A cowbell rings out, marking the joyous occasion of a successful hand binding. Chimes draw the faithful and curious to group meditation sessions; gongs, hovered over thigh and buttock, reverberate peace and fulfilment through prone bodies like a warm bath of gentle percussive nourishment. The Glastonbury Healing Field is but a short walk from the massive club with the Tube train crashed into it but, vibes-wise, a full dimension or two removed. And it is here, scorched and blackened by a night in the flaming maw of the Arcadian spider, that Glastonbury comes to put itself back in order: spiritually, mentally and in a literal having-your-bowels-rearranged-by-a-dreadlocked-masseuse sense.
“Yesterday there seemed to be more people in the Healing Field than I’ve ever seen,” says Buddhist meditation teacher Vimhl Raja (or Lord of Purity), relaxing beside a tent of cushions, rugs and candles. “And everyone was interested. A few years ago you’d get people coming in here with cans and drinking, just because it was a clear space. Now people generally want to discover something and engage. There were three lads walking through the other day saying ‘let’s go and do some healing’, and they were genuine.”
