Merry Meet and Blessings to you, Witches, Pagans, Kindred, and to all my relatives. I am Lady Belladonna LaVeau, the Matriarch of the Aquarian Tabernacle Church. Thank you for your interest in the state of the Church and thank you for listening.
...PaganSquare
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For inner peace, take a walk in the woods, a stroll on the beach, or just relax in your backyard. Bring a stick, seven leaves from an ash or oak tree, several stones, and matches. With the stick, draw a circle on the ground and mark four directions: north, east, south, and west.
Place the stones at the center of the circle. Concentrate upon your connection to the earth and how to honor that in your life. Say:
...
In the firelight, our call begins almost as a whisper.
Horned One...Horned One...Horned One...
Borne on the drums, it rises, insistent.
HORNED One...HORNED One...HORNED One....
The witches are calling to their god. Out of some primal core of longing, a hundred voices throb together as one.
HORNED! ONE! HORNED! ONE! HORNED! ONE!
From the woods, a horn calls.
He...Is...Here!
A second horn calls, answering the first, then a third. A clutch of people, men and women, emerge from the trees, bearing torches. Riding, unbelievably, above them....
As His bearers approach, their pace quickens. Soon they are running, running toward us.
At a distance of more than 30 years, I remember the horns calling back and forth to one another, the bobbing torchlight, the frenzy. I shake my head at the dangers. That wooden palanquin didn't even have edges for bracing the feet. We would never take such risks today, never. Truly, it was a madness, the madness of a god.
I know what I would see if I looked at the faces around me: wonder, incredulity, fear.
But I do not look. None of us do. Our eyes want nothing more than what they already behold, the longing of centuries.
On the altar, He shines, unbelievably tall. His naked male beauty catches the heart. Between His antlers, constellations wheel.
In the wondering silence, His voice is gentle.
Here in Paganistan, as across Pagandom, when you open a bottle of, say, wine, it's customary to pour out the first few drops onto the ground in thanksgiving to Themselves.
But sometimes you forget.
You know how it is. A glass gets knocked over, the wine is lost.
“Was this bottle libated?” someone always asks.
Turns out, usually, it wasn't.
Here we see, then, yet another good reason to pour libations.
In Which the Warlocks Discuss Theology
Best practice addresses present gods.
Just so.
Best to address, say, Thunder, in his presence, in the storm?
Best so.
May one, then, address Thunder in his absence? To address him while, say, the Sun shines?
One may.
How so, if addressing in presence is best?
The Sun shines, though we do not see him. At any given moment on Earth, Thunder is somewhere present, even if not here.
So it is to that Thunder somewhere present, then, that we address ourselves in absence?