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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When Libations Pour Themselves

 Red Wine Spill. | Red wine spills, Spilled wine, Red wine

 

Here in Paganistan, as across Pagandom, when you open a bottle of, say, wine, it's customary to pour out the first few drops onto the ground in thanksgiving to Themselves.

But sometimes you forget.

 

You know how it is. A glass gets knocked over, the wine is lost.

“Was this bottle libated?” someone always asks.

Turns out, usually, it wasn't.

 

Here we see, then, yet another good reason to pour libations.

If you don't, They'll just take it anyway.

A little preemptive generosity goes a long way. Be a good pagan, and be a good host.

Give the Gods Their share.

 

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Tagged in: libation
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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