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.
Behind the Gods
In the dream, I am standing with a Chinese family before their household shrine.
Beautifully carved in wood, the shrine is elaborate, immense: it takes up an entire wall of the house.
The gates of the central niche are opened. Behind them stands a finely-rendered wooden statue of Kwan Yin.
Kwan Yin is removed. Behind her stand yet another pair of gates. They open, revealing several painted panels depicting colorful female figures that I cannot identify.
“Pagan goddesses!” cries a woman's voice, as if horrified that such figures should stand behind the boddhisattva.
Now the painted goddesses, too, are removed. Behind them stand yet another pair of gates. These, in turn, open.
An outdoor light shines through. The niche has become a doorway.
Through the open doorway, a long landscape spreads out before our eyes: mountains, valleys, rivers, in unending vista, stretching out to a blue and misty horizon.
Behind Kwan Yin, the goddesses. Behind the goddesses, the Land.
The family begins to sing: a hymn.
With them, I sing along.
Comments
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Sunday, 02 July 2023
"The weeds will inherit the Earth."
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"Behind Kwan Yin, the goddesses. Behind the goddesses, the Land."
I like that. I look out my window and see my garden. The weeds; and grass, that need mowing, the flower beds that need weeding, the vines growing up the fence that need to be pulled up. All part of the land I live on.