Adventures In Witchery

So far, my forays into organized, public Pagandom have been...less than stellar.

In a very short period of time, I've experienced:

1. Middle-aged men looking to get skyclad with nubile young things of both sexes, because his Christian wife doesn't jive with his religious expression.

2. Altars set up on beer coolers.

3. A lady, most unfortunately wearing a lycra body suit, whispering "Not one of us" to her shopping companion, so as to be sure I overheard her.

4. A lady with a VERY LARGE quartz crystal around her neck informing me that my aura is Black. (It's a very dark shade of indigo, thank you very much.)

Not really feelin' the love.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that I've remained solitary this long for a reason.

I think I'll grab the Halloween candy and enjoy a bad-movie marathon.

This years Lammas marked my 15th year practicing Witchcraft.

This was in 1994, and I was nine years old.

Typing that sends my mind on a spin, because just what in the hell was a 9 year old doing secretly checking out occult books at the library and doing rituals by Ed Fitch in his bedroom at night?

Just doing what, to me, seemed perfectly natural and right.

Having parents who were disinteresed non-Catholics by the time I came around, there really wasn't a religious presence in our home. I went to Mass a few times, and had a statue of St. Barbara on my bookshelf, but that was it. I was never given religious instruction of any sort.

So, in truth, the Craft is the only religion I have ever known.

I quite comfortably found a "pattern" after several years of study. I somehow missed the Cunningham and the Ravenwolf, happily devouring Buckland and the Farrars and Valiente and Adler and such.

So without the benefit of coven training, or an established tradition with elders and y…

I was out shopping for Witch supplies today, which is always a fun adventure in a rural location with no occult supply shops closeby.

Luckily, I'm crafty.

Get it. Crafty. Oy, I slay myself. Anywho.

HEB has this whole section for crunchy new agey feel-good stuff, so I was able to score some select herbal products, spices, and essential oils, which made me quite the happy dude.

Marching up proudly to the check-out to pay for my purchase, the young lady eyed my purchase and says:

"Lavender? Patchouli? Are you going home to make soap?"

At which point the Fight Club quotes start running through my head, as they often do in these situations, it being one of my favorite movies and all.

So I leaned against the counter and cocked my eyebrow and played along, telling her that I was in fact going home to make soap. Had I had business cards in my wallet, I would have given her one.

"Oh that's so awesome! I was just kidding, but it's great that you make soap. You know, my brothe…