The “old places” still shine in the Derbyshire landscape. Driving through deep, cave-strewn gorges and up on to the high-land was a breathtaking introduction to the weekend. Great Hucklow, nestled within its distinct triangle of ritual mounds, could hardly have been a more perfect setting for what was about to unfold: the coming together of like minds and hearts to inhabit, witness and empower a singular moment of grace and beauty.

We walked in to, “… gonorrific seepage.” Having obviously missed the health and safety briefing, we introduced ourselves to the assembled pilgrims, upholders, keepers and a surprisingly relaxed troubadour. By the time twenty-two disparate individuals sat down to break bread that evening, the group had already found its form: loving communion.

Entering temple for the first time can be an incredibly emotional experience. The concept of breaking in a ritual virgin gently is obviously absent from the teachings of the school, and it was a very nervous Osiris (type-cast to the end) who opened the play.

Two days then passed, in a flurry of dressing, undressing, feasting, drinking, raucous intercourse, moments of deeply moving intimacy, shared joy, deep, heartfelt laughter, tears… everything, in fact, that your average outsider imagines goes on at such events: only infinitely more powerful than they could hope to conceive, as hearts and minds bond and intertwine in a shared experience beyond words.

Coming from the “energy work” side, temple time was a revelation. The faltering vortex established in the first ritual, built, with the confidence of the players, to a pillar of pure light, shining, beacon-like, across the Derbyshire landscape, infusing the planetary grid, and beyond, with a statement of love and intent.

The lessons of the weekend are impossible to summarise. Though, for me, a high point occurred as the Child walked the pattern for the first time, raising a veil, such that, suddenly, the mire of the enneagram made sense! Though the mystery of eternity, the contraceptive properties of curried brussel sprouts, and why reference to Bob Holness may reveal too much… will probably remain long after the initial clarity on the symbol has faded.

The culmination (almost), in the wee small hours of Sunday morning, was breathtaking in its simplicity and beauty. The night before, I was “given” the form of offering. Walking in to sacred space to find the layout altered from that expected, to exactly mirror both forms which I was about to present was more than a little shocking. In that moment, the insignificance of our individual “ego” interpretations of events, and, indeed, how ridiculous our “ego” fears of exposing oneself, completely, in the magical sense, really is; whether in the relative “safety” of group, or in the wider world at large.

And that’s where they dumped us, unceremoniously, on Sunday afternoon – back into the wider world; there to assimilate the lessons of the weekend. I think all of us have, at some point in the days since, longed for a few more hours basking in the glow of joy, love and respect shared by the Companions of the Birthing.