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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Steven Posch

Steven Posch

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.

I adore cranberries—here at Witch Central (North), they're a wintertime staple—but most standard cranberry preparations involve truly toxic amounts of refined sugar. Fruit-sweetening seems a smart (to say nothing of aesthetically-preferable) alternative.

To palates accustomed to commercial cranberry sauces, the fruit-sweetened variety can at first seem overwhelmingly tart. (Unsurprisingly, witches value tartness, both behavioral and gustatory.) If you find that this is true for you, just up the proportion of grapes to cranberries.

 

Old Warlock's Fruit-Sweetened Cran-Grape Sauce

 

12 oz. (1 bag) fresh cranberries

1 generous bunch table grapes (red, white, or purple)

apple cider

pinch salt

 

Pick over the cranberries and wash them. Wash the grapes and stem them.

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Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • Steven Posch
    Steven Posch says #
    In one of his early "Letters from America," Aleister Cooke, describing Thanksgiving to a British audience, described cranberries a
  • Anthony Gresham
    Anthony Gresham says #
    I never cared for cranberry sauce myself, not home made and certainly not the canned variety. Now there are craisens in the store
From the 'Protocols of the Elders of Paganistan'

On the Left, they've convinced themselves that QAnon is a hoax.

On the Right, they think that we're a worldwide pedophilia ring.

Mwahahahahaha!

Little do they know that the time of fruition has finally come to achieve the goals that we first publicly articulated as far back as 1981!

Haven't they ever seen Halloween III? It wasn't subtitled The Season of the Witch for nothing!

Silly cowans. Did they seriously think that it was nothing but the stupidest Witchsploitation film of all time, not to mention the world's most annoying advertising jingle?

Mwahahahahaha!

Yes, my friends: the witches of the world are finally going to get our own back!

Sex? Ha! Little do they realize that the real reason why we've kidnapped all those children is to sacrifice them!

Yes, indeed: Samhain 2020 will see the greatest mass human sacrifice in human history, guaranteed to bring about not just the election of Joe Biden, but the worldwide resurrection of the ancient age of Witchcraft!

Mwahahahaha!

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Samhain Sans Coven

The coven has a sweet (but deep) little Rite of Samhain planned for this Saturday night—down on an island at the confluence of the Minnesota and Mississippi Rivers, if you can stand it—but it's looking like I probably won't be there.

Why not? Possible Covid exposure.

I'll spare you the story. In the end, it all comes down to a bunch of old guys who, being Trumpers, don't take precautions on principle. It's hard to believe anyone could get to be so old and still be so stupid.

Oh well. Years back, back before I knew anyone, back when I was still a Pagan Alone, come Samhain I'd go down to the woods, light the fire, and make the magic.

And it was always the real thing.

This year, it looks like I'll be going back to my roots. That's always a type of renewal. Besides, no matter how well-covened you are—as gods know I am—we're always all solitaires first. "Thou mayest not be a witch alone"? Not so, say I.

Mayest not? In fact, thou must.

Come sunset, on the Eve of November, I'll climb down the cliff—just like I did when I was in high school—light the fire, and make the magic.

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The Deer People Have Come

In the dream, the coven has gathered, ready to begin the Rite of Samhain.

Night has fallen. Turning, I see deer on the hillside: first two, then more, then many.

We have visitors, I say.

We watch them watching us. The Deer People have come to witness our sabbat.

As we watch, one by one, the deer take human form.

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Witches Now Outnumber Presbyterians in USA, Says Conservative Website

Well, no wonder the US is going to Hel.

Did you know that there are more witches in the US (1.5 million) than Presbyterians (1.4 million)?

Did you know that pagans now constitute .4 percent of the American population?

No, neither did I, until a friend sent me a link to a conservative website called Christian Post.

Are these figures to be trusted? Who knows? (Me, I'd trust the Pew Research figures over the rest, but maybe that's just me.)

What astounds me most about the article is its supposed concern for all those poor, lost witch and pagan souls out there.

Considering the fact that the Evangelical electorate of America has already sold its own collective soul to a devil named D-nald Tr-mp in exchange for political power, it seems to me an arch-hypocrisy to be worrying about anyone else's.

Hey, nazzes: Maybe you should see to the log in your own eye before you start decrying other people's splinters.

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Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • Jamie
    Jamie says #
    Mr. Posch, Thanks for sharing!
  • Anthony Gresham
    Anthony Gresham says #
    Well that was an interesting read. I really enjoyed the comments at the end of the article.
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Dolmen

The Archdruid was dying.

From all over Gaul, druids gathered to his bedside to ease his passage from this world to the next. As they stood around him chanting, a novice brought him a bowl of fresh milk, but the Archdruid refused it.

The novice took the milk to the hearth, warmed it, and stirred in some honey. As he poured the milk back into the bowl, he spied a jar of apple brandy that had been a gift from the local chieftain, and added a goodly amount to the warmed milk-and-honey.

He held the bowl to the lips of the Archdruid, who drank it down to the last drop.

“Old Father, do you have any final words of wisdom to guide us after you have gone Behind the Sunset?” asked a senior druid.

With difficulty, the Archdruid raised himself on his elbow. An otherwordly light shone from his eyes.

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What makes something truly distinctive?

The newly-designed Witches' Blood tartan, the world's first official Witch plaid, is largely black, with red and gray “piping.” From a distance, aptly enough, this reads as undifferentiated black.

In this, the witches' tartan is unlike other clan tartans, which are, of course, designed to be identifiable from a distance.

(In the warrior-driven Indo-European world, where plaids are an immemorial tradition, it's always best to know who is coming at you before they get within striking range.)

I think of the legendary thief who had his fingerprints removed with acid. Ironically, of course, the fact that he now lacked fingerprints gave him the most distinctive fingerprints in the world.

It's a nice, witchy twist to the tale. The mysterious Witches' tartan distinguishes itself by its very lack of distinction: this for the Craft known also as the Nameless Art.

What is't you do?

A deed without a name.

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