Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth

In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.

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Gods Turn Up In the Strangest Places

You know, gods turn up in the strangest places.

There I'll be, stopped at a light, thinking wholly unsacred thoughts.

And then I'll look up and there He'll be, looking me straight in the eye: the Ram that Walks on Two Legs. The Guy with the Horns. Giving me that Speaking Look.

Like they do.

Now the fact that a decidedly unsacred American auto manufacturer should choose the Ram ("You are a ram, lord, greatly to be praised") as its—shall I say—sigil for a popular model makes this neither an unlikely experience, nor (one might think) a particularly sacred one.

And yet. And yet.

That's the thing with gods, with all those sudden and unexpected eruptions of the sacred into the everyday.

Millions see this emblem every day and experience nothing at all. But I, as a pagan, am privileged to behold, even amidst such vacuous commercialism, the God Who Looks Back.

That's His power. That's Their power: that They should enter in at the most unlikely of times and places, to Show Themselves.

And that's pagan life, too, in which you can encounter Someone even while taking out the garbage. Sometimes it's almost too much to bear.

And that's Him, all right, the god who goeth where he damn well pleaseth, Who Horns In wherever He likes, welcome or not.

The f**ker.

 

 

 

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Poet, scholar and storyteller Steven Posch was raised in the hardwood forests of western Pennsylvania by white-tailed deer. (That's the story, anyway.) He emigrated to Paganistan in 1979 and by sheer dint of personality has become one of Lake Country's foremost men-in-black. He is current keeper of the Minnesota Ooser.

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