A Journey to Avebury: My Pagan Home

In the heart of Wiltshire, nestled amidst rolling hills and lush meadows, lies Avebury, a sacred landscape that has woven itself into the tapestry of my spiritual journey. Avebury, with its ancient stones and whispered secrets, has become more than a place; it is my pagan home, a sanctuary of energy and connection.

The story of Avebury is etched in the stones. These megaliths, weathered by centuries, have witnessed the dance of time and the rituals of those who came before us. Each stone, a storyteller in its own right, echoes the wisdom of the land and the mysteries of the cosmos.

My journey to Avebury was more than only  a holiday with some of my closest friends. A crow greeted us on the first stone as we arrived at Avebury. Invited by an old friend, the arch druid, the ancient stones captivated me, though I wasn't actively practicing witchcraft at the time.

Walking through Avebury's circle, something dormant within me stirred. The ceremony, the initation of  the new arch druid, the landscape and the people felt like a shift, a reconnection with nature and my religion. 

Leaving Avebury, I carried more than memories; I carried a curiosity about witchcraft and paganism. The crow, a silent companion, lingered as a reminder of the experience. Avebury, through an old friend's invite, sparked my journey into the realms of witchcraft and paganism—a journey that continues to unfold.

The stones themselves seemed to come alive, whispering tales of forgotten rituals and the people who once gathered in reverence. Avebury is not merely a collection of rocks; it is a living entity, a repository of energy that transcends time and space. Each visit feels like a reunion with old friends, the stones embracing me with a familiarity that goes beyond the limitations of my mortal existence.

What made Avebury even more special were the people who welcomed me into their community. The warmth and acceptance of fellow pagans created a sense of belonging.  Avebury became a meeting place of kindred spirits, a place where the veil between the mundane and the magical is thin, and friendships forged are as enduring as the stones themselves.

And then there was the crone of Avebury, Idril Shelvock, a wise woman whose knowledge transcended the pages of books. Under her guidance, I am privileged to be initiated into the deeper mysteries of the craft. The crone imparted not only knowledge but also a understanding of the sacred dance between the seen and the unseen.

Avebury, with its stones, whispering trees, and ancient energy, is more than a place on the map. It is a journey into the depths of the pagan soul, a journey that intertwines my essence with the very spirit of the land. As I stand amidst the stones, I feel the echoes of countless footsteps that have trodden this sacred ground, and I know that Avebury, my pagan home, will continue to weave its magic through the threads of my spiritual tapestry.