About a month ago, I took a couple of witchy classes. One on working with the power of the rose, and another where we collaged our very own tarot card. The best part for me (aside from the knowledge gained) was that the classes were filled with real people who were present, engaged, and not on their phones.

I can’t begin to tell you how rare that felt. A handful of humans, in person, making something with our hands for a couple of hours, when the attention of the room actually stayed in the room. Nobody was half-there with a thumb hovering over a notification or text message. I’m a highly anxious introvert, so I’m usually looking for an exit before the end of the moment is ever in sight; I didn’t look for an exit at any point during these events.

Then it ended. We all said our awkward goodbyes that strangers say and scattered back out into our cars and separate lives. Most likely eager to get back to our cats and tell them how much fun we had. Over the next few days and weeks, I’ve thought a lot about all of the similar moments that I’ve had and felt an odd mix of emotions about them. I realized that the best parts of my communal witchy life have had a price tag and a hard stop, and there’s never been a version of it that just keeps going.

I keep thinking about this because I think, no, I know that a lot of us are starving for something the internet keeps almost giving us.

Online versions of spiritual spaces are very good at handing us an audience. We get a feed full of faces, people who like the same books and pull the same cards, and would probably accept the full versions of us just fine. But it rarely ever manifests into a physical room. And for those of us with a decent number of followers, we just get to be known rather than seen. And that attention actually runs both directions.

There’s a name for the gap that this environment creates. Psychologists refer to it as emotional loneliness, and the impacts of it don’t care how full your life looks from the outside. You can have followers, a partner, an active group chat, and still feel completely alone and invisible. An expertly curated feed can’t really ever fill this gap. Being in a room with actual people gets you so much closer. It’s why I believe so much in the power of community.

The insane part is that witches in the traditional sense have always known this. Erica Feldmann (Owner of HausWitch and author of HausMagick and Intension Obsession) writes about mutual aid and community care as though they are inseparable from the practice, because for most of history, they were. The entire idea of a coven was built around this very concept. Witches weren’t just casting spells or performing rituals; they were gathering with each other, sharing food, and occupying physical space with each other. It was a true spiritual community.

Another irony is that Christians mostly have this on lock. And it’s something that I think a lot of us who grew up in the faith actually miss (whether we admit it or not). We might bitch about the patriarchy and bureaucracy that came with it, but we also recognize its power. I also think it’s a reason we see a lot of popular witch-fluencers convert to Christianity. The power of a community in faith is its own form of magick.

If you are a consistent reader of my content, you might notice that most of the posts have a cohesive story for the entire month. This is new to me and was born out of my exhaustion from constantly trying to find inspiration to create. I did what any witch does and leaned heavily on my go-to forms of divination—tarot and oracle cards. I will pull a set for each week of the month, then let that inspire the story and lessons I weave.

July started with the Hermit card. In the P.C. Smith imagery, we see a person climbing a mountain alone, without telling anyone. They just go. I wrote about that quiet exit a few weeks ago.

But the month does not end on that mountain. It ends with the Two of Cups, at the Aquarius Full Moon on the 29th, which tells me that staying on that mountain was never the end of the story. It was a momentary time of self-reflection before coming back down to be with your people.

The problem that keeps circling in my head is that being with my people keeps costing me $44.44. Saying that might make some of you feel a certain way, so let me pre-empt this and say out loud that this is by no means a write-up of how teachers, spiritual practitioners, and educators shouldn’t charge for their work or services. Stick with me for a few more paragraphs, and you’ll see where I’m going with this.

So here is what I realized: I was using the idea of a paid gathering of like-minded people to hide behind how odd or uncomfortable it might feel to invite my friends into my own spiritual practice because I was afraid of being looked at as weird or crazy. It was easier to pay for something in which I knew that everyone there would be like me than actually to risk being me in front of people who might actually not read tarot cards or whisper wishes of success into a smoke blend of kitchen herbs.

It’s one of the very reasons a lot of us turn to this community on social media: there’s a low barrier to entry, and the risk of being judged can be mitigated by unfollowing or blocking (or for some, turning into an insufferable internet troll).

It’s also why I continued to feel empty after leaving those classes. I was putting unrealistic expectations of friendship and spiritual community on a paid session meant for information exchange.

I’ve also only just realized any of this by writing about it all during the month of July. Isn’t the power of tarot neat? So you’re actually in the middle of watching me process all this in real time.

The only solution I can see is to follow my own advice. Come down from the mountain, burn my concept of idols, meet people on the same ground that I stand on, make sure my cup is full, and then invite them in. The worst thing that could happen is that it’s not a fit, that they think I’m weird, or that it’s just not their vibe. And them having any of those feelings is actually okay. I also know that if I’ve done the work on myself and my cup is actually full, that I can trust myself enough to invite the right people in. And you should, too.

Before the Aquarius moon on the 29th, decide on a location.

What is it that they say, “Be the change…” Sometimes you have to be the one to extend the invitation rather than wait to be invited by someone else. I say this as someone who has spent many therapy sessions asking why no one ever invites me to anything.

I’ll be doing this too, clumsily, and as an introvert who still needs connection anyway.

Bring your matching cup.

xo,
Chad

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