I had never been to a festival before, so I thought I'd give it a go. A friend was off to the Big Green Gathering and invited me along. I adore the West Country anyway, I was in the mood for adventure and whatever the few days away might hold.
It held mud!
Ali had once gone to Glastonbury Festival to run a charity stand but surprised me by telephoning on the first afternoon; this was in the days before mobile phones. "IT WAS LIKE WAKING UP IN HELL!" she declared, before describing how they had arrived in the dark and inadvertantly pitched their tent on a thoroughfare before being told to move it.They were back in Sussex by lunchtime.
Another rather unusual acquaintance had told me how the toilets at a festival she had gone to had been so dreadful that she'd resorted to using a carrier bag in her tent, though how that was any improvement at all was beyond me. The sound of the chemical loos being cleaned every morning was a delight, the anticipation of a few hours of relative cleanliness exciting beyond belief, and night-time visits were assisted by the wearing of a head-lamp.
The farm just outside Cheddar was a wonderful place, and the Gathering was organised like a small town, with various zones dedicated to Green Issues such as alternative technology, crafts, healing, music, shopping, children and food. I soon became hooked on chai, wonderfully warm and spicy, the perfect winter-warmer for the July mud-bath we had all chosen to share. My prevailing memory is of the laughter, as we slooshed about in the ever deepening mud, lone wellies stuck firmly into the tracks while their owners watched from the edges, one bare foot suspended until some passing hero retrieved them. After two days and nights of rain the skies cleared, the sun shone and we were able to leave our anoraks in the tents. It was too late for the ground, which was still having to rest the following year, I heard, but we basked in the glorious sun.
Musically, the highlight for me was probably Riven, a blend of haunting shamanic sounds and modern trance, performed in a solar-powered circus style tent. The enthusiastic African Drumming formed a heartbeat that never ended, audible from every place on site. We also spent time as wandering minstrels ourselves, our didge-drum-bowl-flute and voice ensemble. We had some magical moments in a small outdoor temple area, sitting by a fountain. One of the many refreshment tents invited us to perform, and an impromptu workshop with some children was a delight. By night, we sat around camp-fires sharing stories and night-caps.
For me, it was tremendously freeing, a timeless experience. A most beautiful adventure!

From the top of the Tor it feels like you can see the world; there is an element of timelessness, a magic. It always amuses me to see the various visitors: the devout tourists whose achievement is the walk itself, marching, like the Grand Old duke of York, to the top of the hill and down again again without stopping to breathe in the air when they arrive. What I love about Glastonbury is the sense of freedom and acceptance; you are just as likely to see someone wandering around wearing fairy ears and rainbow shoes, as baseball cap and trainers, and nobody minds.Nobody stares. And the pace of life is calm.
One afternoon two friends came up with me. Between us we had several American Flutes, a didgeridoo and various drums; the sun was beginning a slow descent and we sat on the ground and began to drum together. After a while, Si changed to his didge, someone had joined in with a flute and I started to sing. Though I know songs I prefer to attune to a place and sing what comes into my heart, a unique rhapsody inspired in the moment. We attracted an audience and invited them to join us, a band of minstrels, blending with creation; the distant hills, the town below us, the birds and the rabbits and the mice that peered us from the bushes.
We needed to leave by dusk, as we were driving straight home that night. An elderly lady sat smoking, and she asked if she could sing us a song before we left, as a gift for our music. She stood and poured out her heart in a melody of her own composing, her own poetic contribution, full of her soul. Moved to tears, we started to pack away our instruments. A tall man, with striking blonde hair approached and bowed. It felt as if we'd travelled back in time! He held his hand out to me, and addressed me as Lady, asking if he could show us a "special tree" that had been struck by lightning but continued to grow, sticking out from the side of the hill, endowed, he told us, with magical powers of fertility.
He explained that if we both sat on the trunk we would certainly go on to have a child, an offer we quickly declined to take up, as we were not a couple and I have 7 children already! We thanked him for showing us the tree, and he kissed my hand, instructing Si to take good care of me!
Moments like these bring a beauty into life, a romance encountered rarely in the hustle and bustle of normality.

In Somerset there is a small village, within sight of Glastonbury Tor, called North Cadbury. A steep path leads up a hillside to a field where cows graze. It is, according to many, the site of Camelot, King Arthur's domain, home to his round table.
Though there is very little visible evidence, there are signs that there was a settlement there.When I visit I can see through the veil into other realms, sense the community that once existed . It is a place I go to meditate, attuning to the part of the hilltop that would have been designated temple.
In Ancient times places of worship were constructed on various power points, forming a grid around the country, and around the planet. When the Christian Church came to our shores it built its churches on existing sites, obliterating the evidence of its fore-runners and tapping into the energy grid of ley lines.
Glastonbury Tor, for example, is an extremely powerful point, with a Christian ruin stuck on top. According to many, Joseph of Aramathea buried the Chalice cup at the foot of the Tor, whence flows the spring of Holy Water that has never run dry, even in times of drought.
Guinevere and Arthur ruled their kingdom in such a way as to designate every one an equal voice, with the round table that echoes so closely the sacred circles of other cultures that lived in harmony with nature, and with the feminine. The former religion was more connected to The Goddess, to the Divinity of the Feminine, in a way that respected the need for both. When I visit these places, my connection is to the land, to nature, for it is by connecting with this that I feel closest to creation and to god who is, to me, without gender.
I, nor anyone I know, can offer tangible proof that Cadbury is Camelot, but it is a beautiful and peaceful place. If you are sensitive to the subtle energies of places, it is magical and, if not, there is a fantastic view from the top.

The pyramids are so close to the city of Cairo; I suppose in my mind they were still out in the desert somewhere...To see gun-wielding policemen on camels seemed a little surreal, but then nothing about the trip was what you might call run of the mill, travelling with Sacred Ventures, a company that organises spiritual tours.

Mohamed had come up on the train, and had bought our tickets already, as the numbers allowed into the pyramid each day are limited. The tunnel to the Kings Chamber was steep and narrow and very low-ceilinged. The closer you got, the more intense it felt; though not fearful of enclosed spaces I had a brief moment of fear, but I knew that what awaited me in the central chamber would be worth the crawl. The room itself was sparse, to say the least but, oh, the energy of the place. Three of us had come there, and we stood at what felt like the head of the room to attune ourselves to the place. As I write I can feel the energy again, its heat and its clarity.

As often happens in such places, I knew I would have to sing; not chanting as many would understand it, but just allow sound to flow through me. It is a way I have, and I use it for healing, both people and places, and myself, when the need arises. Once I had begun, my companions joined in, and we sung together, before going into meditation. It started as Om...and went on for quite a while. Sometimes in meditation, if I chant, it's as if breath just has to flow through me: a channelling of energy.

I found it very healing, for myself, and the people who heard it, or experienced it, also found it healing. Ancient, pure and genuine, someone described it.
It was as if the universe had conspired to send us the "right" people, because when we opened our eyes we had been joined by a small group who, having arrived seperately, sat with us and beamed out love and light through the apex of the pyramid and all around the Earth.

It was one of those times of feeling truly blessed; Blessed to be here on the planet, to be alive, to be in such a unique and wonderful place. I have read many books, watched films and tv programmes, and have many thoughts of my own about why they are here and what they are "For." I look forward to visiting again, to connect with such Mystery and History.

My "recent" travels have been inspirational, to say the least. Since I made the conscious decision to become a full-time Mum and leave the bright lights and polluted streets of the metropolis, life assumed various twists and turns in a Beautiful dance.

Some may think it odd that my honeymoon was spent at an old-folks home in a small village outside Glastonbury, but it heralded the start of many transformations and revelations. In these pages I will recount, in no particular order, tales of Sacred Sites, here and overseas, though it is no secret to those that know me that my favourite places are in Egypt.

Not all places are well-known or highly publicised. Britain has an ancient heritage where what appears to be little more than a heap of rocks is an Ancient temple site, a churchyard Yew a place of worship for thousands of years, a deserted hill-top reputed to be Camelot. The places I have visited in person I will attempt to share in this online journal.