As I sit at home this morning, gazing out the window and watching the trees dance in the wind; I'm reminded of my teenage years when I secretly practiced magick in the wooded hills of Kentucky. I didn't have in my possession a single ritual tool. The concept of drawing down the moon was foreign to me. I had never heard of the Wiccan rede, nor did I know the dynamics of setting up a ritual altar. However, there was such a connection between my spirit and that of the forest. Instinctively I developed a relationship with the elements. I felt a connection with the plants and the trees all around me.
I remember being drawn to certain herbs of the woods and intuitively working knot magick. I would speak ecstatic utterances under my breath and call up the winds and the local spirits of the land. While I now have more experience and knowledge of the craft, that can never replace the raw, uncompromising communion with nature. As a pagan, a witch, a devotee of Hestia; it is my prayer that I never forget the heart of this path. While continually learning more is crucial to growth, I never want to get to the point where knowledge replaces experience. I love studying, but even more I love stepping outside with bare feet and feeling the heartbeat of Gaia beneath me.
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