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.
Pagans at the Polls
It's my first time working as an election judge for the city of Minneapolis. (Election Day: now there's a Samhain ritual for you.) Through the course of the day, I see lots of familiar pagan faces at the poll.
This, of course, is only to be expected: being the opinionated people that we are, pagans are much given to voting. This, moreover, is the pagan neighborhood, and me a longtime resident thereof.
I'm working the front door, greeting people and directing them, when a man that I don't know strides in, sporting a jaunty pentagram. It's always gratifying to be reminded that, no, I don't in fact know every pagan that lives in south Minneapolis.
“Blessed be,” I say.
Over the covid mask, he quirks an eyebrow.
“We are everywhere,” he intones.
“Everywhere,” I echo, and point him toward the sign-in table.
Ten minutes or so later, now wearing an “I Voted” sticker, he makes a point of catching my eye as he goes out.
“Everywhere,” he repeats.
“So mote it be,” I say.
Comments
-
Please login first in order for you to submit comments
I early voted back on October 7th. There was no line.