"You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always love you. That's where I'll be waiting." - Hook, 1991
Somewhere between a memory and a dream, a crooked path leads to a burrow—the place where that feeling of "otherworldly" is not just familiar but the starting point. The origin. It's both nostalgic and alien—you feel like a stranger but know you're a native. That feeling is where I pull my inspiration from; it's where I draw my magic, my whimsy, and my sense of wonder. That's where I want to take you.
I think many of us in our adolescence find ourselves disillusioned and teetering on the threshold of teenage angst—when the curtain is pulled back and we understand that it was an adult who put the coins under our pillow and not some winged, tooth-hoarding fairy. When we begin to come to terms with the knowledge that Santa Claus isn't real. The world starts to desaturate, the sparkle turns to rust, and we accept that magic is for stories and not something tangible. Let's be honest. It sucks.
Growing up, my family moved around a lot, which was common for a military household. I'm nearly 40 now in 2025, and I always joke that I stopped counting after 60 moves, but that's not too far from the truth. My parents eventually settled in a rural, largely conservative area, and it wasn't always easy to find outlets for this restless need for something "magical." But I did my best. I plunged myself into spiritual discovery mode and read anything and everything I could get my hands on—every major world religion, ancient cults, practices considered taboo for the very Christian upbringing I'd had (more on that another time).
My parents home 📸October 2025
Then I found it. I can't even remember where. Scott Cunningham's "The Complete Book of Incense, Oils & Brews." Not directly about Wicca but rather a book of recipes and information about herbs, their associations, and how they play a part in ritual. For a 16-year-old who was currently obsessed with the 1994 British television series Brother Cadfael (Google describes: the medieval era cases of a Crusader-turned-Monk who investigates mysteries in the Norman English town of Shrewsbury. [He was also a highly astute herbalist, and in my mind, that made him a wizard.]) this book changed me. I suddenly had access to a magic I thought was dead. You mean to tell me all this time I could pilfer through my mother's spice cabinet and make an incense to increase prophetic dreams?! WHY IS THIS NOT COMMON KNOWLEDGE? This, of course, sparked my journey into all things metaphysical. And then, of course, the inevitable disappointment that comes with it. People just have to ruin a good thing.
After studying these topics for some time, my mother (bless her) and I ventured out of our little homestead to find the nearest metaphysical shop. On the 2 1/2 hour drive there, I built an elaborate image in my head of what the shop would be like. Needless to say, it didn't measure up to my imagination, but that's not to discredit that store - it was still a pivotal experience. Through this shop, we found out about a large festival/gathering in rural Kansas for pagans, Wiccans, and spiritual folks. She took the plunge, paid for tickets, got our camping gear together, and drove off not really knowing what to expect. But to be fair, we were both hoping for something like that scene from the Lord of the Rings trilogy films, the one where the elves are leaving Rivendell and they're all in cloaks and carrying lanterns through the woods. You know... "Ethereal." Instead, we found ourselves surrounded by a bunch of goofy, mead-soaked pagans - pounding their bare feet into the dirt to the sound of drums around a massive fire. Again, not what I pictured, but still lovely.
VS
All that being said, I found myself again balancing on the edge of "this isn't what I expected" or "it is what it is," and I wasn't thrilled about it. Even still, I knew it was up to me to create the magic I wanted to see. I'd heard some say, and still do, that the aesthetic isn't as important as the intention, and while I agree for the most part, why not make things pretty if you can? Why can't the mundane be magical too?
These questions are what initially drove me to create what Wicker Rabbit is growing into today: my desire to rekindle a tangible, imperfect, soulful magic in a world that seemed to have forgotten wonder. If I wanted an occult shop that wasn't just the same $1 chime candles, polyresin statues, and fluorescent lighting as all the others, I was just going to have to make it myself. I wanted all the gritty fantasy of '80s kids' movies, the feral energy of those honey-drunk pagans, the eerie quiet of the woods surrounding my parents' home, and the polished gleam of Peter Jackson's vision of Tolkien's elves all rolled into one. Something immersive, as if the front door of the shop were a portal into a world you half-remembered.
That's what I'm aiming for. Even with the shop only being online (for now), I still want anyone who visits to have that feeling. It is still my goal to one day have a brick-and-mortar shop. I hope that with this current trajectory, that dream will soon be a reality, and for those of you who've commissioned me for custom works, those who've made purchases in person and through my little online shop—I thank you most sincerely. You are the ones who are helping bring this vision to life.
For those of you who are new here: if you've ever felt the pull of something ancient, the humming of a reality you once knew to be true that now exists just under the surface of the ordinary, welcome—know that you are home here among the mossy crystals, the mushroom forests, the witches, and the rabbits. I hope you take as much time as you need, and maybe next time bring a friend.
~Z