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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Two Old Warlocks

Gods: how did I get so lucky?

I was talking last night with a dear friend of many years when, unsurprisingly, one of us happened to bring up the Black Book of the Yezidis, a book bound—it is said—in deerskin. (Some say, written in fire on deerskin.)

Not only did the subject need no introduction, but each of us had a favorite verse from the Black Book of the Yezidis: verses, we agreed, that sound just like the Him that we know.

If that's not enough, we could each recite our favorite verse from memory.

 

His: I am present immediately for those that confide in me, and invoke me in time of need.

Mine: I guide without need of scripture, for my words are written on the hearts of my people.

We laughed in mutual appreciation, two old warlocks. How often in a life is one so privileged, to have such a conversation?

So many good gifts the Horned gives, and friendship among the best.

 

For Adaron,

Baphomite

 

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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.

Comments

  • Mike W
    Mike W Monday, 09 September 2019

    Yes, two old warlocks do speak of many things that come from years of research, study and practice. But the joy and laughter of friendship is what stays with one afterwards, still ringing in one's heart like the sound of the pipes playing on the black mountain at midnight. As one gets older, one realizes that friendship is one of the most important things in life. Thank you, I am so honored and lucky to be your friend.

  • Steven Posch
    Steven Posch Tuesday, 10 September 2019

    "...ringing like the sound of the pipes playing on the black mountain at midnight..."

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