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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Blessed Be the Feet

What is the Five that is Eight?

So goes the old witches' riddle, the answer—of course—being, the Fivefold Kiss.

The Fivefold Kiss is a standard trope of Wiccan liturgy which I've always loved for its whole-hearted affirmation of the sanctity of the body, and for its ritual utility.

(Once, when I encountered a goddess in a field—but that's another story for another night—due to my familiarity with the rite, I was not caught at a loss, but knew the proper way in which to venerate her.)

It's worth mentioning that the witch's greeting "Blessed Be" alludes, elliptically, to this rite, as also to the story of the Lady's Descent to the Underworld.

I've long thought the Fivefold Kiss far too good a text to be confined to a single rite, so I've riffed on it here to produce a song or chant for more general use.

All we need now is a tune.

Blessed Be the Feet

 

Blessed be the feet

which walk in sacred ways.

Blessed be the feet.

 

Blessed be the knees

which kneel at the sacred altars.

Blessed be the knees.

 

Blessed be the sex,

without which we would not be.

Blessed be the sex.

 

Blessed be the breast(s),

formed in beauty and in strength.

Blessed be the breast(s).

 

Blessed be the lips

which speak the sacred names.

Blessed be the lips.

 

Blessed be, blessed be,

blessed, blessed,

blessed be.

 

 

 

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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

  • Chris Moore
    Chris Moore Thursday, 09 August 2018

    Blessed be the lore bearer, blessed be the tribe maker.

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