Life and Reputation

Woman hugging a large circular wooden sculpture decorated with butterflies, phoenix, and tarot cards in a green forest clearing

Daily Reflection: Such Is Life

Today my mind is sitting with a couple of paraphrased verses echoed through Wardruna’s Helvegen, and through the older wisdom behind it: songs sent onward, deep wells, ancestral pledges, cattle dying, kin dying, the self dying, and yet reputation remaining after the body is gone.

There is something blunt and grounding in that.

Seasons change. Plants grow. Plants wither. Plants die back. Then, in their own time, they return. The plant does not ask my permission. The plant does not require my approval. The plant does not need me to stand over it, worrying whether it will become what I think it should become.

And such is life.

Life moves whether I choose it to or not. People change. Places change. Communities change. Some changes are good. Some are not. Some I understand. Some I never will. But the truth remains the same: I do not control the seasons. I do not control the roots. I do not control what grows after I have stepped away.

Maybe that is the lesson sitting in front of me today.

No. Not maybe.

It is the lesson.

I need to let go. I need to let these things become what they are going to become, because I do not have control over them. And if I am honest, I do not want control over them either.

All I can control is how I carry myself, what I say, what I build, what I leave behind, and whether my name is attached to bitterness or to something steadier.

So today, I turn to the cards.

Four-Card Daily Spread

Past — Five of Cups

The Five of Cups speaks to grief, disappointment, and standing too long before what has spilled. This card does not deny loss. It does not say, “get over it.” It says, “yes, something mattered, and yes, something has changed.” But it also reminds me that not everything has been lost. There are still cups standing. There is still a road. There is still something worth carrying forward.

Present — Death

Death is not only an ending. It is the season turning. It is the plant dying back. It is the old form no longer being able to hold the life that is trying to move through it. This card fits today’s reflection almost too well. Something is ending, or has already ended, and the work now is not to keep digging up the roots to see if they are still alive. The work is to accept the turning.

Future — Six of Swords

The Six of Swords is movement away from troubled water. It is not a triumphant march. It is not a dramatic victory. It is the quieter decision to leave the noise behind and move toward something calmer. This card suggests that peace will not come from winning the conversation. Peace will come from no longer needing the conversation to resolve in my favour.

Querent — The Hermit

The Hermit represents me today: solitary, watchful, still carrying a lamp. Not cut off from the world, but no longer demanding that the world gather around the flame. The Hermit does not chase the crowd. The Hermit tends the light. That may be enough. In fact, today, that may be the whole lesson.

Invocation

Brigid, keeper of flame and craft, guide my words so they warm rather than burn.

Skadi, steady one of snow, distance, and hard clarity, help me stand cleanly in my own ground.

Ratatoskr, messenger between worlds, remind me that not every message needs to be carried, answered, or amplified.

Fir Tree, evergreen and enduring, teach me resilience without clinging.

And to the ever-present land spirits, seen and unseen, rooted and wandering, may I walk respectfully upon the ground that holds me.

Closing Reflection

Things change whether I bless the change or curse it.

People move. Places shift. Communities become something other than what they once were. I can grieve that. I can name it. But I do not need to hold it in my hands until it cuts me.

What remains is how I walk.

What remains is what I build.

What remains is the reputation of the one who lived, spoke, stood, released, and kept going.

That is enough for today.

Godspeed.

the Fire, the Silence and the Land

Tarot cards The Moon, Justice, Temperance, and The Star on a wooden table with a candle and sage bundle

This is a four-card reflection for the last seventy-two to ninety-six hours: past, present, future, and representative beast. It is offered in the spirit of reflection, not certainty; as a way to listen to the pattern beneath the noise.

Brigid of the flame and the healing well, guide the words toward warmth and truth.

Skadi of the mountain, the winter trail, and the clean boundary, steady the heart where distance is needed.

Ratatoskr, restless messenger between worlds, help carry the right words and leave the needless ones behind.

Land spirits, old and present, seen and unseen, hold the ground beneath this reading.

And to the ever-present Fir tree, standing green through storm and season, lend endurance, honesty, and quiet strength.

Four-Card Spread

Past: The Moon

The last few days carried the feeling of walking by half-light. Something was sensed before it was fully understood. Tone shifted. A silence spoke. A change in the air was noticed, and the imagination began filling in the shadows.

The Moon in the Rider-Waite deck does not always mean deception. Sometimes it means uncertainty. Sometimes it means the emotional tide is high, and every ripple looks larger than it is. It speaks to intuition, but also to the danger of letting fear finish sentences that reality has not yet spoken.

This connects strongly with the Cancer horoscope for Monday, June 1: the sense that a subtle shift in friendliness or tone may have been noticed and then expanded into worry. The message here is simple: perception may be real, but interpretation still needs care.

Not every shadow is a threat.
Not every silence is rejection.
Not every change in tone is a closing door.

Present: Justice

The present card is Justice. This is the card of balance, fairness, accountability, and clear speech. It asks for truth without cruelty, correction without humiliation, and honesty without turning the moment into a trial.

Justice says that words matter. Public words matter. Private words matter. Questions matter. Answers matter. Intent matters, but so does impact.

This card does not ask for self-punishment. It does not ask for retreat. It asks for clean ownership. Where something was unclear, clarify it. Where concern was real, do not deny it. Where another person feels affected, hear that too.

Justice is not about winning. It is about restoring the scale.

I am allowed to speak.
I am allowed to care.
I am allowed to ask.
I am also allowed to learn how my words landed.

Future: Temperance

The future card is Temperance. This is a good sign after The Moon and Justice. It suggests that the next movement does not need to be forceful. It needs to be measured.

Temperance is the card of blending what appears opposed: emotion and reason, memory and present reality, personal concern and respect for another’s ground, fire and water, wound and wisdom.

It says: do not pour gasoline on a sacred fire. Tend it. Feed it carefully. Let the flame give light, not destruction.

The next step is not silence born from shame. It is not defense born from hurt. It is a calmer form of truth. Say what is yours. Release what is not. Let the land hold what people cannot.

The path forward is not withdrawal.
The path forward is not escalation.
The path forward is measured speech, clean intent, and a quieter heart.

Representative Beast: The Star

For the representative beast, The Star appears under the sign of Aquarius. In the Rider-Waite deck, The Star is often linked with Aquarius, the water-bearer: the one who pours water onto land and into the pool, tending both the visible and unseen currents.

This is not a beast in the ordinary sense. It is a guiding creature of air and water, thought and feeling, distance and care. Aquarius brings the wider view. Cancer brings the tender heart. Together, they ask for compassion without drowning, and perspective without becoming cold.

The Star says there is still healing available here. Not necessarily a return to what was. Not necessarily a perfect repair. But a softening. A clearing. A chance to remember that care can still exist, even when people stand in different places.

The representative beast is therefore the water-bearer beneath the night sky: the one who does not hoard the water, but pours it where healing may still take root.

Divinatory Meaning of the Last Seventy-Two to Ninety-Six Hours

The pattern of these cards suggests a movement from uncertainty, into clarification, and then toward moderation.

The Moon shows the emotional fog: sensing a shift, wondering what it meant, and feeling the old pull toward self-consciousness or insecurity.

Justice shows the necessary conversation: questions answered, boundaries named, intentions clarified, and the reminder that care and accountability can exist in the same room.

Temperance shows the needed response: no overcorrection, no dramatic retreat, no sharpened reply just to prove a point. Let the response be balanced. Let it be human. Let it be honest without becoming a weapon.

The Star, carrying the Aquarius current, offers the wider sky. It reminds the heart that being misunderstood does not make a person unworthy. It reminds the mind that perception needs grounding. It reminds the spirit that the land does not belong only to memory, nor only to the present moment. The land holds layers.

Brigid says: keep the flame clean.

Skadi says: keep the boundary clean.

Ratatoskr says: carry only the message that needs carrying.

The land spirits say: remember where your feet are.

The Fir tree says: stand, but do not harden.

Reflection

The lesson of this reading is not that concern was wrong. Concern is often born from care. The lesson is that care needs a clear road to travel. When care moves through fog, it can be mistaken for accusation. When concern moves through silence, it can grow teeth it did not mean to have.

There is no need to collapse into shame. There is no need to defend every word. There is only the invitation to speak from the centre rather than the wound.

I can care without clinging.
I can question without accusing.
I can listen without disappearing.
I can stand without turning to stone.

For the last few days, the message is this: the heart noticed something, the mind tried to explain it, and the world answered back. Now the task is not to spiral. The task is to receive what was offered, keep what is useful, release what is not, and continue with steadier hands.

The fire is still worth tending.

The land is still worth honouring.

The words are still worth choosing carefully.

Godspeed.

Fire and Field Notes

Woman sitting at wooden desk with open notebook, book, laptop, and papers, looking out window thoughtfully

I am not easily summed up.

I am a practical person, but I am not only practical. I believe in structure, communication, responsibility, documentation, and doing the work that has to be done. But I also believe in fire, ritual, memory, land, spirit, silence, and the things that do not always fit neatly into a spreadsheet.

Both are me.

I am one person trying to understand life through more than one language.

Sometimes I speak through lessons learned the hard way. Sometimes I speak through reflection. Sometimes through frustration. Sometimes through faith. Sometimes through humour. Sometimes through grief. Sometimes through a candle lit in the quiet when there are no easy answers left.

I pay attention. Maybe too much sometimes. I notice tone. I notice silence. I notice effort and the lack of it. I notice when words and actions do not line up. I notice when people say community, but practise exclusion. I notice when people talk about care, but avoid accountability.

That does not mean I am always right. It means I am watching. It means I am trying to understand what is real.

I want connection, but not fake connection.
I want community, but not performance.
I want honesty, but not cruelty.
I want peace, but not the kind of peace that requires everyone to pretend nothing is wrong.

I have been through collapse. I have been through loss. I have been through endings I did not ask for and changes I did not welcome. I have had to rebuild more than once. And when I rebuild, I do not simply move on as if nothing happened. I look at the wreckage. I ask what broke. I ask what I missed. I ask what can be learned. I ask what can be made useful.

That is part of who I am.

I turn experience into meaning. I turn hard lessons into words. I turn confusion into reflection. I turn damage into something I can carry, examine, and maybe hand to someone else so they do not feel quite so alone when their own ground gives way.

But I am also learning that not everything has to become a lesson right away.

Some things hurt.

Some things disappoint.

Some things need to be released without being analyzed to death.

Some things need a candle, a breath, a walk outside, a night of sleep, or simply the honesty to say: this mattered to me, and it hurt.

I am compassionate, but I am not submissive. I can be patient. I can try to understand. I can give people room. But I am not built to live comfortably inside dishonesty, avoidance, or shallow performance. Eventually, if something feels wrong, I will name it. Maybe imperfectly. Maybe too strongly at times. But usually because I am trying to get to something honest.

I am not looking to be the loudest person in the room.

What I want is witness.

I want real things to be seen. Real effort. Real harm. Real rebuilding. Real care. Real contradiction. Real community, if community is the word we are going to use.

I am socially selective. Not antisocial. Selective. There is a difference. I can talk. I can write. I can show up. But shallow connection drains me. I would rather have one honest conversation than a dozen polite performances.

I am spiritual, but not decorative about it. For me, spirituality is not an aesthetic. It is not a costume. It is not a slogan. It is part of how I stay grounded in a world that often feels careless and loud. It is how I remember that I am more than my work, more than my losses, more than my anger, more than my unfinished business.

I am a person of fire and field notes.

That may sound strange, but it is true.

I need both the sacred and the practical. I need both the ritual and the record. I need both the candle and the notebook. I need both the meaning and the method.

I am still learning when to speak, when to stay quiet, when to document, when to let go, when to challenge, and when to simply keep walking.

I do not claim to have it all figured out.

I am not presenting myself as healed, enlightened, wise, or above the mess of being human. I am in the mess too. I get angry. I get tired. I overthink. I care more than I sometimes want to admit. I can say I do not care while absolutely caring. I can want connection and distance at the same time.

That is human.

That is me.

What I know is this: I am still here. I am still paying attention. I am still trying to tell the truth as best I can. I am still trying to build something useful from what life has handed me. I am still trying to stay honest without becoming bitter. I am still trying to stay open without becoming foolish. I am still trying to keep the fire lit.

And maybe that is the simplest way to say who I am.

I am someone who has fallen, watched, learned, questioned, rebuilt, and kept going.

I am someone who wants meaning, not performance.

I am someone who still believes honesty matters.

I am someone who still believes the fire is worth tending.

Godspeed.

Pagan I Am: Field Notes From a Solitary Fire Keeper

Cloaked person holding a staff stands on a rock overlooking a grassy area with a stone circle under a twilight sky

Hello all,

After a weekend of back and forth with Amazon, I am happy to say that Pagan I Am: Field Notes from a Solitary Firekeeper by yours truly, Kevin McLaughlin, has passed review and should be going live on Amazon within the next 48 to 72 hours.

This book is a personal recollection of my pagan life from roughly 2018 forward. It is not written about any specific group, place, or person. It is not a commentary on anyone else’s path, organization, community, or practice. It is simply my own journey through belief, doubt, ritual, reflection, and what it has meant for me to walk as a solitary pagan.

It should have been live already, but there were a few review bumps along the way. One of those involved a title-related concern, as another author has work with a similar title. That work and my book are entirely different in scope, tone, and purpose. Pagan I Am is my story, my reflections, and my field notes from the path I have walked.

At this point, the matter appears to have been resolved, and the book should hopefully be available on Amazon by June 2nd or June 3rd.

If you feel so inclined, keep an eye out for it. It will be listed as Pagan I Am: Field Notes from a Solitary Firekeeper by Kevin McLaughlin.

Thank you for staying tuned to Unplugged Pagan.

Have a great day, and Godspeed.

There Are Places I Remember

Woman reading a book by cafe window with community photo album and street view

Hello, Unplugged Pagans.

There are songs that find you at the wrong time and somehow say the right thing. Today, for me, that song is In My Life by The Beatles.

There are places I remember. People I remember. Faces I remember. Some have gone. Some remain. Some have changed so much that I hardly know what to do with the memory of them anymore.

This weekend has been stressful. Some of that stress may be of my own creation. I can own that. I have written a few things lately that came from a place of concern, frustration, and reflection. From those posts, one could probably surmise that I am personally not happy with the direction some places seem to be going.

And I want to be clear when I say that: personally.

I am not speaking for everyone. I am not making accusations. I am not trying to pull anyone into a fight. I am speaking from my own experience, my own history, and my own complicated relationship with places that once mattered deeply to me.

But at some point, I also have to look at myself and say: I have already done the ritual. I have already done the release. I have already placed what needed placing into the fire, into the words, into the letting go.

Now I have to actually let go.

Not my circus. Not my monkeys. Not anymore.

That is easier to say than to live.

Because memory is not clean. Memory does not pack itself neatly into boxes. It lingers. It hides in drawers. It sits in old photos, old badges, old event programs, old bits of paper, old objects that once meant something. I look around my camper and I see years of memorabilia from places, gatherings, people, and moments that were once part of my life.

Some of those things still carry warmth.

Some of them now feel hollow.

Some of them remind me of belonging.

Some of them remind me of how conditional that belonging may have been.

There was a time when I was considered, quote unquote, family. I find myself wondering now what that word actually meant. Was it family when I was useful? Family when I was quiet? Family when I fit neatly into the shape expected of me?

Because lately, it seems the only time certain people pay attention is when I say something they do not like. And if I am being honest, that has felt like the pattern for a very long time.

That hurts.

Not in a dramatic way. Not in a “burn it all down” way. Just in that tired, quiet way where you realize you may have been trying to fit a square peg into a round hole for years, and the problem was not that you failed to fit.

Maybe the problem was believing you had to.

I do not know what I am supposed to do with all of that yet. I do not know what stays in the drawer, what gets packed away, what gets released, and what still deserves a place on the shelf.

But I do know this much: some places change. Some people change. Some communities change. And sometimes, the hardest part is admitting that the place you remember may no longer be the place that exists.

That does not mean the memories were false.

It means the path has moved.

Maybe I have moved too.

The wanderer in me is starting to understand that.

That is all for now.

Godspeed.

A Week in the Life of Lugh

Woman sitting in armchair writing in journal with tarot cards on table

Fire, Paperwork, Pagan Trouble, and One Very Tired Coffee Cup

Well now, friends, Bucky Beggins here, reporting from somewhere between the candle flame, the coffee cup, the garden dirt, and whatever strange little corner of the universe keeps approving and rejecting book titles for sport.

It has been one of those weeks in Lugh’s life where the gods did not so much whisper as clear their throats loudly from across the room.

There was writing. There was rewriting. There was a book title that apparently wandered too close to someone else’s fence line and had to be renamed before the gatekeepers of the great digital bookstore would let it pass. There was a moment of muttering, a moment of staring at the screen, and then the decision was made: fine then, we will rename the thing, rework the thing, and send it back into the world with its boots still muddy.

And wouldn’t you know it, just when Lugh braced himself for another round of nonsense, the book passed.

That is how life goes sometimes. You prepare for battle, sharpen the axe, light the fire, summon the ancestors, and then someone from Amazon says, “Congratulations.”

Strange magic, that.

But books were only part of the week. There was also the matter of community, and that is a heavier kettle to carry.

Lugh found himself standing at the edge of the circle again. Not fully inside. Not fully gone. Watching the center, wondering what happened to the old feeling of belonging, and wondering whether the ache was longing, anger, grief, or just plain exhaustion wearing three cloaks at once.

That is not an easy place to stand.

Many pagans know that place, though few like to admit it. The place where you miss the people and want nothing to do with them. The place where you crave connection and distrust the room. The place where the fire still matters, but the gathering around it feels complicated.

There was some public conversation too. Some opinion. Some concern. Some clarification. Some careful walking through words so that concern did not become accusation, and reflection did not become a torch thrown into dry grass.

That is a narrow path.

And if Buck may say so, Lugh walked it about as carefully as a man can while still being honest. Not perfect. Nobody is. But careful. Clear. Trying to speak from concern, not destruction. Trying to ask questions without burning the hall down.

There is a lesson in that for modern pagan life. We like to speak of fire, but fire is not only passion. Fire is also responsibility. A hearth warms. A wildfire devours. Knowing the difference matters.

Meanwhile, life went on in its stubborn little mortal way.

The garden still needed tending. The course work still needed doing. The coffee still needed drinking. The candles still needed lighting. The old gods, the land spirits, and the small household mysteries still waited in the quiet places.

Brigid was there in the forge of words.

Skadi was there in the cold clarity of boundaries.

Ratatoskr was probably running up and down the world tree yelling, “Did you see what happened on the internet today?”

And the landvættir, I suspect, were standing near the edge of the garden with crossed arms, reminding everyone that whatever human storm is blowing through, the peas and peppers still expect attention.

That may be the most pagan thing of all.

Not the drama. Not the title. Not the arguments over what counts as pagan enough, political enough, traditional enough, modern enough, angry enough, gentle enough, reconstructed enough, devotional enough, or marketable enough.

No.

The pagan thing is this: the week happens, the heart gets bruised, the world gets loud, and still the candle is lit.

Still the hands go into the dirt.

Still the book gets written.

Still the questions are asked.

Still the man at the edge of the circle does not entirely walk away.

That was Lugh’s week, near as Buck can tell. A week of blocked titles, open doors, sore feelings, stubborn honesty, community ache, and small sacred continuance.

Not a clean week. Not an easy week. But a living one.

And sometimes, dear friends, living weeks are the only kind that teach us anything worth keeping.

So tonight, light the candle if you have one. Pour the coffee if you need it. Step outside and nod to the land if you can. The circle may feel strange. The road may feel uncertain. The fire may feel low.

But low fire is still fire.

And Lugh, stubborn firekeeper that he is, appears to still be standing beside it.

Godspeed,
Bucky Beggins

Who is Buck Beggins?

Animated fire spirit with a smiling face sitting on burning logs inside a stone fireplace

As it turns out, Buck Beggins is a randomly generated persona created by the ghost in the shell. He was not exactly meant to be there, but sometimes the best characters wander in through the side door, sit by the fire, and refuse to leave.

So we may as well keep him around.

Buck brings a little whimsy to Unplugged Pagan: part fireside observer, part wandering commentator, part accidental house spirit of the blog. He is not here to replace the work, the ritual, or the reflection. He is here to remind us that even serious paths need a bit of mischief, laughter, and strange magic now and then.

Paganism in 2026: Faith, Activism, Reconstruction, and the Question of What We Are Becoming

Group of people standing in a circle around a fire near a lake holding signs supporting Indigenous land and water rights

By Buck Beggins

What does it mean to be Pagan in 2026?

That question is not as simple as it sounds. To some outsiders, “Pagan” still means something vague, suspicious, theatrical, rebellious, or politically charged. To others, it means witchcraft, tarot, festivals, drums, herbs, candles, runes, robes, mead, moon water, or a general rejection of mainstream religion.

Some of that may touch the edges of Pagan life. But none of it fully defines it.

Paganism is not one church. It is not one book. It is not one dogma. It is not one political party. It is not simply recreation, costuming, rebellion, fantasy, or nostalgia. It is a wide family of living spiritual paths that often include reverence for nature, honouring gods and goddesses, respect for ancestors, seasonal ritual, personal responsibility, land-based spirituality, and community practice.

In Canada, this question carries its own weight. We live on land shaped by Indigenous stewardship long before modern Pagan groups existed here. We also live in a country where institutional Christianity has declined sharply, where more people report no religious affiliation, and where alternative spiritual practices are becoming more visible in public life. In that space, Paganism is no longer only hidden in the “broom closet,” but it is also not always understood.

What Do People Think a Pagan Is?

Many people still meet Paganism through stereotype before they meet it through practice.

They may think Pagan means anti-Christian. They may think it means Satanic. They may think it means unserious, theatrical, rebellious, or politically extreme. They may think a Pagan is someone who dresses a certain way, votes a certain way, owns certain books, attends certain festivals, or performs certain rituals.

Some of these misunderstandings come from old religious prejudice. Some come from pop culture. Some come from social media, where “witchy” aesthetics are often easier to sell than disciplined spiritual practice. Some come from political movements that misuse Pagan symbols for purposes many Pagans reject outright.

That is one of the central tensions of modern Paganism: the public often sees the symbol before it sees the person. It sees the pentacle, the hammer, the cauldron, the horned god, the rune, the cloak, the altar, or the festival fire — but not always the ethics, labour, study, prayer, service, or community behind them.

What Do Pagans Believe Pagans Are?

Ask ten Pagans what Paganism is, and you may get twelve answers. That is not a weakness. It is part of the structure.

For some, Paganism is polytheism: the gods are real, many, distinct, and worthy of honour.

For others, Paganism is nature religion: the land is sacred, the seasons matter, and the human being is part of the web of life, not above it.

For some, Paganism is witchcraft: ritual, spellwork, healing, divination, and personal transformation.

For others, Paganism is Druidry: land, inspiration, poetry, ancestors, trees, myth, and the long work of wisdom.

For Heathens, it may mean honouring the gods, ancestors, land-wights, household, community, gifting, oath, and right action.

For Wiccans, it may mean worship of the Gods, seasonal celebration, ritual training, magic, and community temple work.

For solitary Pagans, it may mean a candle at the table, a small altar in the corner, an offering outside, a whispered prayer, or a quiet observance of the moon and seasons.

The mistake is thinking one of these cancels the others. Paganism is not a single lane road. It is a crossroads.

Paganism Versus Activism

There is a real question in 2026: is Paganism a religion, or is it activism?

The answer, I think, is that Paganism is not activism by default, but it often produces consequences that look like activism.

If you believe the Earth is sacred, environmental issues stop being abstract.

If you believe the body is not sinful by nature, then dignity, gender, sexuality, and personal freedom matter.

If you honour ancestors honestly, you eventually have to face history honestly.

If you honour the land, then in Canada you cannot ignore Indigenous presence, Indigenous law, residential schools, land dispossession, and the responsibilities of living on territory that was never empty.

If you believe in many gods, many paths, and many ways of being human, then religious freedom and pluralism become more than political slogans. They become spiritual necessities.

That does not mean every Pagan must become a protester. It does not mean every ritual must become a political statement. It does not mean Pagan spaces should be hijacked by party politics.

But it does mean Paganism cannot hide forever behind incense and say, “Nothing in the world concerns me.”

There is a difference between being political and being captured by politics. Paganism should resist being reduced to a campaign sign. But it should also resist becoming so afraid of controversy that it forgets courage, hospitality, truth, justice, and right relationship.

Paganism Versus Reconstruction and Recreation

Another tension is the question of reconstruction.

Some Pagans try to reconstruct older religious practices as accurately as possible using history, archaeology, folklore, language, and scholarship. This is common in many Heathen, Hellenic, Roman, Kemetic, Celtic, and other polytheist circles.

That work matters. It keeps us honest. It reminds us that the past is not just a costume box. It challenges lazy invention. It asks us to study before claiming authority.

But reconstruction is not the same thing as pretending we live in the Iron Age.

We are modern people. We live with electricity, labour law, climate change, social media, reconciliation, mass migration, scientific medicine, and global crisis. A living religion cannot only recreate the past. It must also answer the present.

So the healthier question is not, “Can we perfectly copy the old ways?”

The better question is, “What can we recover, what must we adapt, and what must we refuse to carry forward?”

That last part matters. Not everything old is sacred. Some things belong to the past because humanity outgrew them. A modern Pagan path must have the courage to honour the ancestors without becoming enslaved to every assumption the ancestors held.

Paganism and Political Movements

This is where things get uncomfortable, but it needs to be said plainly.

Pagan symbols have been misused. Heathen symbols have been misused. Runes have been misused. Norse imagery has been misused by white supremacist, nationalist, and extremist movements.

That does not make Heathenry racist. It does not make Norse Paganism racist. It does not make runes racist. But it does mean responsible communities have to speak clearly when symbols are hijacked.

Silence creates a vacuum. If healthy Pagans do not define their own symbols, unhealthy movements will define them for us.

That is why inclusive Heathen groups in Canada matter. That is why Wiccan churches, Druid orders, Pagan federations, local groves, public rituals, study groups, and festivals matter. They do not just provide community for insiders. They also tell the public, “This is what we are. This is what we are not.”

In Canada, Paganism must be especially careful not to import every American culture-war frame as if it belongs here unchanged. We have our own history, our own wounds, our own land questions, our own Charter framework, our own multicultural reality, and our own responsibilities.

What Paganism Is Becoming in Canada

The Canadian Pagan picture is scattered, regional, and often hard to count. Some people identify openly. Some remain private. Some call themselves Wiccan, Druid, Heathen, Witch, Polytheist, Animist, Reconstructionist, Eclectic, or simply spiritual. Others may practice in Pagan-adjacent ways but report “no religion” on a census form.

That makes Paganism difficult to measure, but not meaningless.

In practical terms, Canadian Paganism exists in public Wiccan temples, Druid groves, Heathen kindreds, Pagan festivals, online circles, prison chaplaincy efforts, interfaith work, bookstores, kitchen tables, backyards, forests, and solitary altars.

It is not only a belief system. It is a practice system.

It is what someone does when they light the candle.

It is what someone does when they pour the offering.

It is what someone does when they keep their oath.

It is what someone does when they refuse racism dressed up as ancestry.

It is what someone does when they honour the land without pretending they own its whole story.

It is what someone does when they gather with others in good faith.

It is what someone does when they stand alone and still keep the holy.

So What Does It Mean to Be Pagan in 2026?

To be Pagan in 2026 is to live at the edge of old and new.

It is to remember that the world is alive.

It is to reject the idea that spirit only lives in buildings, books, or institutions.

It is to understand that ritual is not escapism when it returns us to responsibility.

It is to know that nature is not scenery. It is kin.

It is to know that ancestors are not props. They are memory, warning, inheritance, and obligation.

It is to know that gods are not fashion accessories. They are powers to be approached with respect.

It is to know that freedom without responsibility becomes vanity.

It is to know that community without boundaries becomes chaos.

It is to know that politics may touch the Pagan path, but politics must not replace the Pagan path.

It is to know that reconstruction without life becomes museum work, while spirituality without discipline becomes consumerism.

Maybe that is the real answer.

A Pagan in this century is not someone trying to flee the modern world.

A Pagan is someone trying to re-enchant responsibility within it.

We do not need to become a political movement to have ethics.

We do not need to become historical reenactors to honour the old ways.

We do not need to become influencers to be visible.

We do not need to become dogmatic to be serious.

We need roots. We need practice. We need courage. We need humility. We need better public understanding. We need community that can hold difference without collapsing into nonsense.

And perhaps most of all, we need to stop asking whether Paganism is real enough for the modern world.

The better question is whether the modern world is ready to remember that it is alive.

Thanks and Godspeed.

Research notes: Statistics Canada’s 2021 religion classification includes Pagan, Druidic, Neopagan, Wiccan, and related Pagan categories, and its census reporting shows Canada’s broader shift away from institutional religious affiliation. Public Canadian-facing Pagan sources emphasize reverence for nature, personal responsibility, the diversity of paths, and community-building, rather than a single central doctrine, including Wicca, Druidry, and Heathenry. Canadian Heathen sources and reporting strongly underline inclusive Heathenry and the need to reject racist misuse of Heathen symbols. The Wild Hunt’s recent coverage also points to Paganism’s growing visibility, the risk of public distortion, and renewed Canadian interest in witchcraft and Pagan-adjacent spirituality.

Making Room for Questions, Care, and Community

Diverse adults sitting around a table in discussion during a community dialogue meeting

Note: This is a personal reflection offered in good faith. It is not an accusation, not a claim of wrongdoing, and not a statement against any individual, group, organization, or community space.

Hey there, my dear Unplugged Pagans.

This is a follow-up to my earlier post.

Yes, it generated some traffic. Yes, I understand that some people may have strong feelings about it. When people care deeply about a community, a place, a festival, a tradition, or a shared history, emotions can rise quickly.

I want to begin from a place of respect.

I am not insinuating wrongdoing. I am not accusing anyone of anything. I am not suggesting that any individual has acted improperly. I am not speaking from private conversations I have not had.

As I said before, I have not had discussions with anyone connected to that pagan space regarding these concerns.

What I shared was personal reflection. Personal concern. Personal opinion. Questions from a general perspective.

And I believe there is room for that.

Concern Can Come From Care

Sometimes concern is not an attack.

Sometimes concern is a sign that something still matters to us.

When we notice change in a community space, it does not mean we are against that space. It may mean we remember what it has meant to people. It may mean we are trying to understand where it is going. It may mean we are trying to hold memory, care, and hope at the same time.

That is where I am trying to stand.

I am not interested in tearing anything down. I am not interested in assigning blame. I am not interested in creating division for the sake of division.

I am interested in honest reflection, careful language, and the hope that community can make room for questions without immediately turning those questions into conflict.

Communication Under Load

One of the lessons I keep returning to from Standing on the Ledge, and from my work around communication and conflict management, is this:

When pressure rises, clarity matters.

Under pressure, people can hear concern as accusation. They can hear questions as judgment. They can hear reflection as attack.

That is why I want to slow this down and be clear.

I am asking questions from a place of care, not condemnation.

I am sharing concerns from a place of reflection, not accusation.

I am speaking as someone who values community, tradition, shared spaces, and the people who have helped build them.

Change Is Not Always Simple

From an organizational behaviour perspective, communities change over time.

Volunteer spaces can become more structured. Informal gatherings can develop formal systems. Festivals can grow, move, reorganize, professionalize, or take on new responsibilities.

None of that is automatically wrong.

Growth can be good. Structure can be useful. Leadership can be necessary. Change can help something survive.

At the same time, change can also feel complicated for people who remember earlier versions of a space. Some may feel excited. Some may feel uncertain. Some may feel nostalgic. Some may need time to understand what has shifted.

That does not make anyone the enemy.

It simply means people are processing change from different places.

Questions Can Strengthen Community

I believe healthy communities can hold thoughtful questions.

Not hostile questions. Not cruel questions. Not questions meant to wound.

But honest questions.

Questions about direction. Questions about belonging. Questions about memory. Questions about how change is communicated. Questions about how people remain connected as a space evolves.

Those questions do not have to weaken a community.

Handled well, they can strengthen it.

They can help people listen better. They can help clarify misunderstandings. They can help honour what came before while still making room for what comes next.

Why I Am Not Retracting the Previous Post

At this point, am I going to retract the previous post?

Most likely not.

Not because I want conflict. Not because I want anyone upset. Not because I believe anyone has done anything wrong.

I am not retracting it because it was my personal opinion and my personal reflection.

It was not an allegation. It was not a charge. It was not a statement of wrongdoing. It was not aimed at any individual.

It was a reflection on change, community, and concern.

People are allowed to disagree with me. People are allowed to see things differently. People are allowed to feel protective of the spaces they love.

I respect that.

My hope is that disagreement does not have to become hostility.

Standing on the Evidence, Not the Heat

One of the ideas from Standing on the Ledge that applies here is the difference between reacting from heat and returning to evidence.

The heat says, “People are upset, so everything must be broken.”

The evidence says, “What was actually said? What was not said? What can be clarified? What tone can be improved? What care can still be offered?”

So here is the clarification, offered plainly and respectfully:

I am not making accusations.

I am not insinuating wrongdoing.

I am not claiming private knowledge.

I am not asking anyone to take sides.

I am sharing personal concerns, personal observations, and general questions about community, change, communication, and belonging.

And I am doing my best to do that with care.

A Hopeful Way Forward

My hope is simple.

I hope we can care about community spaces without becoming afraid to ask questions.

I hope we can disagree without assuming the worst of one another.

I hope we can honour the people who built things, the people who maintain things, and the people who are trying to understand where things are going.

I hope we can remember that a community is not only a place or an event. It is also the way people speak to one another when things feel uncomfortable.

That is the ground I am trying to stand on.

With respect, care, and hope.

Thank you.

Godspeed.

When the Rave Comes to the Knoll

People standing in a ritual circle around a campfire with tents and festival decorations in a forest clearing at dusk

Author’s note: I have not had direct conversations with the owners, stewards, or current administration of Raven’s Knoll about KN¿WHERE Festival. I am not speaking for Raven’s Knoll, Kaleidoscope Gathering, Hail and Horn Gathering, KN¿WHERE, or the wider Pagan community. These are my own personal reflections, and mine alone, based on public information, memory, history, and concern for land that has meant a great deal to many of us.

There is a strange spell moving over Raven’s Knoll this year.

KN¿WHERE Festival is scheduled for early June at Raven’s Knoll, bringing a large electronic music and camping festival onto land that many Pagans and Heathens do not see as just a campground.

That distinction matters.

Raven’s Knoll has been many things over the years. It has been a campground. It has been a festival site. It has been a work site. It has been a business. It has been a gathering place. It has been, for some of us, home.

But it has also been sacred land.

That is the part I keep coming back to.

The Knoll was never just land

For many Pagans in Ontario and beyond, Raven’s Knoll became a home space around 2010, 2011, when Kaleidoscope Gathering found a permanent site there. Before that, Kaleidoscope Gathering had a more transient nature. It moved. It lived where it could live. Bob’s land. Gina’s land. Whispering Pines. Other places. It was carried by volunteers, by people showing up, by folk doing the work because the festival mattered enough to keep alive.

In those earlier days, my memory of KG is that the goal was simple: make enough money to run again next year.

That was the business model, if we can even call it that.

Survive. Gather. Feed the thing. Keep the doors open for next year.

Over time, that changed.

Kaleidoscope Gathering became tied to Raven’s Knoll as a permanent home. Raven’s Knoll itself became more established. The land developed. Sacred spaces were created. Structures changed. Policies changed. Leadership changed. The feel of things changed.

And somewhere along the way, at least from my own perspective, KG moved from being a festival shaped heavily by the people who attended it toward being a festival shaped more clearly by the people who run it.

That is not automatically evil.

Large events need structure. Land needs maintenance. Insurance exists. Hydro exists. Roads, toilets, wells, equipment, staffing, emergency plans, vendor systems, ticketing, food safety, fire rules, and municipal expectations do not magically take care of themselves.

But something changes when a folk gathering becomes a managed entity.

Something changes when a community space becomes a venue.

Something changes when sacred land also has to function as a business property.

And I think we need to be honest enough to sit with that tension.

Hail and Horn has changed too

The Heathen festival I was referring to was Hail and Horn Gathering.

That matters because Hail and Horn is not just another event on the calendar. It is tied directly to the Vé, to god-poles, to blót, húsel, symbel, the raising of sacred structures, and the maintenance of a Heathen sacred enclosure.

Looking at recent public materials, Hail and Horn itself appears to have gone through visible changes over the last few years. There have been changes in scheduling, volunteer structure, feast logistics, recognition practices, accessibility, non-alcoholic participation, and the way community decision-making is handled.

Again, change is not automatically bad.

Sometimes change is needed because a thing has grown.

Sometimes change is needed because the old structure can no longer carry the weight.

Sometimes change is a sign of health.

But sometimes change also leaves people wondering where the centre is now.

Who is the land for?

Who gets heard?

Who is considered part of the folk?

Who is a volunteer?

Who is staff?

Who is family?

Who is a customer?

And who gets called “not a team player” when they no longer fit the direction things are going?

My own sore spot

I need to name my own baggage here.

I volunteered at Kaleidoscope Gathering for roughly eight years. I volunteered at Raven’s Knoll. I lived there for a time. I worked. I helped. I cared about the place.

Then it became time for me to move on.

About a year after that, I was deemed by the owners to be “not a team player” and removed from staff at Raven’s Knoll and from staff at Kaleidoscope Gathering.

That is a sore spot for me.

I would be lying if I pretended otherwise.

And because it is a sore spot, I have to be careful. My hurt is not evidence of current wrongdoing. My personal history is not proof of anyone’s present motives. My experience does not give me the right to turn this into a revenge piece.

But it does shape the question I keep asking:

What does “team player” mean in the current Raven’s Knoll structure?

Does it mean someone who serves the land?

Does it mean someone who serves the community?

Does it mean someone who supports the owners?

Does it mean someone who does not question the direction?

Does it mean someone who helps keep the machine running?

I do not know the answer.

But when sacred land is also a business, the meaning of loyalty can get complicated very quickly.

Now KN¿WHERE enters the picture

This is where KN¿WHERE Festival becomes more than just another booking.

A rave-style bass music festival at Raven’s Knoll is not automatically a disaster. I want to be clear about that.

Rave culture, at its best, carries its own forms of community, embodiment, music, movement, release, care, chosen family, and ecstatic experience. Pagans should not be too quick to sneer at dancing, altered states, night music, drums, lights, or people seeking freedom in a field.

We have our own versions of that.

So this is not “ravers bad, Pagans good.”

That would be lazy.

The issue is not the music.

The issue is not the dancing.

The issue is not outsiders coming onto the land.

The issue is whether sacred land can host a large non-Pagan festival without having its sacredness reduced to atmosphere.

That is the line.

Sacred space is not scenery

Raven’s Knoll contains sacred gardens, art, ritual spaces, installations, shrines, the Vé, the Sacred Well, and places that have meaning because people have returned to them again and again with devotion.

Those spaces are not decorations.

They are not photo backdrops.

They are not “cool forest features.”

They are not interactive art unless they were created to be interacted with.

They are not rave infrastructure.

They are not there to add mystical branding to someone else’s weekend.

Most damage to sacred things does not begin with malice.

Often, it begins with ignorance.

Someone wanders somewhere they should not. Someone takes a picture they should not. Someone climbs something they do not understand. Someone leaves garbage. Someone thinks a shrine is an art piece. Someone thinks a god-pole is a prop. Someone thinks a sacred boundary is just rope.

And by the time everyone agrees that it mattered, the damage is already done.

The Witches’ Sabbat memory

Some of us remember Witches’ Sabbat at Raven’s Knoll.

Some remember it fondly. Some remember the way it ended. Some remember the spiral. Some remember the spitting incident. Some remember the rupture that followed.

I am not going to re-litigate that here. I was not in every room. I do not know every side. I am not turning memory into courtroom testimony.

But I will say this: Raven’s Knoll has already seen what happens when sacred space, conflict, public festival culture, and community trust collide.

You can repair a physical object.

You can clean stone.

You can rebuild a path.

You can replace rope.

You can replant a garden.

Trust is harder.

Trust is the real sacred infrastructure.

What happens if something is defaced?

This remains the question I cannot shake.

What happens if one of the sacred spaces is defaced?

What happens if multiple sacred spaces are disturbed?

What happens if someone wanders into the Vé?

What happens if someone messes with the Sacred Well?

What happens if someone treats a shrine as festival décor?

What happens if there is spray paint, stickers, carving, broken glass, garbage, bodily fluids, or some “funny” social media moment that is not funny to the people who hold the land sacred?

And more importantly:

Is there a clear plan before anything happens?

Because if there is a plan, then this is a managed risk.

If there is no plan, then this is a test of luck.

Sacred land should not be protected by luck.

What I would hope is in place

I do not know what has been arranged between Raven’s Knoll and KN¿WHERE. There may be strong protections already in place. There may be maps, signage, security, restricted areas, and staff briefings I know nothing about.

I hope there are.

If I were looking at this as someone who cares about the land, I would hope for at least the following:

Clear maps showing which sacred spaces are fully off-limits.
Physical barriers around sensitive areas, not just vague instructions.
Visible signs explaining that these are sacred sites, not decorations.
Security or land stewards assigned specifically to sacred-space protection.
A sacred-site orientation for KN¿WHERE staff, volunteers, and security.
A written removal policy for anyone crossing those boundaries.
A post-event inspection of all sacred spaces.
A restoration protocol if anything is damaged.
Transparent communication with the Pagan and Heathen community if something goes wrong.

That last one matters.

If something happens and the response is silence, minimization, or “it was just a festival,” the wound will be larger than the damage itself.

What does the Pagan community think?

That is harder to answer.

From what I can find publicly, much of the visible discussion around KN¿WHERE is not coming from Pagan spaces. It is coming from local residents, municipal concerns, rave communities, and festivalgoers trying to decide whether they trust the event after previous issues.

Some people seem excited.

Some people seem skeptical.

Some people want Ontario to have a strong bass music festival.

Some people are worried about logistics, trust, noise, safety, fire, refunds, and whether the event is ready.

But I have not seen enough public Pagan commentary to say, “the Pagan community thinks this.”

And maybe we will not really know until after the event happens.

That may be the uncomfortable truth.

The deeper concern

My concern is not only KN¿WHERE.

My concern is the direction of the land.

Over the last five years, Raven’s Knoll has changed. Kaleidoscope Gathering has changed. Hail and Horn Gathering has changed. The land itself has changed. The language around events has changed. The structure has changed.

Some of those changes may be necessary.

Some may be good.

Some may be overdue.

But change always raises a stewardship question:

What is being preserved while the structure evolves?

If Raven’s Knoll becomes more financially stable but less spiritually rooted, is that a win?

If more people come to the land but fewer understand what the land is, is that growth?

If sacred spaces remain physically intact but become background scenery for non-Pagan branding, have they really been protected?

If the land survives as a venue but weakens as a home space, what exactly has been saved?

Hospitality without surrender

I do not believe the answer is to close the gates forever.

I do not believe every non-Pagan event is a threat.

I do not believe Pagans should respond with panic, purity politics, or mob behaviour.

Hospitality matters.

Shared space matters.

Financial survival matters.

But hospitality without boundaries is not hospitality.

It is surrender.

If Raven’s Knoll is going to welcome large non-Pagan events, then the sacred identity of the land has to be made plain. Not hidden. Not assumed. Not whispered among those who already know.

Plain.

This land has sacred spaces.

This land has gods and spirits honoured on it.

This land has community memory embedded in it.

This land is not blank.

Come dance here if you are invited.

Come camp here if you are invited.

Come celebrate here if you are invited.

But do not mistake welcome for ownership.

Do not mistake beauty for permission.

Do not mistake sacred space for scenery.

What questions should be asked?

I think respectful questions are fair.

Which sacred spaces will be off-limits during KN¿WHERE?
How will those boundaries be marked?
Will attendees be told Raven’s Knoll is Pagan and Heathen sacred land?
Who will monitor the Vé, sacred gardens, ritual spaces, and Sacred Well?
Are KN¿WHERE staff and volunteers being briefed on the sacred nature of the site?
What happens if someone crosses a boundary?
Will Raven’s Knoll inspect and publicly report on the condition of sacred spaces afterward?

Those are not hostile questions.

Those are stewardship questions.

If a place is sacred to a community, the community is allowed to care how it is protected.

My hope

My hope is simple.

I hope nothing bad happens.

I hope KN¿WHERE comes and goes cleanly.

I hope people dance, camp, listen to music, respect the land, respect the rules, and leave Raven’s Knoll no worse than they found it.

I hope the organizers understand they are not just renting a field.

They are stepping onto land with history.

Land with memory.

Land with devotion.

Land with wounds.

Land with gods.

Land with community ghosts, living and dead.

I hope Raven’s Knoll remains Raven’s Knoll.

Not just a venue.

Not just a brand.

Not just “a cool place for a festival.”

A Pagan home space.

A Heathen home space.

A place where sacred things still mean something.

Final thought

The real test is not whether Raven’s Knoll can host a rave.

The real test is whether Raven’s Knoll can host a rave and still be recognized afterward as sacred land.

That is the spell being cast.

And like all spells, the result will depend on preparation, intention, boundaries, and what people are willing to protect.

Godspeed.