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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Saturday Pagans, or: Paganisms-of-Convenience

 O do not tell the priest of our rite,

for he would call it a sin:

but we've been out in the woods all night,

a-conjuring Summer in.

 

An e-mail went around to the coven: Can anyone attend the NoW Zoom meeting on Friday?

(NoW—National Organization of Witches—isn't the organization's real name.)

Now, wait a minute: let me get this straight. A national organization of witches is holding a business meeting on Midsummer's Eve?

Well, I suppose that one could find a certain amount of precedent for such a thing in Received Tradition. According to the Lore, most successful mythological invasions of Ireland took place either at Samhain or at Bealtaine. It makes a certain amount of sense to begin an important endeavor on a Day of Power.

I wish I could believe that such logic underlies NoW's Midsummer's Eve business meeting. Alas, though, I fear that the main motivator here is the logic of pragmatism: in our time and place, most pagan holidays get deferred to the nearest Saturday.

Well, the pagan world is a world of graduated values. It's better to do than not to do. Accordingly, the holiday waits until it's convenient for people to get together.

You'll gather that I don't wholly approve of such Paganisms-of-Convenience. There's something about such a cavalier approach to timing that seems to me, frankly, un-pagan. Is our paganism something that we do in our heads, or does it connect us with Something Real Out There? Is three nights into the Wane really still Full Moon?

At a festival some years ago, a friend of mine offered a sunset blót to Sunna, the Norse Sun Goddess. A few minutes after sunset, a couple of people sauntered up. “Is this the Sunnablót?” they asked.

“Sorry, you missed it,” said my friend. “This ritual runs on Sunna Standard Time.”

In The King Must Die, observing a Minoan culture in decadence, Theseus comments: It had been a good while since the Cretans had put themselves out for the gods.

Gods forbid that we should put ourselves out for the gods.

Well, good luck and a merry Midsummer to NoW and their Midsummer's Eve Zoom meeting, Sorry, folks, but I won't be in attendance. If you need me, I'll be out in the woods.

A-conjuring Summer in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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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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