Perhaps it was something in the stars.  At night we teens would all sneak out of the stables that had been renovated into dorms and run to the sheep field.  There we would lay in the laughing chain; head on tummy, head on tummy.  After we'd exhausted the giggling, we would light our fags and stare at the stars . . .and question.  (If God was in the beginning, who made God?  Where did he come from?  If each of those stars was created by the explosion of others, where did the first one come from?  How did it come to be?)

 

     The summer was rich with the frangrance of freedom; freedom from school, home, families, and teachers.  A summer of love; for surely this same set of kids would never be so caring and sharing from September through May!  This summer resonated with our talented voices joining guitars and the manor house's piano, singing the songs we liked, not just church hymns; songs like "Fire and rain", "This song's for you", "Where have all the flowers gone?", "Leaving on a jet plane", and "Tin Soldier."  Laughter, serious discussions of religious inequities, understanding, singing, and hugs abounded that summer.  During the day, our senses filled with the cool English climate and beauty of the gentle, gradient-green hills.  At night, we dove deeply into the clear, crisp heaven of stars, and delighted in the occasional bunny rabbit daring to join us!

 

     When we, as a group, fell into the emotional ride of 'being saved', we knew little of the words of Masters (even of the one we chose to bring us the Light.)  I didn't realize then that my experience was different from the others'; I thought everyone had the same one.  So used to flying in my dreams, nothing struck me as special when I left my body with the group and rose to the ceiling.  I remember looking down on all of us, hearing the joyful weeping and praising; and thinking quite calmly, "What's the big deal?  Don't they know they have always had eternal life?  That they have the same Life within them they have had from the beginning of Thought?"

 

     Sometimes I forget that most have forgotten in order to be here.  That it takes events like these to trigger Memory.  So, for the teens that summer; perhaps it was the soft green hills, the songs, the hugs, the sense of freedom, and the feelings of love that started them on their paths.  Perhaps it was the combination of all of those things, or a mystickal vibration from Stonehenge just down the road.  Or perhaps, just perhaps, there was something in those stars . . .