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.

  • Home
    Home This is where you can find all the blog posts throughout the site.
  • Tags
    Tags Displays a list of tags that have been used in the blog.
  • Bloggers
    Bloggers Search for your favorite blogger from this site.
  • Login
    Login Login form

How's That for an Omen?

 Double Rainbow Guy' Paul Vasquez, a one time MMA fighter, has died - Bloody  Elbow

A double rainbow with horizontal, cloud-to-cloud lightning between the bows.

How's that for an omen?

Sweetwood Temenos in southwestern Wisconsin. The Warlocks of the Driftless have foregathered to raise—finally—the one-ton megalith of pre-Cambrian limestone called the Bull Stone. On the eve of the Raising, we go down to do some site prep.

Thunder has been rumbling continuously in the distance for quite some time: longer non-stop thunder I've never heard before in my life. Clearly, something big is moving in. Well, the rain will be welcome. Here in the Midwest's Driftless Area, as elsewhere, it's been a dry Spring.

Just as we finish our work, the heavens open. Soaked to the skin, we stand there laughing. Some guys strip off. After the prolonged heat and drought, our skin drinks in the cool rain. So does the Land.

Singing a Thunder song, we trudge through the downpour up to the pavilion. The rain drums on the metal roof. We stand, watching and listening.

For a good half hour it pelts down, a good thorough soaking after a long thirst. The Storm rumbles off Eastwards as, nearing its setting, the Sun shines out in the West.

Then the culminating moment of grace when Rainbow spans the East, vast, accompanied by her twin sister.

We stand, marveling. Someone sings a hymn to the Rainbow Goddess, Daughter of Sun and Storm.

Suddenly that final bolt of lightning, brilliant, between the Bows. It's a moment of utter holiness, piercingly beautiful.

“Well, gentlemen, there's our omen,” someone says.

Though we'd allotted the entire day to the work, next morning the Bull Stone goes up, with alacrity, in less than an hour.

I tell you, friend, that Stone wanted to go up.

 

 

 

 

 

Last modified on
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.

Comments

  • Katie
    Katie Saturday, 19 June 2021

    Beautiful! A very good omen indeed.

  • Jamie
    Jamie Saturday, 19 June 2021

    Mr. Posch,

    Congratulations!

  • Please login first in order for you to submit comments

Additional information