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Culture Blogs

Popular subjects in contemporary Pagan culture and practice.

Category contains 2 blog entries contributed to teamblogs
President Elect Appoints Obscure Blogger as Liaison to Pagan Community

AP: New York

The transition team of president elect Ronald Rump announced today the appointment of obscure PaganSquare blogger Steven Posch as the administration's future liaison with the pagan community.

“Sure, he's a nobody from nowhere that nobody listens to,” said an aide, who spoke on condition of anonymity. “For an insignificant bunch of losers like the pagans, who cares?”

Critics faulted the choice as unrepresentative.

“Darling, Posch doesn't speak for anyone but himself, and that's on a good day,” said Glyph And/Or of Witches Against Negativity and Discrimination (WAND), adding: “He's so far out of the pagan mainstream that his hooves aren't even wet.”

Questioned about his choice, president elect Rump said: “It's so unfair. You don't even know what you're talking about. You're stupid, stupid.

“And you're ugly, too.

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b2ap3_thumbnail_web3_sm.jpgBeing an introvert, interacting with other humans is tiring. And yet I must, not only because the world is full of us, and I will be more healthy and live longer if I do, but because we all need each other in order to make our lives better. Every day we get help from others even if we never step outside our home or answer the phone. Short of moving out to the woods, building a shelter and finding all our food – an activity statistically likely to result in death – we are enmeshed in a web of human assistance.

This spring, my husband and I bought a house we are fixing up. We aren’t doing it alone thank the gods. We don’t have the time or skills to do everything that needs doing. We have a plumber, Kenny, and Steve, the fellow who did the gutters, but the fellow who has done a great deal of our work is Rey. Rey and his various helpers have re-roofed the shed in the back of the house, replaced the boards on the deck, cut doors in concrete and brick walls, and installed doors and windows. I too am a maker. I can do construction, sew things, and create art. But I physically cannot do everything. My body is not strong enough to do what Rey and his crew achieve in the space of a few weeks. If I did not have their help, it would take months, if it got done at all. I like very much that my energy is in this house. It is an act of magical creation to transform an space that has been empty and lonely for two years into warm and inviting nest. But it is not my energy alone. Rey enjoys his job. He takes pictures of everything he does. He teaches his helpers how to do things, and he keeps doing it, even when they abandon him to make more money working on their own. He helps me, he helps them. Yes, we pay him, and he pays them. But that doesn’t change the good feelings I have about a man who has made my life better. And he feels good about us too. He’s so happy with the amount of money that we have given him over the summer, that he offered us a half day of work for free. (And for the cynical, no, he doesn’t over-charge for his work.)

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Down at the Crossroads Podcast Interview

Chris and Tara interview me about my completely uncool Witchcraft origin story, my persistence in shaming my mother by calling us a family of Ferengi, my insistence in shaming Jow by talking about how I chose to talk to actual Occult elders whenever I could corner them instead of reading a million books, high magic's seductive "fancy dance", glamour magic, witchcraft as activism/activism as witchcraft, my experience as a feminist and pro-choice advocacy and why performing witchcraft with a romantic partner is a sucker's game except in v. specific circumstances.

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs
The Goddess Who Wasn't There

Ever since planting day, she's been there, back in the corner of the garden, up to her knees in the good, rich soil.

For the last seven months, every time I looked out, she's stood there looking back.

And now she's gone.

It was an amazing growing season, the longest on record.

But now it's over.

I cleared out the garden this weekend, and the little clay goddess came indoors to sleep on her bed of sweet sage in the storage cupboards, among the herbs, the dried beans, and the many-colored jars of summer goodness.

It's the Fallows, the Time Between: the no-more of Samhain and the not-yet of Yule. Fred Adams of Feraferia called this time Repose:

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Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • Steven Posch
    Steven Posch says #
    Anthony, you're really good. In fact, he's already in place: a forked stick with cross-arms, standing in his little cairn, watchin
  • Anthony Gresham
    Anthony Gresham says #
    I saw a wooden carving of Frey in a book on Vikings, it left me with the notion that most of the early god figures were probably m

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Scorpio: Samhain, Fear, and Tyranny

All through October, which was the warmest October on record here on the Front Range of Colorado, there were rumors and reports of scary, threatening clowns walking around scaring people. These clowns would be sighted on deserted roads, skulking suspiciously near woods or schools or unlit parts of neighborhoods. Leading up to Hallowe'en, my own kids could not stop chattering away the “creepy clowns,” repeating and embroidering on rumors that kept getting more threatening, more morbid. The clowns were seen close by, hanging around someone else's school, someone else's playground. It got so bad that the school district called the police, then sent letters to every home in town, trying to allay fears: no scary prowlers had been seen or arrested, there was no cause to continue to believe in them. But that did not stop the rumors, did not stop my kids and their friends taking turns scaring the daylights out of each other, with creepy clown stories.

.A quick scan of urban legends reveals that the creepy clown scare, like many other mass hallucinations, has a tendency to pop back up in times of collective societal stress. Kids, picking up vibes and amplifying them, act as both sensors and transmitters. Whether the cry is “creepy clown!” or “witches!” or “Communist!” or “terrorist!,” the dynamic does not shift very much. The pressure of anxiety, fear, and dread rises, is pressed down, but never released, until it bursts out explosively, sometimes even bizarrely. As we approached Hallowe'en and the election soon after, the creepy clown meme kept reasserting itself, no matter how many reassuring letters were mailed out.

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Wisdom from the First Pagans

American anthropologist Wynne Maggi had gone to Pakistan to study the bashali, the Moon-House, of the women of the Kalasha, the last remaining pagans of the Hindu Kush.

She kept trying to get the Kalasha women to generalize about Kalasha men.

They wouldn't do it.

“Some men are one way, some another,” the women kept telling her. “Can't you see that for yourself?"

“A fools around, B doesn't. C takes care of the kids, D doesn't. Men are all different, just like everyone else” (Maggi 152).

In this election season, we've heard much about categories of people.

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Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • Steven Posch
    Steven Posch says #
    Kalasha society is a deeply traditional society, with clearly-defined sex-roles, and maleness and femaleness define much of the cu
  • Thesseli
    Thesseli says #
    It's nice that their men (as a whole) don't mistreat them.

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Rampion, Rampion (Let Down Your Hair)

The Germans call it Rapunzel.

Rampion. Campanula rapunculus: an old European cultigen with a beautiful, star-shaped purple flower, whose leaves can be cooked or eaten raw like spinach; its parsnip-like white roots are likewise cooked or served in salads.

You know the story. The couple long for a child; finally she gets pregnant, but craves a salad made from the beautiful rampion that grows in the garden of the witch next door. (What is it about witches and gardens?)

Twice the husband manages to steal rampion undetected, but the third time the witch catches him. In the end, she lets him off with all the rampion he wants, but on one condition: she gets the child.

In due course, the longed-for daughter is born. They name her—of course—Rampion.

And once she's weaned, she goes to the witch.

No one seems to wonder why the witch wants the child. (A weanling is too big and tough to eat.) But the reason seems clear enough. The witch has no daughter of her own. What she's looking for is an apprentice, a successor.

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  • Anthony Gresham
    Anthony Gresham says #
    Mercedes Lackey does a wonderful retelling of the story in "From a High Tower". I don't remember seeing rampion in the seed catal

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