the space, soothing all of the hurts and wounded places. Play, and joy. Finally, in total silence, I completed. At a bit of a loss, I waited for something but it failed to happen. So I wished everyone present a wonderful birthday, and left the Big Top.

As happens so often for me, the aftermath of a deep process produces a sense of anticlimax. A sort of nagging disappointment, lack of energy and depression followed me out of the marquee. I withdrew and licked my wounds, even though I knew I had done my best. Was all the effort worth while? Did anything actually happen? Did it all happen OK?

By the next day, I was my generally bouncing self and by the feedback we were receiving, the ceremony had been successful. We facilitated the closing of the camp, and dowsed the sacred fire that had stayed so faithfully alight the entire time. We said goodbye to the last participant, and then rested.

January and I felt a satisfied sense of completion, and were now ready for something completely new. We retired to our home near Leominster, lived a simple life, and prepared for winter.

What had just happened was the result of a whole year's effort. Did it do anything? Was it worth it? I knew, really, that my life wouldn't be bearable if I didn't take on loopy projects and challenges like that one. As time went on I realised that everything felt different from before. I then knew that facilitating the Healing Camp had helped me cut the ties to my former life, and would enable me now to finally complete the Crystal Journey.

I waited for the final stage of the journey to appear, for I knew it was now due. But how on earth would it manifest this time?