Magical places call you. One doesn’t exactly arrive, the air just starts to change. Light dances through branches, birds flutter by happily, life radiates. The road to healing often leads to a happy home near a forest off the beaten path where the troubles of civilization melt away. Somewhere kept secret unless you know the way in your heart. With gardens tended by witches seeking growth and peace that not only fill your belly but ease your sorrows and pain. Honey flows from hives with happy bees harvesting medicinal pollen. Sweat Lodge, hot tub, salt room and sauna purify the bodies and minds of all who visit. Pools teem with life. Various farm and woodland animals scurry, dash, and parade through. No one sure if which is owned by whom or nature or maybe, that cat is not a familiar it’s a shapeshifting elder. Doesn’t matter really because the dogs and cats know who's who. It's their job to keep guard. Cat on the top of a yurt goddess temple. Dog next to the chicken coop. Pack of puppies who sound the alarm at anyone they don’t know and attack lick anyone they do. The Apiary, the solar panel guy, all the events support people that feel like family. Magical places resonate into existence. They are not exactly built. Drumbeats tell you the way. Resources and people manifest to create a time and place of unity being called by the ether. Buildings and stages are erected on weekends. Orchard planted by a youth group. Seeds tended by college students here for the semester or a lifetime, who knows yet. Water flows from upcycled rain catchment barrels to feed the community. Outdoor hearth and bonfire pits light the way to warmth. Trellises wound with dreams of flowers and fruit. Tiny houses, cabins and trailers scattered in alcoves invite those seeking rest to stay. Or maybe it’s the art the draws you in. Sculptures and dreamcatchers, paintings and carvings, windchimes that are mobiles that sound so heavenly you're sure fairies are born under them on the new moon. Little specks of life manifest light into darkness. Butterflies swarm a bush you know is invasive, but nobody wants to kill it. The community room is always open and full of the scent of smudge, usually having someone present painting, doing yoga or practicing for a show. Campers trickle in on weekends and pour in for festivals and sometimes just stay, knowing they found home. The kitchen spirit wafts through the air. Warm sweet fresh savory herbal funky scents always calling to you with an empty bowl from an industrial dishwasher that is always going. Everywhere seems like a place to be filled. Especially the fermentation room where no one really checks the alcohol level of the kombucha, and it never runs out. Plants grow everywhere. Windows, skylights, niches and grow rooms are filled with beautiful leaves, nutritious sprouts, and medicines from around the world. Citrus, mango, and avocado grow in the sunroom that also provides light therapy for anyone that needs it. Beauty, healing, growth, light, sound, mystery, creation. If a mother goddess of hearth, home, healing, abundance, and life could manifest as a place, it is this.
