Fiddle music wafts towards me as I walk along a high street, passing shops with the names Little Imps; Man, Myth and Magik and The Psychic Piglet. I am in Glastonbury for the 11th annual Goddess conference, and am feeling ambivalent. At 27 and not having any great interest in new agey affairs, I'm concerned that I will spend the next five days being bored to death by a group of middle-aged, middle-class women in floaty dresses, chanting and waving crystals.

On the other hand, it's potentially a chance to bond with strong women, throw off any body-image worries, and banish any concerns I might have about being born female. Oh, well then: bring on the nudity and menstrual gore.

According to Kathy Jones, who has organised the Goddess conference since its inception, around 500 people attend each year, listening to talks and taking part in ceremonies and workshops (this year's include drumming and writing and a "healing birth" event where women can congregate to heal the pain of having given birth - as well as the pain of having been born). There are women of 80, women with their children, professional women and even a few men. Events take place in Glastonbury town hall, in the fields and hills and on the famous tor.

Goddess lovers believe there is a female energy that connects and nurtures everything in the universe and is present inside us all. They gather with the aim of honouring women and reconnecting with the rhythms of the earth. The movement has been going strong in both Britain and America for the past 20 years, partly influenced by 1970s feminism, as well as the pagan and wicca movements that enjoyed a resurgence after the repeal of the Witchcraft Act in 1951. Claire Hamilton, author of Maiden, Mother, Crone: Voices of the Goddess, says it is not about worship. "The goddess is not just God in drag. It's internal - a force bound up with the earth, with humans, with creativity and with nature."

Jones explains that there is no set text or book that forms the basis of the movement. "There's no authority saying you must believe this or you must believe that, so Goddess-loving people have all kinds of different perspectives on who she is."

I make my way to the town hall, which is decorated with colourful wall hangings. With much whooping and yelling, the conference is opened. I'm there to bond with my support group, or circle of 13. Like a witch's coven, I think gleefully, but it is actually like being back in my form group on the first day of school. We introduce ourselves and set about choosing a table monitor (sorry, "facilitator") to ensure everyone is heard in group discussion. But this turns into an exercise in being talked at. I feel bored and grumpy. I don't like being told what to do.

Later, I am skiving, staring spacily into a bookshop window and stuffing my face with flapjack when I hear my name being called. Guiltily, I rejoin the group to take part in an exercise to awaken the senses. We make our way to the goddess temple, a little room above a courtyard, and queue on the stairs. A woman wearing a transparent, baby-blue slip (and, it seems, no underwear) appears on the balcony and tells us off for chatting. "This is a sacred space," she warns, before instructing us to join her in taking deep breaths.

We visit the woman who has been chosen to represent the goddess and she offers us bread, fruit, water from Glastonbury's chalice well, and a personal message of love and abundance. "I am your mother. I love you unconditionally and always will do," she says. Alarmingly, I have to stop myself bursting into tears.

I walk through the town and fall in step with two Yorkshire women from my group who have been coming to the conference for six years. Sue and Gail both work in crystal healing and complementary therapy. "The karma is very strong here," says Gail. "It throws up a lot of shit."

I pass them later in the street. "We've had enough. We're going to the pub," says Gail. I sympathise, but force myself to head for the evening ceremony in the town hall. I expect paganism, but there seem to be more similarities with a Christian service - listening and repeating, and saying "blessed be" at the end of everything.

Still feeling sceptical, I talk to Jacqui Woodworth Smith who works in the Home Office. This is her seventh Goddess conference. I ask her how all this can be relevant in the context of modern feminism. It's not cheap to come here - between £175 and £225 (concessions £100), plus extra for accommodation and travel. Isn't it all just middle-class navel gazing? She disagrees. "The Goddess conference stands against patriarchy, so the movement is very political. Coming to the conference shows women how the world could be. Things like war and famine come out of fear, and these things would not happen if there was more balance in the world between male and female."

The next day, feeling more positive, I join a workshop. Annie Spencer takes us on a guided fantasy to meet our grandmother - in animal form. Mine turns out to be an eagle. We draw our animals and talk about them in groups. I am in a group with a shaman. "I channel Jesus and Mary." she tells us. "I can talk to Jesus." My other group member says she has always wanted to talk to Jesus and they discuss meeting up. I head for the loo.

When I return, the room is full of people moving like their animal grandmothers - bears, a wolf, a fish and some pigs. Despite usually being far too self-conscious to do anything like this, I find myself swooping about the room, flapping my skirt as I go.

In the evening we silently process through Glastonbury and up Chalice Hill in four element groups - earth, fire, air and water. I wear the red of my fire sign. A man calls out: "Excuse me, what's going on here?" "We're Goddesses!" I shout triumphantly.

"I like to see the change from the beginning of the conference," says Woodworth Smith. "Women start wearing less and less clothing and walking down the street swaying their hips and feeling luscious and beautiful."

And when it's time to leave, I see her point. I'm not sure I've fully embraced the spiritual side of things, but I'm definitely feeling empowered. It takes a while to get in to this whole goddess malarkey, but I can't wait to see next year's programme.