Those about the fire formed a hand-to-hand circle and spun clockwise round the flames in ever increasing circles as others caught up with the dance.
The meal became a feast as cakes, biscuits, bread, fruit, nuts, food and drink of all description were passed from person to person - each taking according to need and then passing on.
I was beginning to feel that this was the way things should be, but I was not being allowed to rest in my satisfaction.
I felt myself soaring again, much as an eagle or hawk might to gain a celestial view of a quarry. I was not shapechanging as many of the legends and folk songs describe, but emulating these creatures in the natural environment.
Upwards we sped!
We? Yes, I had been joined by a guide dressed much as I was but with a much greater air of purpose and assurance than I could muster.
Beyond the top of the cliff the ground descended slightly until it formed a natural arena about a circle of stones wherein were gathered a group of druids. So that was what I was supposed to be!
Again I found myself part of a fraternity, following a well-trodden path, spiritually speaking, in surroundings that had suddenly become home for the time being.
In an ever-changing scenario, my guide led me from the circle of Celtic priests, between the stones, to a road along which I perceived a band of Arthurian Knights, not mounted but entering a doorway which, unaccountably I was standing beside.
Singly they passed but unlike previous companions on this dreamlike landscape, they totally ignored me, looking straight forwards, not even allowing eyes to seek out my face nor indicate my presence. Such is the discipline of all warriors in the ranks of the nobility.
I followed the knights in to find the classical round table, with one seat vacant - mine!
My priestly garb had given way to the armour and tabard associated with chivalry, but without the colourful embellishments of the assembly around me.
Gradually the drabness gave way to a shining which, as I sat, extended into the apparition of a sword held out before me.
It must be understood that everything I was doing throughout this lost time manifested as being quite normal and in context but it was at this point in my story, that my compulsive actions moved out of the sedate and into the apparently irrational.
I was inexplicably moved to cast the sword across the table, not in violence but in exuberance, and leaping to my feet I found myself in an ecstatic but nevertheless controlled form of dance, close to where the sword now stood quivering, impaled slightly off centre in the tabletop.
At the peak of my cavorting (for such it was) I again grasped the sword, pulled it from the grasp of the wood and flourished it high above my head in an almost rainbow cascade of light.
Simultaneously, I realised that the sombre expressions of the assembled knights had given way to smiles of joy matching my own, and the percussion accompaniment to my dance was the rhythm of their mailed fists pounding the table at my feet.
I was not allowed to perform for much longer, for within seconds the noise had diminished into the background and the room had given way to blue skies as again in flight I glided over the countryside, at the side of my bearded guide who had silently rejoined my journey.
He led me again downwards, this time into a clearing amongst some trees in a small wood. Once landed the density of timber created a completely guarded sanctuary, peaceful and private.
As I turned towards my guide, it was obvious by his expression and stance that he was about to take his leave of me, but not wholly with regret or a sense of loss in either of our hearts.
The feeling was much more an anticipation of a not too distant reunion where we could resume our teacher/pupil type relationship.
His hand, as he retreated in space and time, indicated behind me, and on turning, I was greeted by a maiden in a short white tunic beckoning me towards the wall of trees.
The term maiden may sound archaic but remember that I am describing my experience and feelings as accurately as language will allow.
Following my new companion, I found that a previously hidden pathway led from the west of the grove, and passing through a natural archway walked out of my dream.
The bookshop was ordered chaos.
Books piled upon books, stacked and almost but not quite tumbling from shelves.
Customers endlessly streamed in and out of the door leading to the old-fashioned street outside, and equally visited other curio and essential shops found in this township where tourism was a constant source of funding regardless of season or weather.
The orderliness took the form of careful categorisation of titles, subjects and authors as found in the best-run libraries. So it was with little trouble that I found the section on the history of the Celtic peoples and cultures and choose a book.
Several months ago, a colleague had suggested that this subject would be worth investigating and had told me of the extensive collection in this particular bookshop.
That evening, in my lodgings, I settled down. Lounging carelessly on the bed, having thrown off the majority of my outdoor clothing, I prepared to delve into my recent acquisition.
The story it told seemed vaguely familiar!
Keith Gwilliams
25 November 1994
(Some of you may recognise the origin of the title as being part of a contemporary popular song
The Windmills of My Mind
If you know all the words think them through - do they sound Druidic to you?)
On reflection I have been thinking about some modern songs and am no longer
surprised when their content show up as expressing a Druid thought.
For Instance
All my life 's a Circle (Harry Chapin)
The Circle of Life (Disney)
Colours of the Wind (Disney)
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