Those who can slip their flesh and attend via the aerial night-flight of the soul will always meet at the Eternal Sabbat.
The Sabbat grounds are in No-Place and in No-Time. Its infernal feasting, strange shapeshifting, and orgiastic revelry is to be found in every murky bog and lake, every star canopied and wind-swept field, every shady copse, and under every hill and mountain peak.
The Sabbat—the meeting grounds of witches both dead and alive and their familiars, which takes place at the heart of the Otherworld accessible only by the lucid dream-like Trance—is forever: eternity chanced in an instant. I am there now, I was there yesterday, and I will be there tomorrow. A legion of witches attend, an ancestral throng and hoard writhing in serpentine devotion to the Cunning Master and Our Lady of Lust who is the daughter-self of Fate who weaves reality.
Our journey to the Meadow Below is a re-membering of this body-wisdom, of the tactile reality of our being forever grounded in its experience; the original moment of Creation always happening, the First Act of Burning Desire that remains unfinished because it is infinite. This is the force that re-weaves the soul of the witch into an immortal being of the Song of Forever.