Many years ago, when I had recently moved hearth and home to Northern California I also reconnected with an old chum who went by the name Gwydion Pendderwen. We had first become friends when I lived in the SF Bay Area during the 1973/1974 time frame and had discovered that we had both become embroiled in machinations with the infamous Rhyddlwm Gawr (Bill Wheeler) of Y Tylwyth teg. The truth of the matter was that Bill had engaged in serial fishing expeditions by sending Gwydion stuff that he conned out of me, and further tempted me with stuff he conned out of Gwydion. (Note to Bill if you are reading this - I encourage you to sue me, because I still possess  the original letters in your own hand that you sent both Gwydion and myself admitting that you are a liar and a cheat and confessing that you stole from your various correspondents in order to fluff your credibility. So Please Bill be my guest) 

But this posting isn't about that shitbird, it's about finding connection to the spirits of place, about the sort of Withcraft that does not depend upon written ritual form or the kind of thing you can steal from others because if it isn't felt in your heart and mind it doesn't matter.

Sabbats were held and what our Christian Brothers and Sisters would call miracles  occured. People were fairy led out into the Mendocina hillsides, and the night skys came to life singing songs of life death and resurection. 

I think the most amazing event I witnessed was a "Multiplication of Bread".

It was a Samhain Eve and about twenty or so of us sat around a blazing fire enjoying an appropriately sufficient buzz via a variety of psychicly stimulating agents. One participant brought out a nice round of Sourdough bread, grabbed a chunk and passed it widdershins around to the assembled Witches. As it travelled around, and each Witch tore a chunk away for their Sabbat meal it became visibly obvious that the loaf was not getting smaller. As I said there were at least twenty souls in a circle, and each fed from the loaf. when it had traversed the entire congregation the loaf still looked as it had after the initial offering had been torn away. I don't think a single individual failed to notice this phenomenon because as it traveled the entire compass of our company the sparkle and wonder in each eye as they took their due and the loaf remained unchanged  added to the glow of the fire which illumined us all. No one said a word about it, there was nothing to say. We had participated in and witnessed a Magickal act. To speak would have been to break the spell.

 Our friend, Gwydion wrote and recorded a song about this Magickal land in the Mendocino Hills where this occured.

Here are my friends Pasha and Patty singing that song.