Navigating Inspiration, Intimacy, Conflict and Sleep in a Pagan Community

In a grassy clearing framed with towering fir trees, seven adults in their 20s and 30s lie together, drifting toward sleep. It is a late summer night, under crystalline stars in the crisp air, high in the mountains of Oregon. Quiet conversations drift between pairs and triplets lying close to one another: of shared histories, new friendships, the gentle reconciling of recent conflicts. Our bodies are relaxed, infused with the soft numinosity of the ritual held earlier that evening, which we ourselves led, along with others from the Priestessing class we have been attending each morning during this weeklong camp for Pagan activists. The person next to me points out the northern stars, urging me to locate the Big Dipper by finding the “W” (though my southern eyes cannot quite find the right configuration). One person observes how nice it is to lie altogether, not scattered in tents throughout the camp. Someone likens us to a pile of sleeping bears. Lying between two friends I had met earlier that week, I feel warm and peaceful, drifting off to sleep easily, only to wake the next morning in response to the stirring of others, remembering nothing of the time in between. Two people pass around organic chocolate as we stretch and rub our eyes, before rising together and heading as a group to the communal breakfast for this last day of the festival retreat known as “activist witchcamp.”