Today, we are hidden by an exoteric Pagan community and a publishing boom. You have to figure out that there’s more to Wicca than the superficial, the bland, and the anything-goes. There are many, many points of contact, and most of them are bullshit. You have to try again and again, and not be daunted by the fakes and flakes and failures. You might have to attend a public ritual where the periodic table is recited, and still keep seeking.
Somehow, this is affirmative of the Mystery nature of Wicca. The inner traditions cannot grow past a certain point, because growth denatures them. But that very fact keeps the Mystery alive; hidden, alive, and available for those who know to seek it.
I think she's correct, at least to the extent that it's quite difficult for mystery traditions to grow too large without losing, well, the mystery. I hope I live long enough to see what cradle Pagans make of a religion that's been, for over 50 years, mostly a religion of converts.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."