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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What the Standing Stone Said

 

 

Here, said the standing stone.

Now, said the standing stone.

Here now, said the standing stone.

 

Me, said the standing stone.

You, said the standing stone.

We, said the standing stone.

 

Stand, said the standing stone.

Circle, said the standing stone.

Dance, said the standing stone.

 

American Menhir

 

At Sweetwood Sanctuary in southwestern Wisconsin, a circle of pagans stand hand-in-hand around the Bull Stone, silent.

Silent pagans. Fancy that.

Silent, maybe, to listen.

Silent, maybe, for not-knowing.

Silent, maybe, from awe.

Nothing is more awesome than the real.

 

For Americans, standing stones are something from books, something from travel. For Americans, standing stones are Then, are There.

That's why we raised this one.

 

Here and now, says the standing stone.

It's the only kind of real there is.

 

 

For Mark L.

Then and there.

 


Photo: Robin Grimm

 

 

 

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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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