Lily danced in the leaves while I spoke to a hippy from Turkey. He spoke of peace because he’d seen war. He talked about love because he knew hate; hate for those above him, hate for those he had served with, hate for enemies not born his but who became so, and lastly, hate for himself because of how his mind had been controlled.

He talked about life and living because he had seen death, and been the cause of it. He had long hair because the army had forced him to shave his head. Now he had a beard. I liked my new bearded friend; his life until then had not been of his own making, but he was taking it back.

I felt fuzzy and wonderful as the grey, abrasive side of life wobbled away to rainbow jelly as the acid kicked in. And then Lily was standing in front of me. The look on her face was out of the ordinary and I knew instinctively that something serious had happened. Lily looked vulnerable. I had never seen her look vulnerable.

“A man on the dancefloor grabbed me. I’ve been sexually assaulted.”

It was raining on her face but the sky was dry.

“Do something!”

This was my John Wayne moment, only I wasn’t a cowboy, a fighter or anything like John Wayne

My mind raced through a hundred thoughts in half a second. What are you going to do? You can’t fight. What if he knows any kind of fighting? You have to do something or your girlfriend is going to think you less of a man, but you also don’t want to get killed. You are on acid, you idiot. What are you going to do? Hug this guy to death? Talk philosophical nonsense about the nature of violence?

I took Lily’s hand and we walked to the dancefloor and then up to the bar in search of the guy. I had no idea what I was going to do. This was my John Wayne moment, only I wasn’t a cowboy, a fighter or anything like John Wayne. I felt better by assuring myself that I had been beaten up before, and from what I remembered, it wasn’t that bad.

The bar was busy with chatter, but there was a clear and unobstructed view from where Lily and I stood all the way to the bench where she pointed out the man in question, who sat laughing with four friends. Five thugs in total. Splendid.

These guys were not dressed for a New Year’s Eve travellers’ rave in a jungle. They leered across the bar throwing judgmental daggers at the laughter and sparkles. They were trying to act like they needed to be perceived, so they stood out in a jungle full of hippies whose basic philosophy is to be yourself.

The guy who “grabbed” Lily was bald, and violent around the eyes. He was thick with muscle, and so were his friends.

Craig and Lily on their wedding day. Photograph: Lisa Jane Photography

I walked toward the men. They stared back. The man who had touched Lily pointed at me and laughed. He beckoned me to keep walking. He was enjoying the moment. I stopped. They stood. We waited. This was now a scene like in some action film, without the guns or hero. I needed to think of something fast, or I was walking towards a beating.

I lifted my hand above my head, and shouted at the top of my voice: “I have something I need to say to everyone here and it’s very important!”

A crowd of over 300 people at various states of enlightenment stopped what they were doing and looked at me. I walked up to the man sitting with his group of friends and pointed at him and said: “This man does not belong here. He is not part of the party. This man has just sexually assaulted my girlfriend on the dancefloor. He is not one of us. He is negative energy. If you see him, be on guard!”

The guys stopped laughing and looked to the floor. They hid their faces. They stormed toward me. I was going to get hit in the face.

The crowd, remarkably, jeered. The men stopped, now surrounded by many, unsure what to do. The fight was no longer five on one: this was five against hundreds.

The few party people who hadn’t noticed the commotion now watched. A girl moved forward and yelled at the men to go. Another stepped forward and booed. Then everyone booed. The men stared at the crowd, then back at me with wild eyes.

An angry mob had developed, of hippies yielding glow sticks. The circle parted, the men ran out of the circle, down the path, away from the bar and into the jungle. The man who had touched Lily stumbled as he ran, and as he hit the floor the crowd cheered.

I had used peace to beat the thugs around the head. This New Year’s Eve taught me that if we just gather the strength to ask for help, the good are powerful, and fear does not have to be faced alone.

Craig Stone is the author of The Squirrel that Dreamt of Madness