Part One

It was homework time. I had set myself an ambitious programme of research on Buddhists and Buddhist practice. In keeping with the 'suck it and see' approach which I had divined to be the essence of Buddhism, I booked myself into a late summer and early autumn of retreats. In September I would be doing three weeks with the Tibetans at their new place in the Lakes, a venue which, despite my having never seen it, was envisaged as my next home. In the meantime, as an appetite-whetting starter, I had booked in for an August gig with the Western Buddhists. 

On a sultry-warm, sunny evening - all the evening were sultry-warm and sunny in the summer of 1976 - I found myself in a quiet and seemingly forgotten corner of rural Hampshire. Tucked away among rolling hills, secluded from the hurly-burly of abnormal normal life, and indifferent to the cares of the world, the Buddhist retreat was already in full swing. I was allotted a bed in a little hut hidden among the trees, a retreat within a retreat, which I shared with three other young males. I put down a sleeping bag, then went off to meditate.

It soon became apparent that something extraordinary was going on there. The energy - lively, vibrant, yet calm and soothing - was palpable. A reality quite separate from the rest of human existence seemed to be in the process of creation, and I jumped in with carefree abandon. 

Everything seemed just great to me. The meditation was deep, rich, expansive, and at times released such energy that the shrine room was full of meditators cracking up with laughter while sat on their cushions. We listened attentively to taped lectures clarifying the principles, theories and practices of Buddhism, and how they could be applied in everyday life. We also did things called 'communication exercises', designed to release blocked energy and open us up. They were a little scary, but sometimes a lot of fun. 

I also opted for the outdoor yoga sessions. By now, with the continued absence of rain, the entire landscape had taken on a dusty, semi-desert appearance. Stretching myself into yoga postures on top of a small hill, the wide views I drank in took on a totally surreal quality. All was parched, desiccated, and I wondered whether we would ever see rain again.

The retreat was permeated with a remarkable sense of human warmth and friendliness. Although Lotus-in-Hand was not in attendance, a number of other high-vibe Buddhists were there. Those whose lives were publicly dedicated to the Buddhist life had names in Pali or Sanskrit, which clearly marked them out. The leader of the whole event was a tall, rangy man, who seemed to be in a state of perpetual laugh-and-smileyhood. It wasn't a put-on, I could tell: the guy was authentic, real. Intriguingly, from what I could make out, his name translated as 'Snake of Enlightenment' or some such.

One retreatant was a photographer. Rather older than me, he would glide around the place in a kaftan beaming at everyone. More of a contemporary was somebody who came up from Cornwall. Unlike most of the people on the retreat, who were single, he was married with a young son. We hit it off, however; unknown to me, he was to become, like the photographer, that rarest of beings, an excellent and long-term friend.  

Not that everybody was smiling all the time. There was plenty of deep, sometimes painful, inner work going on. Yet this all took place within an overall context of encouragement and support. And, after the high drama and angst of my recent life, this was precisely what I needed.

One day, the man who was founder and head of the organisation came down for a visit. Apparently he was an Englishman who had spent many years in India, practicing Buddhism under a number of prominent teachers. He spoke for a while, and took some questions.

I couldn't make him out. Despite the characteristic orange robes, he didn't look very monk-like. With a shock of longish hair, thin face, thick-rimmed spectacles, and worse-than-dodgy teeth, he looked more like the spiritual boss of some East London mafia outfit. I noted how some of the retreatants were clearly devoted to him, yet significantly fell short of speaking of him in hushed tones; respect, love even, but not awe and 'wow'. I liked that. In addition, I figured that he had got this whole wonderful show on the road, so he must have something going for himself.   

Day followed glorious day; I felt reborn. Not everyone on the retreat was bouncing around like the demented space bunny that I had become; but surely nobody could fail to be touched by the warmth, the amity, the sometimes joy, that enveloped those few most precious weeks. It really seemed as if a consciousness revolution was taking place, and I was privileged to be playing a part.

All too soon it was time to pack up and leave. Quite a number of those on the retreat, bowled over by proceedings like me, were planning on moving full-time into one of the Buddhist communities. I was told that I would be very welcome to move into one of the communities in London. I said 'thanks', and promised to bear it in mind. My mind was set, however: I was off to live with the Tibetans.

Part Two 

No sooner had I returned to Oxford than I was out on the road again, this time to visit my dear friend Liberty Fox. He had finally landed a job, and I was eager to meet him in his new circumstances. 

Hitching up the A34 towards Chipping Norton, then striding along a hedge-lined minor road, I was taken by the views and expansiveness of the rolling Cotswold hills. The late summer sun burnt hazily through the morning country air, an upland breeze freshened the heat; it seemed perfect. In addition, I was still blissed out after the retreat, and walked on air in the direction of my friend's new abode.

Liberty was now working as curator of the Rollright Stones. Half-hidden from view by a line of trees, this ancient stone circle revealed itself finally, high and proud on the uplands of central England. I passed through a gate and, emerging from a little hut beside some stones, my friend came out to greet me. 

I was delighted to see Liberty. Surely he was the most suitable person on the planet to be curating the stones. In fact, he was probably the only suitable person on the planet. He sat in the little hut that was now his home, and we rapped enthusiastically. I was concerned about how he would survive the winter in this exposed location, but everything was in hand.

The Rollrights are an impressive wide circle of mainly low stones, most of which apparently date back to Neolithic times. Liberty regaled me with stories about the stones, the myths and the histories, following which we performed a silent perambulation. And then it was time for me to leave. Only a few more days, and I would be heading north, to the Lakes and the Tibetans....