wiccan in the city

A postcard I saw on Postsecret recently had me thinking about religion. I guess I wanted to say something about it. I don't speak about it much, even to those I hold closest. I have lived with someone for over two years and have only mentioned it once.

It's not an issue of pride: I'm not ashamed about being a witch. It's just not something I like to discuss with anyone.

There's definitely a lot of misinformation out there, and even the most open-minded person probably imagines something very specific when someone says the words, "I'm a Wiccan." There was certainly a time in my life (hello high school) when I even played into that image a bit, because in a place filled with so many amazing personalities and talents I thought it was what set me apart. In reality, Wicca has many different faces and belongs to many different people, in different ways.

I have been a practicing pagan since I was 13. I like to think I was born this way; I didn't discover it nor did it search me out. I had no Wiccan friends and in fact was quite a strict Baptist. However, Sunday sermons just weren't adding up for me somewhere; something wasn't quite right. Wicca was in my heart always, already, even before I knew the name or shape of it. There are a lot of things I can't remember about my childhood but I'll already remember this: crouching in the new age section of a mall bookstore, heart thumping, as I flipped through a basic book on Wicca. I can still clearly remember thinking, "So this is what I am."

I guess the easiest way to explain it is to say that I always found it hard to find God in a church hall. He was almost never (or barely) present in the fellow small-town Christians I studied the Bible with every Wednesday night. When I spoke to Him in daily prayer I found that no one seemed to be listening. But watching the sun set, or a river flow, or listening to the wind flow down the mountains through the aspen trees? A shooting star on a clear night, the smell of autumn, the quiet of snow, a humpback whale leaping out of the Atlantic? There is God. Don't tell the priest about your fears, your mistakes. Tell the sun rise. Baptise yourself in a river; the sea. Go to church in a forest. Remember to gaze at the stars.

These days, I find myself living in New York, which is probably about as far from nature as you can possibly get. Strangely enough, I feel closer to the earth here than ever. A single basil plant springs from in between sidewalk cracks. Sweet clover briefly overwhelms the stench of exhaust. The cool wind blows off the river. The moon sets large and red over New Jersey.

I may not participate in the elaborate rituals these days. I don't visit online communities nor read much Wiccan literature. When someone asks about the star tattoo on my wrist, I laugh it off or make an excuse. But if anyone is truly curious, I'll be happy to tell you about it. And I never forget to appreciate a sunset, or say "thank you" when blowing out a candle.