The Day I Walked Into Stone Age
There are moments in life when growth does not arrive through hardship, but through love.
After Peru, I thought the deepest work would continue to be solitary. More shadow. More crystals. More inward journeys. I believed expansion would come through discipline and devotion alone.
I was wrong.
Glastonbury did not meet me as a lesson.
It met me as a woman standing behind a counter in a crystal shop.
What unfolded there was not simply romance. It was recognition. It was shared language. It was knowledge exchanged without defence. It was intimacy built not on need, but on resonance.
Through her, my understanding of crystals expanded beyond frequency into consciousness. Through her, I glimpsed what love could feel like when transparency replaced performance. And through her, I was shown the quiet places inside myself that were still afraid of being fully seen.
This chapter is not about crystals alone.
It is not about Lemuria or Atlantis alone.
It is not even about the suit of armour.
It is about what happens when love meets a man who is still learning how to receive it.
And about the tenderness of recognising both the beauty and the limitation within yourself.
After Peru — The Softening
When I returned from Peru that second time, something inside me had softened.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t an awakening moment with fireworks and declarations. It was quieter than that. More intimate. As though the edges of me had rounded off slightly. As though life no longer needed to be forced.
I continued searching for crystals, but the search felt different. Before, it had been urgent — almost compulsive. Now it felt devotional. I wasn’t hunting. I was listening.
I would sit for hours with the crystals I had gathered. Not trying to make something happen. Not trying to extract power from them. Just sitting. Letting their resonance meet mine. Feeling the subtle shifts in my body when I held quartz versus citrine, smoky quartz versus amethyst. There was a dialogue happening, but it wasn’t verbal. It was cellular.
Around this time, I began experimenting with offering small healings to people I knew.
I didn’t step into it boldly. I was still aware of my own shadows. The remnants of paranoia. The quiet undercurrent of self-doubt. I didn’t feel ready to stand in front of the world and say I was a healer.
But I wanted to understand something.
It wasn’t only about helping them.
It was about whether I could sit in that position — hands near someone’s body, their eyes closed, their nervous system trusting me — without my own internal noise overwhelming the space. I needed to know whether I was steady. Whether my mind would interfere. Whether my old fractures would surface.
Those early healings were mirrors. Not of their wounds. Of mine.
And slowly, I felt something stabilising.
It was during this period that I was drawn to Glastonbury.
The Crystal Shop — Recognition
The first time I walked into the crystal shop, I stopped as though I had stepped into a memory.
The air felt different. Dense, but gentle. The kind of quiet that doesn’t silence you — it holds you.
And behind the counter was Shona.
There are moments in life where attraction isn’t the right word. It was more like recognition. My body reacted before my mind did. My nervous system softened. I felt both exposed and safe at the same time.
I began walking slowly around the shop, touching stones, examining formations, pretending I was only there for crystals. But my awareness kept drifting back to her.
When she came over and asked about the pieces I had paused at, our conversation unfolded with an ease that startled me. There was no performance. No spiritual competition. No need to impress.
We spoke about resonance, about experiences we’d had with particular stones. I shared stories from my travels. She shared hers. We laughed easily. There was warmth in it. A gentleness.
I stayed almost the whole day.
When the shop closed and I had to leave, I felt a strange ache driving home. Glastonbury was nearly two hours away, yet the distance felt longer that evening. I replayed the day in my mind. The way she had listened. The way she spoke about crystals as if they were companions rather than objects.
I went back two days later.
And again, I lost track of time.
By the day before Valentine’s Day, I knew I couldn’t let the moment drift into memory.
The Suit of Armour — Vulnerability
Hiring the suit of armour was both ridiculous and completely sincere. If I was going to be vulnerable, I would do it fully.
I checked into a hotel, put the armour on, and remember looking at myself thinking how absurd and beautiful life can be at the same time.
Walking down Glastonbury High Street in full armour felt surreal. The weight of it. The sound of metal moving with each step. The echo of my own breath inside the helmet.
When I entered the shop and knelt down, rose awkwardly held in place, and asked her to be my Valentine, there was a heartbeat of silence that stretched like an eternity.
Then she smiled.
And she said yes.
It felt like something ancient had just been affirmed.
Consciousness Crystals — Shared Worlds
Being with Shona opened a world I hadn’t fully understood existed.
I had worked with crystals as frequencies. I understood resonance. I understood how different formations altered the field around me.
She worked with them as consciousness.
She spoke about crystals that had lived through Lemuria. Through Atlantis. Through dimensional shifts in ways that weren’t metaphorical to her. They were beings on journeys, just as we are.
Through her, my framework expanded.
I began to explore lifetimes in Lemuria — places where crystals were not tools but sacred partners in ceremony. In Atlantis, where knowledge and power had fractured into conflict, where scientific ambition had warred against spiritual stewardship, and crystals had been at the centre of that tension.
She introduced me to the work of Concept Synergy, whose teachings dissected the human psyche with extraordinary precision. Through those meditations, I began to understand my ego not as an enemy but as architecture. My shadow not as darkness but as stored memory. I started to see how the pieces of “Trevor” had been assembled.
It deepened my intimacy — not only with her, but with myself.
When I attended seminars in the US and stood before tables of extraordinary crystals, it felt like standing among old friends. There was one in particular — the one I now use in creating vibrational and singing essences — that felt like coming home. A warmth in my chest. A familiarity beyond logic.
And then there was the large smoky double-terminated crystal.
It was beyond my budget. Beyond what seemed reasonable. But I kept returning to it during breaks, feeling drawn as though something unfinished was waiting.
When I finally arranged to purchase it in stages and it arrived with its documented history — describing its origins, its time in Lemuria, its ceremonial use in opening and sealing sacred space — I felt something inside me settle.
Holding it didn’t feel like acquiring something new.
It felt like remembering something old.
Love and Capacity
My love for Shona deepened alongside all of this expansion.
What we shared wasn’t dramatic or chaotic. It was honest. We spoke openly about fears. About past lives. About our experiences with crystals and consciousness. There was tenderness in the way we shared knowledge — not to prove, but to reveal.
I had loved before. Deeply. But never with this level of transparency.
And that transparency exposed me.
Because as much as I loved her, there was still a part of me that did not believe I was worthy of that depth. The remnants of old anxiety lingered quietly beneath the surface. A subtle fear that I would not be able to sustain something so pure.
The more she loved me, the more that hidden voice whispered.
And slowly, almost imperceptibly, I felt myself tighten.
The tragedy was not conflict. It was incapacity.
I simply was not yet able to hold the level of love she embodied.
When we parted, it was not explosive. It was tender. It was two people recognising the truth without blame.
Glastonbury was not only a chapter of crystals and expanded consciousness.
It was a chapter of intimacy. Of shared wonder. Of compassion. Of knowledge exchanged like sacred offerings.
And it showed me, gently but unmistakably, where I still needed to grow.
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