How do you circle with people who've hurt you, betrayed you, wounded your soul?

Years after the fact, is it possible to forgive them and work Magick with them, "in perfect love and perfect trust"?

I don't know. But I'm going to find out.

My "Aha! I'm a Pagan!" moment came in 1991. On Beltane that year I dedicated myself to The Lord and Lady, but for two years I lived in a place where it was impossible to locate a coven to join. So I did a lot of reading and burned a lot of candles by myself.

In 1993 I moved to a more open, liberal area and hooked up with a Pagan group that was run by a few students at a nearby college. I was brimming with excitement about joining a real, live coven and finally being able to do all the group rituals I'd been reading about for the past two years. I was so naive and trusting. I fully believed in the Rede, "An it harm none, do as ye will."

A couple months before I arrived, a guy in his 60s had infiltrated the group. Even though he claimed to have a girlfriend who was only 19 years old, he was still hitting on anything with breasts. In an obvious homage, he called himself "Crowley." (names changed to protect the guilty)

I thought I was being mature by making friends with this older man, bridging the generation gap and all that touchy-feely crap. Then my cat died suddenly and Crowley tried to use my grief to get into my pants: "I don't think you should be alone tonight." I managed to at least convince him to sleep on the couch and not with me.

A few weeks later we were both at a party and I had too much to drink. He offered to drive me home and I accepted. I know, I know�but that's what being drunk is about�your judgement is impaired. Once we were inside, he kissed me before I could stop him and said he thought he should stay the night. I said, weaving, "Hiccup! I don't let people stay over with me when I'm drunk." He said that, in general, he thought that was a great idea, but I should make an exception for him. Somehow, I got rid of him. Maybe I barfed on his shoes, I don't remember.

He wouldn't give up, though. A few days later, he sat his ashen, withered, two-pack-a-day ass down on my couch and told me that he'd "found a way to use sex to prolong youth and vigor."

For the first and only time in my life, I had the right thing to say at the right moment. I looked at his wrinkled brow. I looked at the grey chest hair flopping limply over the top of his T-shirt. I looked at his veins, clearly visible through his paper-thin skin. I said, "So, does it not work very well, or are you just not any good at it?"

Even that didn't deter him. Finally, when Crowley saw it was hopeless, he dragged me out of my apartment on the morning of Samhain, put me in his midlife-crisis red convertible and drove me around telling me what a fuck-up I was. He said I didn't have any friends, that he tried to be my friend but I'd fucked that up too, and by the way, he'd started smoking again and that was also my fault.

He yelled at me for about two hours before dumping me back home. Happy Samhain.

This man tried his "I can teach you Magick but of course you'll have to have sex with me" bit on several young women. Even though he used this ploy with at least three of us, no one moved to kick him out of the group�not the people in leadership positions, not the guys whose girlfriends he'd tried to scam, not the women he'd hit on, no one.

I felt particularly hurt and betrayed by the way everyone in this Pagan organization turned a blind eye to him and his tricks. There was even a nurse, whom I thought was my friend, telling me that I was the one who needed to see a psychiatrist.

Ring, ring! Clue phone for you, Mrs. Robinson: I'm not the sexual predator in this equation...

Later that year acquaintances in the Craft burned me again. I was interested in Ceremonial Magick, and there were a couple of guys in the group who belonged to a Hermetic Circle in the next town. They invited me to their upcoming Circle meeting and I accepted. When I arrived, conversations stopped. People stared at me all night, and nothing of any substance happened.

Later, I found out that theirs was a closed Circle. New people were supposed to be invited by the group and approved beforehand. My two acquaintances had decided to challenge that policy and use me as their argument�without telling me. Again, Pagans had left me feeling hurt, angry and confused. Was the Rede just a quaint saying to these people?

The Lord and Lady were hitting me upside the head with clue-by-fours, telling me that I was meant to be solitary. It didn't take too many whacks before I got the hint. I haven't been to any group rituals in years.

Even though I live in a progressive town, the Pagan community is still fairly small and close-knit (I keep in touch anonymously through a couple of email lists). Several of the people from my early encounters are still here, in various organizations and covens that have popped up since 1993. Rejoining the local Pagan scene in person necessarily means dealing with some people who hurt me very badly.

Forgiving and putting the past behind me are difficult things to do. But sometimes I wonder wistfully about the glory of a group Maypole, and I wonder what it's like to share cakes and wine with people who have similar religious beliefs. Am I missing something by celebrating in solitude?

I don't know if I'm ready to do this. I'm going to try. In 1991 I set my feet on the Pagan path. It seems that a fitting way to celebrate ten years in the Craft would be to reconnect with my peers. In perfect love and perfect trust, though? We'll see.