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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Birth-Ale of the Sun



A Toast for Thirteenth Night


In the life of each of us,

three great ales, three feastings,

and these are they:

the Birthal, the Bridal, and the Arval.

When we are born, the Birth-Ale,

when we wed, the Bride-Ale,

and when we die, the Grave-Ale:

whence Arval, meaning funeral.

And for that his is the life of us all,

the Birth-Ale of the Sun

lasts thirteen days, one for each Moon.

So on this Thirteenth Night of Yule:

 Wassail, my friends! Drink hale!


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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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