Many witches that I have known practice their craft alone. Many of us solitary practitioners live in isolated areas. This would stand to reason, all of us are united in one very powerful way, we adore, admire, embrace, and cherish the abundant gifts of nature.
Personally, Poppa and I live on a high hill, I call it a mountain, but, in reality, it is a high hill. We are three hours from the true mountains. We rent a cabin there at harvest time, I write there when I can. The splendor of the brilliant October foliage can bring me to my knees sobbing with pure delight and childish wonder.
Back here, on our humble hill, we are high enough to be set apart from the coming and goings of the locals, this house cannot be seen from the road, and I like it this way. Pretty much, everyone knows that there is a witch up here, a witch with several old dogs that do not enjoy visitors. The shock and scorn of this crone’s black cat and bubbling cauldron have long ago given way to a passive disinterest. No one has hanged me, or burned me at the stake yet, although, I never, “say never!”
There was a rustling on the wind for a troubling little moment back in the eighties, when I first wore my pentagram in public, but, after a while, there was a quiet, collective acquiescence, followed by dim dismissal. People moved on to more fascinating and far sexier gossip. The more “hillbilly” types are fickle, they enjoy chewing on a brand of “home-made sin” that one can sink ones “tooth into” those few (yes “few” we aren’t nearly ALL hillbilly’s these days) aren’t up for much of a spiritual debate, they need “stiffer stuff” like adultery and fornication to really get their hands in the air. Witchcraft is an uninspiring topic in these parts, in these modern times, thankfully. I think this is a sign of social progress, “hip hip hooray!” No, that is a lie, what I really think is that no one cares about anything much nowadays, unless you disconnect their cable television or disturb their internet connection.
When our children were in school, I watched my p’s and q’s. Now that they are grown, I do and I say what I want, but, I don’t feel the need to advertise myself, I don’t care to make any local statements or declarations. I am content. I blend when I need to, (there is a grandchild now) I mind my own witchy business, I am just up here doing my own thing and no one cares.
The beauty of being a solitary witch is that everyday can be a high holy day. I don’t need a Pagan holiday or a witches Sabbat or Esbat to work my lonely magick, or to bow low, all alone in the forest, in utter surrender and awe of The Great Mother.
Being a solitary witch can get lonely. At times, even the most solitary soul becomes needful of a friendly sister or two. A touch of merry camaraderie, can be a sweet event. On those rare, but fairly regular occasions, I wonder down town, or up town (I am in the middle here) and, I make my way to a couple of blessed witch shoppes, where I chat a bit with the owners and the few, but, “select” shoppers.
On my little “witchy” adventures, I wear my stones, my feathers and my cape (weather permitting) …and this feels appropriate, everyone else does the same, except for the student “hippies” in their beloved tie-dyed tee shirts and “vintage” ragged bell bottom jeans. Who doesn’t love these gentle, artsy, guys and gals?
The shoppes, are my prized jewels of the market place. All are quiet, little havens, displaying the most delicate of enchanted offerings. All are stimulating mini retreats for this shopper crone. The shoppes are very tiny, and prettily “tucked away” on back streets. When I enter, astral bells tinkle and I am welcomed by seductive aromas. Flute music floats around my body, and I am swept into a mystical realm of warmth and understanding.
I browse the rare or odd items with interest. I inhale the heavenly scents of lemon grass, amber, and lavender as I fondly consider the beautiful, hand crafted, one hundred percent natural, lotions, candles and soaps. I always pick up a few charcoal pads, an inspirational assortment of spicy herbal powders, a few pebbles of “dragon’s blood” for crushing and burning, and I never leave without a bag of dried, white sage leaves. Most of these treasures are used for clearing and energizing my sacred space. I don’t do as much “spell casting” these days, I mostly, consider the daily casting of a peaceful home, invoking the centeredness that is required for a truly loving marriage, a happily connected extended grown family and very contented, healthy, four-legged companions that I share my life with. These efforts of ” pure heart” are my worthiest pursuits now.