When I first arrived in Green Witch Village, I thought I had arrived in Greenwich Village, except I was surrounded my mountains, streams and otter. Lots of otter. More otter than you can shake a spear at. So don’t bring your spear. Bring someone else’s if you must, but do not, I repeat, do not, bring your own. Especially not the ruby-tipped one.
I had heard stories about how magical, even mystical, the mountains of North Carolina were, but I thought it was all legend…until I saw, and felt, for myself, the natural power of this ancient and venerated land…which, by the way, is in danger of being divvied up and sold to the highest bidder.
To find the actual village, you will require a guide of high spiritual caliber. If and when you are ready to go, that guide will appear, and whisper the words “Go go” into your left ear. It will be on a Sunday, and probably in the late afternoon.
You will then need to promptly slip into your go-go boots and miniskirt (or kilt), and follow him, blindfolded, on the back of a horse name Wildfire or Trigger. Sometimes Larry.
Do not press your go-go heels into the horse, as he would remind you of the story of Neitzsche or Kundera’s Karenin.
Please leave your cell phone in the nearest trashcan.
You are about to live.
