There's a phenomenon of pagan ritual that I've noticed again and again down through the years.
I'll call it the “dark light.”
The pagan calendar (day begins at sundown) and pagan schedules (most of us work day jobs) being what they are, we do a lot of our ritual at night. This means that we do much of our ritual by firelight.
Bonfires, candlelight, torchlight. Which is it to say that, by the usual electric-lit 21st century standards, there isn't very much light.
And yet consistently, again and again, as I think back to any given ritual, I find myself remembering more light than could possibly have been there.
But it's not just a matter of memory. In ritual, colors are brighter. Bodies, faces, things seem to glow as if from within, transfigured.
I think of the Grand Sabbat. Cross-legged up there on his altar, the Horned glows, I swear it. I swear it. He's lambent: the light comes from Him.
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Call me old fashioned. The taper candles are to hold for reading text or ritual script. I don't care if the newer members prefer
