
Few things are more dangerous than a line of bored pagans.
The heart of the ritual was to consist of an encounter with the Three Fates. There we were, queued up, awaiting our personal encounter with the Powers That Be.
Like all smart ritualists, the priestess had planned an activity to keep us—positively—focused on the task at hand and—negatively—from chattering, during our wait.
Spin, Clotho, spin;
Lachesis twist;
Atropos sever;
la la la la
la la la la la la.
The Fates have always been,
the fates will always be:
la la la la la la
la la la la la.
The Fates have always been,
the fates will always be:
la la la la la la
la la la la la.
The tune was spritely, syncopated. Dutifully, we chanted along.
And chanted.
And chanted.
And chanted.
The trouble with wait-in-line rituals is that they generally involve a modicum of waiting, a highly unsacred activity, and that the payoff has to be pretty damn good in compensation—which, to be quite frank, it rarely is.
Not to mention the fact that 1) pagans get bored easily and 2) pagans are creative.
(My friend and colleague Robin Grimm's rule-of-thumb for ritualists considering a one-on-one Wait-in-Line-for-Your-Personal-Experience ritual is: Do the Math. 50 participants x 2 minute encounter each = Way Too Long.)
Soon, to the same tune, a counter-chant began to emerge: a group creation, collective commentary on the ritual itself.