I got on with my everyday tasks and waited patiently until the final stage of the Crystal Journey manifested. I could tell it was not far off. A calm certainty seemed to fill my being; my life had become slow-motion in quality and complete. There was nothing else I needed to do as I drifted from day to day. I knew that co-ordinating the Healing Camp had marked a definitive stage in the process of 'Finding the Centre', and it was certainly a turning point in my empowerment as a human being. I was waiting for instructions. I knew now that I was fully in service, and was increasingly contacting, and trusting my intuition. I had a strong feeling not to take on any new major projects, and to hold myself ready in a state of immediate response.

I wondered what would happen next in the Crystal Journey: I had lost the ability to see any distance into the future and all was a blank screen. Patience was the essence in this period of time, while all sorts of completion situations arose, were dealt with, and passed away. It was a time of loosening and cutting ties and a creative sadness filled my life. January and I shared the understanding that, relatively soon, we would go our separate ways. Indeed, we were already drawing gently apart. She was spending increasing amounts of time with a new circle of friends, who were just not my sort of people. That felt fine, and I spent more time on my own.

It was in this period of my life that I read an extraordinary book called The Surfers of the Zuvuya by Jose Arguilles, the initiator of the Harmonic Convergence. In it he states that groups of twelve people or more, working together as one, can literally change the world. This size of group creates a dynamic that can make a real difference to the planet. He promotes a practice called Earth Diving where such groups contact the central spirit of the Earth and work with her. I was inspired, and decided to experiment with this new approach to life and healing.

I reckoned that the only way I was going to get twelve or more people together was to facilitate an Earth Diving workshop. I brought my request to the attention of the community. We went into session and a weekend workshop, coinciding with Samhain, was OK'd. The date was set and advertisements distributed.

I knew I needed a guide to help me with my new project, and on one of my frequent trips to Glastonbury I recognised it. A magnificent amethyst crystal containing countless animal, insect, fish and avian spirits caught my attention and wouldn't release my attention until I realised what it was. Happy to have found such a new companion, I bought it and brought it back with me to Wales.

Samhain arrived much sooner than I could have thought possible. The participants arrived and were welcomed. We had two full days to play with, and we got to work as soon as possible. We attuned with one another and introduced ourselves. Then the process of consciousness raising started, using the tools of dance, breathing, meditation and sharing together. It went very well and I began to feel quite confident that the work would be fulfilled. That evening our first Earth Dive to the centre of the Earth was accomplished, and most people returned back to their surface reality with magical gifts and new understandings.

The next day was Samhain and I had a ceremony planned for the evening where everyone would dive into the community's fancy dress box and choose a costume. The day went well, with another visit to the centre of the Earth. We gained proficiency in making the definitive journey into the depths, in order to dance with that magnificent Being that gives us our very lives and sustenance.

Then the ceremony was upon us. We were dressed up and in a circle, ready to proceed, when some of the community crew asked if it was allright for all of us to take certain hallucinogenic substances as part of the ritual. I was shocked, but centred myself and replied in the negative, stating my reasons. I was horrified when they started to argue and stood their ground. They meant business and were not going to take anything but a positive answer.

I might have given in if everyone had wanted to do the ceremony this way, but I knew that some of the people present did not take drugs of any kind, and it was terribly unfair to them to put them into this position. I passionately wanted to run my workshops and make magic through pure intent, and not through chemical means. There are times when power-plants can be used to change levels of awareness, but this was definitely not one. I knew that the resident group could be very persuasive, and I really didn't want the participants to have to deal with it. I dug in my heels and held my ground. Angrily they left, leaving very uncomfortable feelings amongst those remaining and a yawning gap in our circle. With a horrible pit at the bottom of my stomach, I led the ceremony to its conclusion. The group was split, and death stalked through the circle. Very appropriate as it was Samhain, or Halloween, but how cruel of fate to manifest such a scenario on my first solo workshop!

After the workshop successfully completed, I met the errant members of the community who were completely unrepentant. A strange drama then unfolded where four of them, linked together as a sort of psychic team, tried to persuade me to try a new type of drug they had in their possession. They assured me that it was the best thing they had ever experienced, and whoever took it would be led directly to the presence of Spirit and would receive a full understanding of the Universe. Fortunately for me, it had to be injected and I have grave problems with anything cold-bloodedly puncturing my skin.

I knew there was no way I would give in, yet I stood semi-paralysed in front of these powerful magicians who were trying to force me to do something I didn't want to do with their wills. I felt on the one hand a sense of violation and disbelief that anyone could ask me my feelings, hear what I had to say, and then completely deny my truth. On the other hand I also felt sorry for them, for it was almost as if they needed my permission in order to feel comfortable about taking the drug, which was called Ketamine, or 'Vitamin K'.

After a while I was able to spin myself around and leave. I left with the knowledge that I had finished my relationship with drugs in a recreational sense, and that I was in the process of completing my relationship with the community. I was crystal clear and determined: despite the heaviness around the circumstances it actually felt very good. Another definitive stage in cutting ties with the outmoded parts of my life had occurred, and I gave thanks.

For Christmas the community was opening its doors for anybody who wanted to spend the festive season with friends in a homely atmosphere. There were already quite a few bookings and we all looked forward to it. Debbie-Ann, Mike's girlfriend, received a letter from her mother in South Africa stating that she would be visiting at the same time. It promised to be quite a party!

It was great. There were about forty people there, of all ages and class, having great fun and spending the darkest time of the year in hearty, suitable celebration with friends. There was feasting, games, ceremony, story-telling, video films, going for walks and exploring the sacred sites in the area, lots of socializing and having fun. It was sometimes a little too much for me, so I alternated between my bender and the main house. The best of both worlds!

Debbie's mum Elizabeth was a nice sort and I spent quite a bit of time with her, showing her the ropes and explaining our way of life to her. She asked lots of questions and seemed very interested. She invited Debbie home to South Africa for a month's holiday, promising to pay for the ticket. Debbie had left her home a few years earlier in dubious circumstances and hadn't seen her family since, and it felt like it would be a good healing reunion.

Christmas came and went. Soon after, Mike drove Debbie and her mum to Heathrow, and saw them off on their journey across the equator. Imagine the shock that hit us all when a hysterical Debbie phoned up after landing at Johannesburg. Directly they had taken off, Elizabeth told Debbie that her ticket was in fact a single, and that she should be thankful to be saved from the black magicians who had enslaved her in the community in Hereford! A radical born-again Christian, Elizabeth was convinced that she had just saved Debbie's soul and that family matters would now be hunky-dory.

Mike went wild. He loved Debbie-Ann, and couldn't believe what had just happened. Muttering wildly about such varied subjects as murder, revenge and grievous bodily harm, and repeatedly hitting things with other things, he kept threatening to fly to South Africa to rescue her.

Debbie was a good friend and a loved member of the community. We had all felt very close to her and wanted to do something to help. Suddenly it was as if a crazy adventure had suddenly manifested and caught Mike, January and myself in its coils. One day the three of us simply decided to go. The soonest we could leave was the day following New Year, and we had to work at breakneck speed to sort out our affairs in time.

Suddenly we were in the air catching a last view of the green fields of England, and then we were crossing the big water. We had a good flight, and hovered at thirty-five thousand feet while the world unravelled like an organic carpet far below. The Alps advanced under our wings like an army of ice-giants travelling northwards, and the azure beauty of the Mediterranean Sea delighted our senses. We watched the sprawling mess of Cairo bowing eternally towards the pyramids on the Giza plateau, and admired the green serpentine Nile valley which pointed to the source of All.

The featureless deserts of Sudan stared dispassionately at our passing, and led us into the vast grassy plains of the Serengeti. The sacred summit of Kilamanjaro stretched upwards to stroke the silver belly of the plane and an explosive sunset carried us into sensual oblivion. The veils of night obscured the busy jungles of Zimbabwe and then the towns of South Africa appeared out of the blackness like galaxies in deep space. Soon the lights of a large city appeared below us, the aircraft lost altitude and with a muffled thud we landed.

We spent the night in a seedy Johannesburg hotel and the next morning rented a car for a week. The temperature rose mercilessly during the morning and became nearly unbearable. The sweat ran incessantly down our bodies however little we wore, and only minimal relief was gained when the car was moving. Our first target in Africa was purely for pleasure and would help us to acclimatise: we wanted to see animals, proper wild animals. We decided to spend three days inside the Kruger National Park, and then drive like maniacs southwards to Port Elizabeth, Debbi's home town, and return the car on time.

So we cruised eastwards along the motorway through seriously wild country, passing through sudden green oases which stood out from the brown wilderness like pools of healing and sanity in a scorched world. The motorway changed to major road, to 'B' road, to lane and finally to single track, where trees sporting huge deep green leaves stroked the car as we passed.

We had an amazing time in the park. The animals conspired to reveal themselves in all their wild, vital glory and we saw at close quarters elephants, crocodiles, lions at a kill, cheetahs, wart hogs, antelope, large deer, snakes: everything we could have hoped to see and much more.

We spent long lazy evenings at water-holes under flaming sunsets, dodged the scorpions making their night-time constitutionals and listened enthralled to alien nighttime jungle sounds.

We then drove through the Drakensberg with their magnificent views, and visited a snake farm. We walked to the edge of cliffs that could have been the edge of the world. Onwards, ever onwards. The land was huge, and the deep blue sky embraced the earth like vast angels' wings. We got an inkling of what the first explorers and settlers must have felt on their travels into the interior of this vibrant continent. What an amazing land, and how small it made us feel!

The last three days were a blur of scenery as we sped southwards. We drove through desert, scrubland, lush farmland and forest. The temperature was just below unbearable, but not much, if we stopped for any length of time. And ever onwards. Finally we entered Port Elizabeth with a couple of hours to spare and returned the car. After a short while, we were spilling out of a taxi at Debbie's family home.

While in Wales, Elizabeth had offered us her hospitality if we ever visited South Africa. To be fair, she let us stay awhile to get our bearings, but it soon became very obvious that we were not completely welcome! The priests had all been hard at work at 'saving' Debbie. She was by now semi-brainwashed and didn't really know what she wanted. Mike swung between rage and despair, confusion and optimism. We waited, uncomfortable yet unsure what to do. We were seen as satanists trying to steal an innocent (little did they know!) young woman away from her healthy and happy family home.

I personally felt that, to be morally correct, we could only act if Debbie wanted us to. Unfortunately she seemed incapable of making any decision of her own. So we waited in an uneasy stalemate for ten days or so until we simply had to move. Mike persuaded Debbie to spend a few days travelling with him in a hired car, in order to sort their relationship out. Before they left, Debbie got in touch with an uncle who owned land in the mountains about thirty miles away. January and I were given permission to stay there for as long as we wanted.

Mike only had a month in which to complete his mission and already three weeks of it had gone. We knew he really needed space together with Debbie. Suspecting that it would be the last time we saw him in South Africa, we wished each other good luck on our respective missions, and parted.

January and I, mad dogs the both of us, hiked along the long dusty road in the midday sun. We were on our way into the mountains which thrust upwards, scorched-brown in the furnace heat of the African high summer. Various species of large cactus speckled their flanks and broke the skyline like spiky scarecrows. We were being slowly, agonisingly initiated into the African road system. We walked along the wide unmetalled road which ran dead straight for a few miles, turned a slight curve and then carried on straight for another three of four miles. And no bastard stopped to give us a lift, despite carrying our obviously heavy loads. As each vehicle passed we received a light dusting of fine red powder which helped form expressive rivulets down our naked skin.

Following our rudimentary hand-drawn map we finally staggered into our new home and collapsed. After a while we looked about us and when our eyes started to take in the paradisiac setting, we realised that we had come to the right place after all! We were in a beautiful little magic garden surrounded by trees. It snuggled into a fold in the Ladyslipper mountain range and felt both hidden and protected. There was a sense of extreme peace there and bursts of exotic colour thrilled the senses. We had privacy even though there were a few other houses in the area, and plenty of firewood to cook with.

A smashed and derelict house lay in the shade of tall trees like a beached and broken whale. On closer inspection, we saw that its roof was still intact and would provide shelter, if needed, from serious elemental precipitation.

After a couple of days we met our nearest neighbour, a young white man building his dream house on a small plot of land about four hundred metres away through the trees. He told us about the area, and said we could use his water hose for our drinking supply and for showers while we were there.

He lived in Port Elizabeth and came out to the house every weekend. We could tell that he was concerned about us, and he told us to be very careful. This was not an isolated occurrence: many people told us it was very dangerous to do what we were doing. What the danger actually was, or from which direction it would come, nobody was actually able to put into words. We didn't really understand and decided to carry on enjoying ourselves. Sometimes ignorance really is bliss!

We gathered that Debbie's uncle had built his dream house in the mountainscape but it had been destroyed by the blacks from the nearby township while he was away for some time. He hadn't the heart to start all over again, so the house became more and more of a ruin and the garden increasingly overgrown. That was actually perfect for us, as the house was so damaged that it didn't matter if we used some of it for firewood, and the overgrown garden gave us all the magic and privacy we needed. We settled in and realised how lucky we were.

I made some flower essences, mainly of the exotic flowering cacti exploding into colour all around us. Some of them flowered only once in a year, their flowers lasting only a few hours! It felt as if we were imbibing of the garden's innermost essence when we tasted those exotic healing potions. A wonderful home had manifested for us, enabling us to find our feet in this new country, and it gave us a chance to get to know the spirit of the land in a safe and relaxed manner.

We explored in every direction, finding marvels and beauty at every turn. Half a mile from the garden was a deep split in the earth, maybe two hundred feet deep, along which a river used to flow. Now it was dammed, and we climbed down the steep sides of the valley on the hottest days in order to cool down at the water's edge. There was an overflow pipe at the base of the dam which shot a powerful jet of water down the valley. We used to strip off, stand at the edge of the cascade and let the cool water play over our hot dusty skins in a delicious dance of rainbows. Utterly luxurious sensual pleasure needn't be complicated, or expensive!

The river fell in pools from the dam, some deep enough to swim in. Silver fish darted from shadow to shadow below us in the cleansing and refreshing water. The air was full of the hum of insects, and brightly coloured flashes filled the air. One day we climbed up the almost sheer valley side by a railway bridge, and followed the track. After a couple of miles we approached a black township in the middle of nowhere; there was an oppressive atmosphere that hung overhead like a cloud and we swiftly made ourselves scarce.

One day we followed the mountain ridge to the east. The air was clear and fresh: we could see for miles towards the interior, and as far as the sea to the south. Huge desert flowers called Protea, one of South Africa's national emblems, grew wild in the scrubland. They were sometimes as large as a foot across, and quite magnificent. Flowering cacti gave cheerful bursts of colour to the dusty landscape, and cheeky birds filled the air with song. I became aware of the vastness of Africa spread out into infinity under the dome of deep blue sky. It was all so different from Europe. The sights, the sounds and the smells – the very feel of it was alien. On a couple of occasions I disturbed snakes basking in the sun on the pathway. I had to make a special effort to remember that this land was not as harmless as it first seemed. Many times on that walk I stopped, went blank and dreamt into the landscape, sensing, questing. Who are you, what are you? What are your secrets, and why have you invited me here?

It was an envigorating walk and we carried a picnic with us. At Ladyslipper Mountain, the point at which we had decided to turn back, we found crystals! Lovely pieces of clear quartz glittered in the sun, exposed by the rains in a dried watercourse. We stayed awhile and searched, and we found some very nice sparkling jewels lying on the sandy surface of the mountain.

One crystal in particular I recognised as mine. I knew I would attach it to my wand at the right time, maybe with a special gift from Africa hidden underneath. Feeling well honoured and gifted by the Spirit of Africa, we returned to our home tired but triumphant.

Living in the garden put us in touch with the natural rhythms of life in that part of the world. After a week or so, I felt as if I had returned into the natural swing of things once again, and my body felt as if it had found alignment for the first real time since getting off the plane. I now had time to relax and address those things that were clamouring for my attention.

First of all I checked in with the ephemeris: over the next few months Mars, Venus and Jupiter were due to conjunct exactly. It was so exciting to check those three bright planets out with the naked eye as they moved through the heavens. They looked so spectacular, the brightest objects in the night sky, and they were slowly approaching one another! I wondered if their celestial union would coincide with the planting of the final crystal.

Something had been bothering me since we arrived in South Africa, a lurking leviathan just below the threshold of consciousness. After some meditation I realised what it was. It was the simple and completely impossible fact that the sun seemed to rise in the west and set in the east. I spent a few days witnessing the phenomena and tried to get my head around it. Finally, I understood. In Britain, whenever I look at the sun, I must face south, otherwise I would have to bend my neck impossibly backward to see it. At sunrise, the sun rises on my left, reaches its highest point at noon, and descends. It sets on my right, in the west. All well and good. I associate 'left' with east, 'right' with west, and 'straight on' with south.

But now I fly to South Africa which lies below the equator. I look at the sun, which is now towards the north. East is now to my right, so the sun seems to rise from the west, a totally impossible direction. This is because my brain cannot believe that such a permanent feature as the sun could possibly be found in a different part of the sky.

Having sorted that one out, it became natural very quickly and I thought no more about it. The real problem happened on my return to England. It took me literally months to readjust!

On a magical level, I felt that we had entered the Underworld and were travelling a magical pathway towards our destinies. Later, back in England, I was to read that in many descriptions of the Underworld, the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. The trees grow upside down (that is how the strange African baobab tree looks like) and the rivers run away from the sea.

And life went on. Our magic garden protected us well, and showed us its treasures. I took out my most precious crystals including the egg-stone I had found by the spiral on Glastonbury Tor and placed them on the altar in the central point of the garden. There I arranged them with some mossy wood into a little pixie paradise and felt suitably creative. We were blessed, and were charging our internal batteries in readiness for our intended, definitive journey across the quite erroneously-named Dark Continent.

January and I both knew we were on the last stretch of our shared journey together, and would part after another two or three months in order to find our own separate pathways into the future. Our plan was to hitch and walk along the outrageously beautiful south coast and arrive in Cape Town in May or June. There I would plant the last of my Himalayan crystals, the Mother Crystal.

She sat on the garden altar with the rest, her crystal depths scintillating rainbows and sharing her beauty freely with all beings. It seemed as if she were coming increasingly alive the closer she came to her final resting place. When she, catalytic key and final part of the crystal mandala entered the earth, the entire network would be complete and my work accomplished.

After a month's rest we knew it was time to go. With heavy hearts we said our goodbyes to the little magic garden, and walked down the long dusty road for the last time. We found a good position on the main road and stuck out our thumbs.

We knew we were letting ourselves in for quite a trip, and were curious to find out the tricks and methods of surviving in South Africa with very little money. We had no doubt that we would learn soon!

One thing that vaguely bothered us was the fact that, despite the great weather, there seemed to be no other hitch-hikers on the roads. The looks of disbelief that met us from drivers and pedestrians didn't auger well, but we persisted. And soon we got our first lift. We were on our way!

Most of the people we met seemed surprised and shocked that we were hitching around South Africa. They told us to be very careful, of what we never quite found out, and then they took delight in relating horror stories about the fates of various travellers who had come to gruesome and excruciating ends. In practice we had delightful lifts, met many really beautiful people, and had great interactions with whoever we shared time and space. It allowed the magic, and the spontaneous unfolding of life to happen.

In addition, we found ourselves fulfilling a very important function. Due to various seriously suppressed subjects such as the Meaning of Life, God, Sex and Apartheid to name a few, a lot of people needed desperately to talk and express their feelings. In normal life they couldn't, as these subjects were taboo to their own kind. Consequently there were a lot of unhappy, sick and desperate people about with no means of relieving their frustration.

January and I fit the bill perfectly. We seemed intelligent, experienced in most of these topics – and were not South African. Whoever picked us up soon gravitated to one of these subjects and the dam would burst. They would let it all out and years of suppression would surge around the space until some relief was found. I felt that the service we supplied on our travels easily repaid the lifts we were given!

I had arrived in this new land with very little money: soon I had run out and was dependent on January. It was not a comfortable state of affairs for either of us, and I wanted to work a short while to get my ailing finances in order. Two weeks earlier, we had met Pietie, Debbie's ex husband. He was an expert surfer and lived in Jeffrey's Bay, probably the best surfing beach in the country.

When we had originally met, I had disliked him on sight and didn't really want anything to do with him. However, he ran a small shoe-making business and had offered me some work and a roof over our heads. I felt the offer had been provided by the Universe, it would hopefully satisfy my needs, and anyway I didn't really have much choice.

So one evening January and I were dropped off at Jeffrey's Bay and we made our way to his house. It was beautiful. He lived in the outskirts of the town in a small bungalow which was surrounded by a garden bursting with fruits and cacti. The trees were filled with birds, and an avocado tree bore ripe fruit just outside his front door. The atmosphere surrounding his home exuded a deep sense of peace, while chickens scratched and clucked away amongst the bushes.

The sea was the focus of my time at Jeffrey's Bay. Its roar subliminally permeated everything in the area, as if a family of noisy, energetic and hungry water dragons lived in an underwater cave just off-shore. I was not normally drawn to water. I gladly spent time in the mountains, forests or the deserts of the world, but now I felt it very important to experience the sea and the element of water as fully as I possibly could while the opportunity presented itself.

I quickly got into a routine. I would wake up early and go down to the beach in time for sunrise. I would meditate awhile, and dive into the roaring waves as the sun appeared. What a way to start the day! The waves were massive. I chose to swim at the relatively tame sandy part of the bay and still they towered high above me, roaring with infinite menace. They were not malicious, however. With a bit of patience, intelligence and skill it was possible to avoid their destructive power and dance with them in ecstatic abandon. I chose to swim without wet-suit or surf-board, preferring the simple art of body surfing.

I would work out the rhythm of the waves, judge the split-second when a safe gateway would open, and dive through. Confidence was a must. If I made my move too soon, the next wave would get me. Too late, and a thousand tons of raving, roaring and rollacking water would smear me all over the abrasive sea floor. 'Thudding dumpers', January called them!

Having made it into the sea without grievous bodily harm, I would then swim out to the undefined place where waves could be caught as one would catch, say, a London bus. I would have plenty of warning. It is quite difficult to explain but 'catchable' waves are obvious when one sees them. They make it very plain that any other type of wave is inferior, that they mean business, and that you had better make your mind up soon, or sod off! They are usually very large and have an air of, well, meanness about them.

Timing is everything. At the right time, you swim like hell. As fast as possible, you make for the shore, and feel this monster catching up behind you. There is an increasing pull on your body, slowing you down to a standstill while at the same time you fall into a deep trough. This is where you say your prayers, for if your timing is off, a million tons of bludgeoning water wipes you out.

Assuming your timing is right, an elevator hits you in the stomach and you head for the sky, feet first. The water in front of you then falls away into a shimmering crystal cliff maybe twenty feet deep, and your body is stuck to its vertical vastness by some strange aquatic gravity-defying juggling act. At this point everything holds its breath; the entire universe seems to be in a state of dynamic harmony. Then the monster is let loose.

With a deafening roar the wave leaps towards the shore, its instinctual enemy, and you start to speed down the vertical slope. In a split second you are moving so fast that it feels as if the very skin is being flayed off your body and you feel bruised all over. The sensations are almost unbearable. The speed is terrifying and you feel helpless in this cataclysm of nature.

Adrenalin pumps through your system and the overwhelming feeling of aliveness makes your aura swiftly approach super-nova status. You are in the jaws of raw power. It would only take one small mistake and in a split second your life would be snuffed out for ever. Still, there is too little time to dwell on this as your body, at one yet separate from the liquid silver water, sinews its way through the maelstrom. Agile and naturally undulating as if the spirit of all dolphins has entered your very being, you feel vital, brave, and beautiful. And powerful, so powerful!

As the wave thunders its way towards the beach, you find after a few seconds that the chaos melts and a modicum of control returns. From this point onwards, you can direct your passage creatively and play with this supportive medium, tracing your speeding passage through the deep blue water in silver glittering patterns. Up to the crest, slowing down, then downwards with a mad acceleration towards the ocean floor; a lithe twist then a steady horizontal cruise. The main danger now is if the wave collapses on top of you in an explosion of foam and spray. The rule is to stay awake and have eyes on the back of your head. The motto of Jeffreys Bay is: Surf the wave, and Live!

The sea had its gentle aspects also. Just before sunset January and I would walk onto the soft white sand, sit in our special place and meditate. I would do my breathing exercises, and feel the life-force build up inside of me. As so often happens in magical places, especially by the sea, the world seems to hold its breath at this special time and the most incredible peace and harmony fills the spheres. Jeffreys Bay was no exception. Often the waves would die away and perfect calm would descend for a while. Wild colours would fill the sky and reflect off the sea. Sometimes a shoal of dolphins would appear and skip joyfully from one swell to another.

One evening January and I were appreciating the peace after a particularly hot day while the sun sank in reds and golds towards the horizon. My attention was drawn towards the strange behaviour of large flocks of birds; they were circling above the water and diving down twenty at a time. They would hit the water with a muffled splash and would reappear soon afterwards with a wriggling silver fish in their beaks. They would take off again and join the throng, only to repeat the procedure as soon as they got clearance from air traffic control. At the same time we could see shoals of these tiny fish jumping out of the water as if chased by predators from below. Attacked from all directions, poor little buggers!

Spellbound, we watched as a shoal of small fish was driven by its collective panic into the shallows. When the wave went out, a silver-blue carpet was to be seen wriggling and writhing on the bare sand. With a whoop, I leapt to my feet and shouted for January to help. I waded into the thrashing mass of fish and scooped them into the shore. Handful after handful flew in an undignified fashion through the air and January stuffed them into my towel, defending them from children, stray dogs and the incredibly aggressive seagulls. Finally the fishes dissolved back into the waves and we checked out our catch. Enough for a good meal for three, anyhow. They were delicious and it wasn't possible to get any fresher!

Soon after I arrived, I started work. It was great at first, sewing up shoes for Pietie, but then it got a bit much. The wages were pitiful but I needed money. I felt trapped as there was nothing else I could do in the circumstances. I worked with a black man called Winston who seemed to get into all sorts of fights, probably because of prostituting himself to a white man, and it was a good feeling to sit with him on the veranda overlooking the garden while we were working. He didn't speak English but it didn't matter. We enjoyed each other's company and simply got on with it. It was good for me to spend time with a typical black man coming from a township in South Africa, as opposed to the average 'anglicised' blackman in England, or those I had got to know in public school. And the days passed like the ticks of a metronome.

One morning I sat in the sand after my swim, and prayed to the Spirit of the Land. I requested help to understand the ways and the customs of the people and the country in which I now found myself. I wanted to be able to help in my own little way to promote peace and understanding with whomever I met. I also wanted to celebrate with the Land at sacred places as I loved to do in Britain and in other parts of the world.

Later that morning I went to the local library to look for a good book or novel about South Africa. The library service there is very good, and I joined as a member whenever I spent time in any one place. I wanted to see if Wilbur Smith had brought out a new book, but was disappointed. A thick, rather moth-eaten hardback book on one of the lower shelves kept on catching my attention. Because I was expecting a sleek modern paperback, I kept on avoiding it. However hard I looked, however, I couldn't find what I was looking for and finally checked this battered old book out. It was called 'Indaba, My Children' written by Credo Mutwa, the high priest of the Zulu nation. In it, he relates the history of the Bantu peoples (the black people who inhabit Africa), their customs, their beliefs, their religion, and their creation stories. It was exactly what I needed, and I gave thanks for such a speedy answer to my prayer.

Credo Mutwa was an extraordinary character. He was banished from his people and put under a death threat for revealing their secrets to the profane, yet he maintained that it was precisely because of these secrets that kept the white and black peoples suspicious and ignorant of one other. He wanted both sides to get to know each others' customs and beliefs so that they both could be understood and honoured. As an example, he states that one of the most bloodthirsty mini-wars between the whites and blacks arose because a farmer forced a native labourer to eat a cat, which was taboo and strongly forbidden (the Mau-Mau uprising, or more accurately, the Miaou-Miaou uprising).

So in my spare time I devoured the treasures I found in the book, and learnt a little more about why there is so much misunderstanding and hatred between the blacks and the whites, and what could possibly be done about it. It certainly helped me to understand a little deeper the black man of Africa. It also explained the young native men whom I had seen while hitching, dressed like women and with faces painted white. They were undergoing manhood initiations, which included some pretty ghastly physical mutilation. Rather them than me.......or maybe there was not so much difference, except that my mutilations were psychological.

Pietie gave me a special gift before we left: part of the tooth of an elephant. It had come to him in a magical way, and he passed it over to me. It was exactly what I had been waiting for. Immediately I received it, I took out my personal magic wand and crafted a hole that would accept the crystal found on Ladyslipper mountain. There I inserted a sliver of the tooth, and then secured the crystal by means of my trusty sacred super-glue. My wand was thus renewed and blessed by the spirit of the Southern Hemisphere.

After five weeks at Pietie's, it was time to leave. He had money problems and could pay me only a fraction of what I had earnt. I wasn't angry as he had told me that there was a possibility this could happen, so I resigned myself to the continuing saga of not having enough money. He did us a great favour, however, by getting us permission to camp awhile at an exceedingly beautiful spot on a neighbour's land. Early one sunny afternoon he drove us in his pickup truck along a dusty, rutted dirt track deep in the bush and dropped us off by a happy, crystal clear stream. He pointed us in the right direction, and then shot off in a rumble of spinning wheels and a cloud of impenetrable dust.

January and I followed the stream which flowed along the deep channel it had carved over the years into solid rock. It tumbled playfully down a series of pools festooned with white and yellow water lilies, and finally hurled itself off a ledge into space. It seemed to hover awhile, then it fell into a dark pool twenty feet below.

Pietie had talked about this pool to us: it was a volcanic blow-hole, and incredibly deep. It had supposedly been plumbed, yet the bottom had never been found. It was about twenty yards long by about fifteen yards across, dark and cool, and there was a niche behind the waterfall where one could hide out of sight. Everything became magically animated from this vantage point when the bright sunlight, refracted through the tumbling water, made the world dance and glitter in joyful rainbows.

There was a rich bird and insect contingent around the water hole with much movement, singing and flashing of colour that delighted the senses. We climbed down over the rocks to the other side of the pool, and gazed at our luxury accommodation for the duration of our stay. In the cliff overlooking the pool was a cave, large enough for two people and their belongings, with a happy looking fireplace just outside on a wide ledge. We settled in, made a fire and boiled the kettle for a cuppa. We had arrived!

A little later, lying on my bedroll and feeling very happy, I checked out the interior of the cave. It was sandstone and arched twelve feet or so above our heads. The floor was relatively flat, and I imagined it being used for shelter over the millennia. I wondered about the Bantu peoples and if they had lived or wandered through this location. Of course they must have, for it was so richly endowed in beauty and everything needed for human habitation.

My mind then moved on to the Bushmen, the aboriginal peoples who inhabited the entire continent thousands of years even before the Bantu. I could feel their spirit strongly here, and I wished I could make contact with them somehow. Laurens Van Der Post had inspired me in the past by his deep love for these magical warrior-children who now barely existed in the few last bastions left to them, places that were simply too difficult and inhospitable for anyone else to exist in. His inspired writings had often transported me into a world where love for others and for nature reigned, where the stars sang their messages for all those who could hear, and the Gods and Goddesses still walked the land.

Coming out of my reverie, my eyes refocussed, and a monster was there in front of my eyes! My face jerked involuntarily away from the cave wall and I must of made a sound of alarm, as January asked me what was wrong. I looked closer, and there was Mantis, the little being who was the Creator God of the Bushmen. With the hair on the back of my neck prickling, January and I acknowledged the presence of the sacred, and thanked Mantis for his company that afternoon. The atmosphere around the pool took on a numinous quality, and I felt that we had been both blessed and honoured by the spirit of the land in being brought to such an alive, hallowed place.

The wonders hadn't ceased. That evening when it was getting dark, January and I cooked supper and relaxed to the natural symphony of waterfall, insects and the rustling of trees. Then I started to see things out of the corner of my eyes. I shook my head, trying to clear my senses, until I realised these things were here to stay.

As it got darker, we realised they were fireflies, and soon they filled the air like fairies at a summer ball. Their presence was pure magic, and transported January and myself into a children's universe where all was possible. That night we spoke to fairies, rode on the backs of dragons, and made all the wishes we could imagine. And they all came true!

The next few days were a joy, resting, sunbathing and swimming in the paradisiac pool. Swimming over a bottomless pit was a bit disconcerting at times, but as long as one didn't disappear into it and remained floating, there weren't too many problems! We had bought enough food and supplies for a few days and were self sufficient. We were also far enough away from Jeffreys Bay to escape the incessant roaring of the waves, and at last there was no traffic noise. Alone with the natural sounds of the countryside, we found relative peace awhile.

Some of the local children appeared at the weekend, and at one point maybe a dozen youngsters of both sexes were there, their ages between roughly eight and sixteen. It seemed that one of their most important ritual activities was to jump off a natural sandstone platform on top of the cliff, maybe forty feet above the level of the water, into the pool. The height seemed massive to me: I admired their courage and skill at jumping, and the way their glistening bodies cut the water so cleanly after such a long drop. I was fascinated at their nonchalance and composure at facing such a terrifying challenge.

When I was their age, timid and with without self-confidence, the mere thought of facing such an ordeal would send me into paralysis. As I watched the youngsters confronting their fears and growing in aliveness and confidence, I decided that I needed to do the same. I didn't when I was young and supple of body, so I'd have to do it now. Better late than never, mad impulsive fool that I am!

The next day I climbed up to the ledge. I knew immediately that there was no way I could jump from that height: my body completely rebelled. There was another ledge about six feet below the first, and I climbed down to it. The height was still terrifying, yet I thought that here I would have a chance to override my body's automatic defence system, and jump. I was standing there for ages, and January left in disgust. Finally I leapt, and I watched in interest as the water rose in slow motion to meet my incredibly plunging bulk.

Then I hit a solid immovable object like an express train. The breath was knocked out of my lungs and I felt as if I had involuntarily admitted most of the pool up my rectum. In shock I made it to the shore and scrambled out, walking bow-legged and collapsing onto my bed-roll, face downwards! Secretly, though, I knew that I had passed the youngster's initiation and smiled as the pain slowly receded. By the next day all was relatively well and the rest of our stay was delightful.

There are some famous treks along the south coast of Africa, and we had researched some of the best-known ones. One that stood out was the Tsitsikama mountain trail and we determined to walk it. So we said goodbye to our cave by the deep pool, walked to the main road and hitched off towards the south-west. We soon left Jeffrey's Bay behind us and made for the deeply forested part of the south coast. Debbi-Ann had given us the address of some friends of hers, Allen and Sarah, who lived in the forest, not too far away from the start of the trail. We phoned them and they invited us to stay for a while. Two days later we arrived and were shown around a delightful smallholding carved out of the virgin jungle. A stream gurgled and splashed through the undergrowth, revealing rocky pools perfectly designed for refreshing naked, knackered Ivans!

We spent a few delightful days with these two brave people in their private tropical rainforest paradise. They grew organic produce which they sold in a local roadside shop and they seemed to make a simple living at it. On the third day there was a sudden summer storm. The clouds built up over the morning, were trapped by the mountains a few miles to the north, and by mid-afternoon had become an alarming swollen purple.

Suddenly the universe went haywire and we found ourselves in the middle of an atmospheric war-zone. The detonations were deafening, lightning split the heavens in blinding flashes and the rain fell in sheets on the corrugated iron roof. Visibility was reduced sometimes to a few yards and we were very glad not to be walking or hitching at that precise moment!

I am feeling very excited and alive as the storm raves overhead. I am with Allen on the veranda watching the drama while keeping relatively dry. I am feeling super alive and the raw power of nature seems to be coursing through my body. I feel supremely confident and then something strange happens. There is a loud crack, Allen's body shoots vertically upwards and his head bashes against the roof of the veranda! I rush over to see if he is allright, but he weakly waves me away.

He is very shocked at the incident (in every sense of the word!) and keeps looking at me strangely. After a while he tells me what he has just experienced. While we were talking together, he saw a bolt of lightning leap out from the palm of my hand, hitting him in the chest. It was that which had made him jump, causing his head to hit the ceiling.

I think the whole experience alarmed him at a deep level and after that we were never really fully relaxed again in each other's presence. I used our remaining time there to finish a wand made from a tree with wicked thorns, and accidently left it with them when we left on our travels. I hope they found a good use for it!

A couple of days later Allen gave us a lift to the start of the Tsitsikama mountain trail. After thanking him for their hospitality, we started our walk. It was a strange and wonderful experience, and was our introduction to the real wilderness of Africa. We found out that the South Africans certainly encouraged, and set stiff standards on trekking!

There were cabins every so often along the trail. Each one was provided with fresh water, cooking facilities and mattresses. One normally books a place on a trek, both to ensure that the trail does not get overcrowded and to make sure one has a bed every night. Our main problem when trying to book the Tsitsikama mountain trail was that the direction of walking was one way – unfortunately it was opposite to the direction we were travelling!

As our journey was a sacred one, a pilgrimage of sorts towards Cape Town, it felt terribly wrong to suddenly double-back on ourselves.

So we joined the trail at the finish, and walked over a period of ten days to its beginning! Despite the wierd feelings we had at the start of our trek, we rejoiced as we left the concerns of every-day life behind and started to climb through the forest onto the mountain slopes. As we left the impenetrable green verdant depths, a massive view revealed itself and we rejoiced in the beauty of Mother Africa. The Tsitsikama mountains are relatively young, and they stand proud in the rarified air with turrets and pinnacles thrust high into the heavens.

The weather was great most of the time and we experienced the freedom of almost infinite space. We revelled in the way our bodies could transport us into a wonderland of healthy nature and the peace of numinous beauty when we chose to do it. We felt the cobwebs of inertia falling away behind us onto the rugged trail as we walked into fitness and indescribable beauty.

The cabins were spaced along the trail, far enough apart for a good day's walk for a fit and experienced person. For us, our bodies still somewhat flabby from our genteel and accustomed English way of life, some of our trek was sheer hell. Many a day we would be walking, almost exhausted, begging the gods and goddesses to manifest the cabin just around the next corner! We worked out that the average distance we had to walk was about twenty kilometers – twelve miles as the crow flies.

This is not particularly far for a typical trek across the English moors, one might think. No comparison. This was the average distance, so some days we had to walk almost double the mileage. It was also mid-summer: sometimes it felt as if we were melting in the cruel sun.

The first trek we had chosen to undertake was a mountain trail, up a few hundred feet, then down a thousand feet or so, and so on. As we struggled through the raw, magnificent land we felt our protesting bodies come alive in wonderful ways and we drank in the wonderful scenery whenever we could.

It was very interesting to meet other hikers while walking. In general they were fascinated by our stories and we made some good friends. There were some very generous people who shared their food and supplies with us, although some were quite upset to see us breaking the rules. When we explained ourselves, saying that we were walking towards Cape Town, they didn't understand. I didn't think it so difficult, myself, and January just quoted: "There's nowt so strange as folks!".

Finally, after ten days of serious trekking, we descended from the mountain heights and entered the tree realm once again. Two days later we emerged from the jungle and hit the main road. We got a lift down the Storm river to the sea and spent some time resting and watching the power of the waves pounding at the shoreline in all their awesome, pulsing beauty. Seals, dolphins and sea birds were there in profusion; we would have loved to have spent a few days there but couldn't afford either the time or the camping charges. With regret we hitched back to the main road and continued our inexorable progress towards our destiny, and our doom.

After a few days we arrived in Knysna, one of the famous beauty spots of South Africa. It is a picturesque little town perched at the edge of a lagoon. Inland there is tropical rain forest inhabited by a herd of wild elephants that appears intermittently, only to dissolve again into the forest like ghosts at cockcrow. We hired a large tent and pitched it by the side of the lagoon on the grass: it was idyllic.

We were waiting to acquire a trekking permit for a newly created coastal walk south-east of Knysna. While we waited we walked miles exploring both the sheltered area around the lagoon, inland, and the untamed, craggy coast to the south. We discovered some huge caves on the sea-shore in rugged cliffs close to the entrance to the lagoon.

If I were to visit South Africa again, I would think seriously about spending some time there. The shore was wild, consisting of water-pounded rounded rocks and was almost deserted. Tourists in general go for sandy, sheltered strands and this was much too wildly raw.

After a few days we managed to get our permit. The walk was even more beautiful than we expected, although it was exhausting. As half of it was along the seashore, we had to climb up cliffs and down again into narrow coves, only to climb out and up again. Sometimes we had to make this rollercoaster climb many times a day, our muscles and joints protesting at every stretch. We were certainly getting fit, though.

During the walk I noticed some tree spirals in the undergrowth. I found two beautiful lengths suitable for staffs, and about a dozen beautiful wands. I had to cut them by twilight, though, with January acting as lookout, as the South Africans are very strict about anything to do with conservation.

Onwards we travelled, always heading towards Cape Town. One morning the driver of our latest lift pulled off the road into a car park by the side of a mountain pass and turned off his motor. Baboons bounced towards us in the hope of intimidating us for some food – no chance! We wondered what our guide was doing, especially when he opened his door and told us to follow him. We got out of the car and walked until the most incredible vista opened up in front of us. The pass fell steeply towards the coastal plain, and the road ribboned away towards a massive squat mountain in the distance.

Table Mountain! A shiver wriggled its way involuntarily through me from my toes to my crown, for this rugged beast was the goal I had been aiming for all of my life. But what a double-edged sword! On reaching this sacred mountain I would have the chance to realise all my deepest dreams. Perversely, having just fulfilled my purpose, I feared that I would then have nothing more to do. I would become a spent husk, empty and useless.

Truth struck me then with the ruthlessness of the inevitable. Completion, however successful, means death. There are no survivors in nature. Once one's destiny and design has been fulfilled, one must acquiesce to the cycles of life and let go of one's purpose and personality, for they are of no further use. One needs then to wait and be as a child until the wheel turns once again, and one is filled with the next dream, the next vision that calls for manifestation.

I remembered a similar pilgrimage I had made to a sacred mountain, so long ago.

Sue, Renate and I are walking through the desert wastes. We must look a sight; our skins are so sun-bronzed that they seem almost black and we are covered in a layer of fine dust. We have been living on the beach at Nuweiba for a few months and we are well acclimatised to the middle-eastern extremes in temperature and culture. An international community of travellers has settled there over the winter and we have built our own houses out of driftwood, blankets, cardboard boxes and anything that can possibly help to keep the sandstorms at bay. Waterproofing isn't an issue, as it rains only two days a year on average.

We are on a pilgrimage to Mt Sinai, the sacred mountain of the region. Although it has been 'claimed' by the Christians, it has been the centre of sacred phenomena since the beginning of time; Horus and the Egyptian pantheon of Gods and Goddesses were said to reside there when not in their man-made temples lining the Nile valley.

We have travelled across the desert for what seems to be an eternity. Our odyssey has included riding camels, walking, and hitching from oasis to oasis having extraordinary adventures; late one afternoon we find ourselves at the base of this legendary mountain. We have coincided our arrival with the full moon; we are going to climb Mt Sinai by the light of the night! We ask for directions at the tourist information centre, and then relax awhile while preparing for the ascent.

After a magnificent sunset, the full lunar orb rises majestic over the horizon. This is our cue. We start our climb and it soon becomes apparent that it is not going to be easy. The mountain becomes a giant labyrinth with inviting pathways and valleys at every turn; we are being tested. Giant shadows leap out at us at maddningly unexpected times and our fears rise to the surface. We have a discussion about this as soon as we realise what is happening and decide to treat this night walk as a test of our trust, our balance and our wills. Mt Sinai is an incredible place of power after all, and it would be wise to expect anything. It becomes easier after this realisation and we continue our ascent.

The stars are so bright in this wonderworld and the silence so profound that we are transported into another world. I play my flute and its songs travel unimaginable distances, maybe even as far as the stars themselves, echoing and re-echo eerily from seen and unseen mountain faces. Our breaths steam brightly in the moonlight as the temperature plummets. About half-way up we cross a plain upon which two lakes glitter like giant pools of stars. Time for a cuppa! I find a waist-high clump of scrub and set fire to it, placing the kettle on the flames. Our own burning bush! The only divine instruction we receive is the whistling of the kettle and an invitation to make the elixir of life. And we do!

And on. Soon after the lakes we meet the famous steps. Countless years ago, the monks of the local St Catherina's monastery cut steps into the living rock of the mountain, enabling easy ascent for the endless streams of pilgrims. Goodness knows how many steps there are but they go on for hours. All of this time the full-moon hung over us like a beacon, sometimes illuminating our way, sometimes deceiving and throwing us into disarray. It is so incredibly, starkly beautiful tonight and I feel as if we are on a pilgrimage through the Unknown in order to meet...well, it is both the Spirit of the Mountain, and the rebirth of the Sun. Apart from that, we will have to see. So on we plod. The steps are exhausting. Just too high for comfort, their effect is cumulative and it is an effort to continue. Soon we cross the snow-line and drifts of snow nestle in rocky recesses. Our breath is steamy, and ice crystals form in my beard.

Finally we reach the top. I am aching yet triumphant. The view is sublime and the moon reflects angel-dust off snow and icy, raven blue-black rock. We choose a ledge at the top of the mountain upon which to sleep but it is far too cold and we troop into a small Moslem temple a few yards from the summit. There we sleep the sleep of the dead until we are awoken by what seems to be a crowd of people.

It is! We are amazed to find fifty or so German tourists outside the temple, chattering away, flashing cameras, Sony walkmen. In shock we finally take stock of the situation and climb down the sheer face of the mountain until we find a ledge out of sight and sound of the tourist invasion. Light has already started to play above the horizon and we watch spellbound as an extraordinary metamorphosis takes place in front of our eyes.

From` deepest-night indigo through which stars sparkle with rainbow-fire, the sky undergoes a wonderful transformation. Our eyes drink in a million different hues and changes, each a little more intense and incredible than the last, in anticipation of the Solar Logos. I am filled with a rising, spiralling feeling of dynamic love for Life. Golds, pinks and reds shoot through the brightening sky, superimposing one upon another on the dawning blues of creation. I feel myself moved to the core of my being. Sue and Renate are experiencing similar feelings and, indeed, we ceased talking a while ago.

We are an integral part of this. The Sun is stroking and enveloping Nature in an extended and caring foreplay which is preparing Her for His fierce passion and loving essence. We are at one with the land and I feel similarly caressed. My energies are rising in harmony with my surroundings and I start to prepare for the multicoloured power of the Sungod, my Beloved. His energies proceed through the atmosphere in the form of different layers of impossibly vibrant colour like an auric advance guard.

"Wake up! Wake up! Prepare yourself for the Coming of the Lord!"

 All the time the energies are rising and the colours intensifying. The eastern horizon is humming and vibrating impossibly and a hemispherical golden energy, an inverted chalice, grows and glows and expands through pinks and blues and purples. A beam of vertical light splits the heavens like a sword. The land is gasping, ready, and She calls for Her love to cover Her, fill Her with the Star Essence of immortality.

I am lost in the intensity of feelings I am experiencing. Never before have I been filled by such yearning, such rapture, such abandon. I am on an inexorable pilgrimage to meet my Lord, the Sun-God. My body is filling with the most intense feelings and a startling vibration thrills me from my crown to my feet. I burst out into prayer and invite the Promise to fill me, take me...

Suddenly the fabric of Heaven is rent by a golden spear of fire that shoots silently, instantaneously from the east and impales me to the mountaintop. My entire being explodes in a silent burst of impossible feeling. In a spiralling, golden cauldron of Starfire, a willing sacrifice, I am consumed by and yet become, the Sungod.

These living memories crackled through me and I gave thanks for having embodied such a destiny in this lifetime. After that impossibly ecstatic fulfilment, spent and empty, my everyday life had approached a state so mundane I feared for my sanity. The completion of this present pilgrimage felt similar in intensity, and I greeted Table Mountain, squatting so massively on the end of the African landmass before me, and made my peace with it. I promised myself that I would finish my task impeccably. I knew that, whatever happened, nothing would ever be the same again after I had reached that wicked-looking hunk of rock.

We spent that night in a cheap guesthouse, and the next day at a Youth Hostel in a small pine wood overlooking the sea. We had finally made it to Cape Town, and we both knew we had reached both the time and the place for the change we had been working towards for so long. We now had to find and pick up the threads of our new, individual and separate lives. This was difficult to do, and we wern't sure how to go about it. So we went for long walks every day, exploring the coastal paths and climbing Table Mountain. It is massive! A whole new world awaited us up there, close to heaven, and I understood now why people consider it to be a major chakra in the energy body of the planet. Although I took the Mother Crystal with me, it didn't want to be left on top of Table Mountain. I actually found other crystals there, both clear quartz and the shiny grey metallic haematite.

The Youth Hostel was on the lower slopes of a conical mountain called the Lion's Head, which was in turn connected to Table Mountain by a spur. There was once a gold seam that ran through the mountain; I felt a special kinship with it. On one of our walks, January and I decided to climb it. It was difficult, with some of the ascents only possible by means of metal ladders fastened to the sheer rock. It was also quite late in the day, and I hoped that there would be enough time to get to the top before sunset. The pathway defined a spiral up the mountain, and I became more and more excited as we approached the top. Some whispy clouds streamed past on the lively breeze, causing me to shiver, but then the sun shone again. Finally we emerged onto the summit, a relatively flat area with an extraordinary view all around.

The Crystal Journey is at an end. I have fulfilled the instructions of Spirit to the best of my ability, and have sacrificed seven years of my life to do so. It wasn't really sacrifice in the conventional sense, because for the first time in my life I have felt purpose and the almost constant presence of Great Spirit. Sacrifice actually means 'making sacred' and this has certainly been my experience. My task has given me an abundance of both adventure and joy, but now it is complete. Whatever I expected to feel, this is certainly not it. January has disappeared and I feel alone, deadly alone, and for the first time in seven years I have no purpose, except to be... I wander the summit of the Lion's Head and try to pull myself together.

I can feel the magic approaching again, and I know that something is expected of me; something is about to happen. An omen! I walk to the west, and watch the molten sun lose its shape and melt into the western sea. The water and skies are alight with hope and beauty as yet another transition, a death, is celebrated. And there it is: the omen I knew was imminent. It reveals itself just for me as I ready myself.

There, in the fiery, choppy cauldron that contains and mixes the oceans of the east and the west, is a lonely shadowy shape. A submarine, painted a significant black, is leaving the safety of Cape Town harbour and cuts through the bloody waves towards the southern seas. It is charged with a new, secret mission. It is a predator, its crew professionally trained and at home in the uncharted depths of the oceans. Its destination? Well, we will just have to wait and see.

The hairs on my scalp rise as I witness this final manifestation of Spirit. I have no conscious idea what it signifies, yet my body knows exactly what it means. I give thanks for this sign, and realise that there is only the final act in this drama yet to come.

Melancholy fills me. I know now that enlightenment or miracles are not the point to life. Now that death is nigh, I know that the real miracle of life is that we are alive at all. The point of it all is what we do, and how we use the precious life-force that is gifted us. This is only obvious to me now, one whose time has run out. What joy, what bliss it is to breathe clean air, and see a sunrise! I give thanks out loud for the unique and meaningful life I have been given. I feel that I have honoured both its challenges and gifts sufficiently, as I watch the drama play itself to its conclusion.

I thank the Earth for my life, the stars for my spirit, and Nature for her beauty, a fitting playground for the magical child that lives inside me. As the gateway opens and I prepare to leave the planet I can feel Mars, Venus and Jupiter fusing in the heavens, showering all on Earth with the fruits of their union. Many projects will be completed around the world at this time. Apartheid is officially abolished in South Africa today. No more separation...I wish all those who have recognised, loved and supported me on my life's journey all the blessings that Spirit can bestow, and likewise to those who have challenged me and tempered my spirit.

Life's strange. I wanted it all to complete in Tibet, yet here I am in a completely unexpected landmass, in a different hemisphere. I smile at the way it is all working out. I make myself comfortable, for I have nothing left to do. As the last orange glow of the departed sun meets the indigo night sky, I feel complete, at peace, and very still.

And when my Death inevitably comes, I embrace Her with open arms.