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.
Dark Forest
Even as a callow first-time reader of Dante's Divine Comedy, I could readily see the major design flaw in the overarching architectonic symbolism of that soaring cathedral of a masterpiece.
It makes Lucifer the—literal—center of the universe.
Like Dante, I too had my own selva oscura experience.
He, though, wanted to find his way out of the dark forest.
Me, I sought a way in.
Forests can be literal or figurative. Mine were both.
The self, too, is a dark forest: one that it took me long to find the courage to enter.
In the end, desperation drove me.
Wherein I discovered that which I had, all unknowing, longtime sought.
Call him, if you will, the Lord of the Forest.
Who would have expected, who could have foreseen, that the heart of that forest was love?
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