The Map Within: Psychic Questing and the Search for Hidden Histories

By Richard Clements

Can a midnight dream lead to an ancient treasure? That’s what happened in 1979, when a group of British friends followed an intuitive hunch into the Worcestershire countryside. There, beneath an old footbridge, they unearthed a mysterious inscribed sword. And from stories like this, the concept of psychic questing was born, a curious blend of historical investigation and psychic insight.

At its heart, psychic questing is the attempt to use paranormal methods,  from lucid dreaming to divination, to uncover lost artefacts or solve age-old mysteries. It’s a practice rooted as much in folklore as in fieldwork, springing from Britain’s deep well of occult tradition and myth. Its lineage stretches back to Arthurian legend seekers at Glastonbury, long thought to be the resting place of Avalon, and the rituals of occult societies, such as Dion Fortune’s Society of the Inner Light, in the 20th century.

Historical Origins

Every treasure hunt needs an origin story, and the roots of psychic questing lie deep in the mists of British folklore. For centuries, tales have circulated about phantom monks guarding hidden gold, and farmers using hazel rods to dowsing for underground springs or buried treasure. Medieval legends recount that Joseph of Arimathea hid the Holy Grail at Glastonbury, destined to be revealed only to the pure of heart. These age-old stories laid the groundwork for later mystical expeditions.

By the late 19th and early 20th centuries, British occultism experienced a revival. Organisations like the London-based Theosophical Society reintroduced ideas of ancient wisdom and hidden knowledge, sparking renewed interest in sacred places and relics. It was a strange moment when archaeology and spiritualism began to overlap.

A standout case emerged in 1907 with Frederick Bligh Bond, a respected British architect who began excavations at Glastonbury Abbey not just with blueprints, but with mediums. During séances, Bond claimed to receive guidance from long-dead monks via automatic writing. When he dug where the spirits instructed, at the eastern end of the ruins, he discovered the lost Edgar Chapel on the first attempt. His discoveries, detailed in The Gate of Remembrance (1918), gave a strange credibility to what he called “psychic archaeology.”

Not everyone was impressed. Church authorities eventually dismissed Bond in 1921 for using occult methods on sacred ground. However, the controversy only served to amplify the belief that Britain’s buried past might be revealed through the paranormal.

Meanwhile, Glastonbury became a hotbed of mystical energy. Occultist Dion Fortune, who visited in the 1920s, reported experiencing psychic visions of ancient temples beneath the Tor and having contact with spiritual beings she referred to as ascended masters. Her Society of the Inner Light wove Arthurian legend and cosmic symbolism directly into the local landscape. Around the same time, mystic Wellesley Tudor Pole followed a vision that led him to dig up a blue glass bowl in a Somerset field. He believed it to be a Grail relic, not in the historical sense, but as a spiritual catalyst rediscovered through intuition.

By mid-century, Britain’s appetite for the mystical was growing. Fueled by Arthurian revivalism, folklore collections, and the writings of popular occult authors, the culture was primed. So when the counterculture movements of the 1970s and ’80s arrived, psychic questing was ready for a modern renaissance.

Psychic questing occupies a peculiar but enduring space in British counterculture. It calls out to the curious: What if the secrets of the past still linger, just beyond the veil, waiting for those brave (or reckless) enough to go looking?

Methodologies of the Quest

So, how does one go about chasing a ghostly grail or tracking down a psychic treasure? British psychic questers have experimented with a wide array of techniques, some ancient and druidic, others surprisingly modern.

A typical quest begins with meditation or trance work. Whether gathered at a reputedly “haunted” site or sitting quietly around a kitchen table, questers enter a relaxed, open state of mind. Each participant records any impressions they receive, such as a symbol, a name, or a visual fragment that resembles a map. The group then compares notes. If two or more people mention “a hill with a tower” or sense a name like “Mary,” those details become potential signposts on the treasure trail.

From there, divination tools often come into play. Dowsing rods are particularly popular in Britain, used to detect areas where “the energy feels different.” Pendulums, tarot cards, and I-Ching coins have also been employed to clarify the next steps. Dreamwork is another key method: questers may literally “sleep on it,” trusting their dreams to provide symbolic clues. One 1980s group kept a shared dream journal while searching for a legendary green gemstone, and a vivid nightmare involving a swan eventually led them to a riverside site where they uncovered a greenish stone. For these seekers, no source of insight is off-limits.

In more severe cases, some individuals turn to automatic writing or channelling. Like Bligh Bond before them, questers may sit with pen and paper, calling on a “guardian spirit” or local entity. Whatever flows through the pen, even if it’s just an indecipherable scrawl, might be parsed later for guidance: “Seek ye under old elm?” Others practice scrying, staring into reflective surfaces like crystal balls or still water, waiting for images to materialise.

Interestingly, today’s questers often supplement these ancient methods with modern tools. Some incorporate GIS software and Google Earth, layering old maps, ley lines, and psychic “hotspots” into a digital composite in search of meaningful patterns. Place names that emerge during séances can be plotted on a map to determine if they form a line or geometric shape, in line with theories of “earth energies” and sacred geometry.

Ultimately, every method juggles two sides: diligent detective work in the archives on one hand, and psychic exploration on the other. The quester is part historian, part mystic, part adventurer, trawling both the ether and the evidence for buried truths.

Notable Practitioners & Case Studies

The 1980s marked the golden age of psychic questing in Britain, and at the forefront was Andrew Collins, the very person who coined the term “psychic questing.” A historian and paranormal researcher, Collins became a folk hero of the movement thanks to a series of extraordinary exploits.

In The Green Stone (1984), written by his associates Graham Phillips and Martin Keatman, Collins features as the central figure in a real-life treasure hunt for a mystical green stone supposedly linked to Mary, Queen of Scots. Strangely, the journey began when multiple team members claimed to receive the same cryptic message: “Seek the stone.” Following dreams, visions, and intuitive nudges, the group eventually unearthed a small brass casket buried near a riverbank in the Midlands. Inside was a polished green agate. They believed, with enthusiastic leaps of logic, that this was the “Meonia Stone,” a mystical relic passed down through a secret society from the Elizabethan era.

But Collins’s adventures didn’t stop there. In The Seventh Sword (1991), he chronicled the discovery of no fewer than seven swords buried in remote parts of Britain. These weren’t just artefacts, they were believed to be infused with occult power and tied to Arthurian legend. These tales, which often read like mystical thrillers, featured battles with dark forces, psychic visions of ancient Egyptian priests, and moonlit excavations at sacred sites.

Collins’s longtime collaborator Graham Phillips also pursued quests of his own, ranging from the arcane to the literary. One of his most notable missions involved a search for lost Shakespearean manuscripts. Guided by a blend of psychic impressions and archival research, Phillips traced clues across Warwickshire. Although the lost play was never found, the journey became the foundation of his book, The Shakespeare Conspiracy, a work that retained the adventurous spirit of psychic questing, even as it leaned more toward historical investigation.

Another colourful figure, Alex Langstone, led what became known as the Quest of Bega. In 1989, Langstone unearthed an obscure legend from the Dark Ages involving St. Bega and an enchanted ring. Through a series of dreams and dowsing sessions, he and his team followed the tale across Cumbria and North Yorkshire, eventually discovering what they believed to be a fragment of the fabled ring. He later documented the journey in Bega and the Sacred Ring (1992), framing it as a restoration of a lost Celtic goddess archetype.

Of course, no conversation about psychic questing is complete without acknowledging Frederick Bligh Bond, a man who, though working decades earlier, arguably laid the foundation for the movement. His excavations at Glastonbury Abbey, guided by trance communications with long-dead monks via medium John Bartlett, produced remarkably accurate results. His psychically inspired maps revealed chapel foundations exactly where the spirits had indicated, findings later confirmed by traditional archaeology. While Bond never used the term “psychic questing,” modern practitioners often view him as a forerunner and icon of the discipline.

Even older figures have been retroactively inducted into the psychic questing pantheon. Elizabethan occultists John Dee and Edward Kelley, advisors to Queen Elizabeth I, employed scrying and “angelic communication” in their treasure-hunting endeavours. And Joan of Arc, perhaps history’s most famous visionary, reportedly followed her voices to a hidden sword buried behind an altar.

Despite their mystical methods, many questers emphasise the importance of research and diligent work. Hours are spent combing parish records, deciphering old maps, and parsing local legends to support dream-inspired leads. Whether it’s Andrew Collins scaling a foggy Welsh hillside in pursuit of a vision or Graham Phillips scrutinising documents in search of a lost manuscript, these adventurers blur the lines between historian, mystic, and storyteller.

As Paul Weston, another notable quester and chronicler, once said of The Green Stone saga: “It’s the greatest paranormal drama played out in Britain in the twentieth century.” Whether one believes in its supernatural elements or not, there is no denying its enduring influence and its place in modern British folklore.

Controversies and Criticisms

When amateurs with dowsing rods and pendulums venture onto archaeological sites, controversy is never far behind. In Britain, psychic questing has drawn its fair share of scepticism and criticism from both professional archaeologists and legal authorities. To many in the academic world, these paranormal pursuits are viewed as, at best, pseudoscience, and at worst, outright hoaxes. The idea that “a spirit told me where to dig” flies in the face of conventional archaeological methodology.

Even Frederick Bligh Bond’s famed discoveries at Glastonbury Abbey haven’t escaped scrutiny. Critics argue that the site’s layout may have been partially known beforehand and that Bond’s subconscious, not supernatural monks, may have guided his hand. Was he truly channelling long-dead spirits, or simply recalling details he’d absorbed through prior research?

Modern questers, too, face accusations of confirmation bias, seeing patterns where none exist, interpreting coincidences as signs, and reading meaning into vague symbols or dreams. Ian Topham, a researcher once inspired by psychic questing, later voiced his doubts, noting that the practice “depended on taking psychic material at face value”,  a premise he eventually came to question. Like many questers, he recognised that the thrill of the chase could sometimes outpace critical thinking.

There have also been darker moments. After The Green Stone became a hit, tensions grew between its authors. In the sequel, The Eye of Fire, allegations emerged that some of the “discovered” artefacts may have been staged. One investigator even claimed to have seen Graham Phillips bury an object that was later presented as a find. Phillips denied any wrongdoing, but the claim cast a shadow. For critics, this blurred the line between sincere mysticism and theatrical performance, especially when fame or book deals were involved.

Andrew Collins, for his part, has consistently defended the authenticity of his experiences. While he acknowledges that the scene sometimes spiralled into chaos, he maintains that his quests were genuine journeys,  both physical and spiritual.

Then there’s the legal side. Britain’s heritage laws are strict. The Treasure Act of 1996 requires anyone who finds potentially significant artefacts to report them to a coroner and, in many cases, surrender them to a museum. Psychic questers, regardless of intent, risk violating these laws if they dig without permission, particularly at scheduled ancient monuments or protected sites. Even a well-meaning team, following a dream or vision, can run afoul of regulations or earn the ire of local historians if they turn up uninvited with shovels in hand.

Ethically, the issue of disturbing sacred or historical ground based on unverified intuition remains contentious. Critics argue that a pendulum or a tarot reading is no substitute for data, and that misinformed digging can destroy valuable context or damage artefacts. Questers counter that they often work with landowners’ consent and act responsibly, but the tension between spiritual seeking and professional protocol remains unresolved.

There’s also the matter of public perception. While psychic questing enjoyed a cultural moment in the 1980s, it’s now often remembered as a curious oddity, “that quirky thing from the past.” Some Fortean researchers distance themselves from it entirely, concerned that its more flamboyant claims might discredit more evidence-based paranormal inquiry. Academic sceptics, too, bristle at the dramatic narratives often used to present these tales; questing stories are typically written in a style more akin to mystical thrillers than peer-reviewed studies.

But maybe that’s part of the point. For its adherents, psychic questing isn’t meant to follow conventional rules. It embraces myth, intuition, and the experiential, tapping into a way of engaging with history that isn’t strictly empirical. The very controversies that dog it are also what give it its unique power.

Ultimately, it comes down to belief. To sceptics, no number of anecdotal “hits” can make up for the lack of scientific rigour. But to believers, a single inexplicable success, like Bligh Bond’s Edgar Chapel, or the green agate in the riverbank, is all the proof they need to keep searching.

Modern Developments and Cultural Legacy

In recent years, psychic questing in Britain has slipped into quieter corners of the paranormal world, but it hasn’t disappeared. The digital age has given it a subtle revival. Online forums, niche websites, and private chat groups now act as virtual meeting spots where modern-day questers trade stories, techniques, and discoveries. Sites like PsychicQuesting.com serve as archives of past adventures and incubators for new ones, where users debate everything from ley lines to deciphering Tudor-era cyphers. Social media groups centred around British folklore and earth mysteries sometimes feature threads where members recount dreams, strange hunches, or synchronistic experiences, keeping the spirit of questing alive.

Offline, too, the tradition continues. Longstanding alternative-culture events, such as the Glastonbury Symposium, provide a regular platform for talks that wouldn’t feel out of place in a questing narrative, covering topics including Arthurian geomancy, the spiritual resonance of ancient sites, and the role of intuition in modern research. Veteran figures like Andrew Collins and Graham Phillips still lecture on new investigations, often weaving in their early experiences from the Green Stone days. The 40th anniversary of that quest was marked in 2019 with a reunion event where key participants revisited the story and reflected on the paths it had taken them down.

Mainstream media has occasionally brushed against psychic questing, though not always using that name. The British appetite for ghost-hunting and mystical history has given rise to TV shows that mirror the questing formula, crews following historic clues, armed with both research and gadgets, venturing into storied landscapes in search of the unexplained. While programs like Most Haunted or Time Team approach the paranormal and archaeology from very different angles, they tap into the same cultural undercurrent: the idea that the land holds secrets, and that with the right approach, whether scientific or psychic, they can be uncovered.

The influence has also extended to fiction and games. It’s not uncommon to find novels featuring cults on the trail of mystical relics, or video games with puzzle mechanics inspired by Ouija boards or vision quests. These stories echo the core elements of psychic questing: cryptic clues, intuitive leaps, and the mix of scholarship and mysticism. Even if players or readers have never heard the term, the archetype of the dream-guided seeker or spiritual archaeologist is instantly familiar.

Psychic questing also aligns with broader cultural trends. In the UK, especially, there has been a renewed interest in Druidry, folklore, and earth-based spirituality. From pagan festivals to ghost tours, a desire to reconnect with myth and magic is palpable. Scholar Ronald Hutton’s concept of “re-enchantment”, the idea that people seek meaning through myth in response to an overly rational world, applies perfectly here. For some, psychic questing offers a deeply personal way to engage with history. You don’t need a PhD to follow a hunch; you need curiosity and a willingness to believe that the past still whispers to those who listen.

The idea is evolving, too. Some have speculated about combining tech with psychic methodologies, using artificial intelligence to analyse patterns in folklore, or virtual reality to simulate historic sites and induce intuitive insights. There’s even been talk in fringe circles about training AIs to serve as digital oracles, picking up on the same kinds of synchronicities that human questers have followed for decades.

Whatever the tools, the spirit of the search remains unchanged. Whether it’s a dowsing rod in one hand and a smartphone in the other, or just a journal and a strong sense of intuition, psychic questers are still out there, following the old tracks and carving out new ones. Their legacy is one of enchantment, of refusing to see the past as entirely closed, and of treating history not just as something to study, but something to experience.

Conclusion

From the windswept hill where an Arthurian sword was pulled from the earth to the quiet corner of a library where a trance-written message unfolds across the page, psychic questing continues to blur the line between intuition and reality. What makes it endure isn’t just the promise of hidden treasure; it’s the deeply human need for story. Questers don’t just research history; they live it as myth, inserting themselves into narratives that feel ancient, mysterious, and alive.

Britain, with its lattice of ley lines, sacred wells, and standing stones, offers the perfect enchanted landscape for these dramas to unfold. While academic historians may scoff and sceptics point to the long list of misses, psychic questing persists, because there’s always another dream to follow, another whisper from the past to trace. To the quester, even a single meaningful discovery validates a lifetime of searching.

As modern technology continues to map every inch of the physical world, psychic questing turns inward, toward the landscapes of the mind and spirit. In an era when mystery often feels in short supply, these enigmatic seekers remind us that not everything needs to be solved to be meaningful. Some paths are worth walking simply because they exist.

So whether the next generation of questers carry crystal pendulums or augmented reality headsets, the impulse behind it remains the same: a drive to connect with the unseen, to discover forgotten stories, and to walk the borderlands between fact and folklore. In the end, the treasure may not be gold or relics, but the act of seeking itself.

References

Collins, A. (n.d.). Psychic Questing [Web article]. Retrieved from AndrewCollins.com archive.

Hoggard, B. (1999). The Green Stone – Psychic questing revisited. White Dragon Pagan Magazine (Imbolc 1999). Retrieved from whitedragon.org.uk/articles/green.htm

Laskow, S. (2016, Feb 22). Psychic Archeology, Or How to Dig Up the Dead With Their Own Advice. Atlas Obscura. Retrieved from atlasobscura.com/articles/psychic-archeology-frederick-bligh-bond-glastonbury-abbey

Society for Psychical Research. (n.d.). Frederick Bligh Bond. In Psi Encyclopedia. London: SPR. Retrieved from psi-encyclopedia.spr.ac.uk/articles/frederick-bligh-bond

Phillips, G., & Keatman, M. (1984). The Green Stone. Brewin Books (UK).

Langstone, A. (1992). Bega and the Sacred Ring. Oakmagic Publications (UK).

Nugent, S. (2021). Overlooked or Overcooked: The Case for Psychic Questing in Western Esotericism. [Unpublished paper]. University of Amsterdam.

Fortune, D. (1934). Avalon of the Heart. London: Aquarian Press.