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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Hearken to the Witch's Reel

 Darksome night and shining steel...

My friend Doc once said to me, somewhat wistfully, “Someday we'll have our sacred dances again.”

Well, here's one we'll be doing at this coming summer's Grand Sabbat, along with (among others) the Mill, the Horned Serpent, and the Back-to-Back. Check it out: Rattlejag Morris' The Witch Reel.


How about that kid in the black hoodie?

If the evidence of the trials is to be trusted (!) witches really used to love reels (< Old English hréol), maybe because they were the hot sexy dance back in the Bad Old Days. Fear not, O ye dance-impaired: this particular reel consists of only three figures (Sashay, Cast off, and Thread the Needle). If you can walk in line, you can dance the Witch Reel.

Here's a (true) story I find myself telling quite frequently these days. A reporter once asked a witch, “In your religion, do you pray?”

The witch paused a moment, then smiled.

“We dance,” she said.








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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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