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.
Contracting Spiral
I noticed a pattern this morning while sweeping out the Underworld.
(Being resident priest here at Temple of the Moon, I get to say such things. )
Yes, two nights hence we'll descend into the cave beneath the Temple of the Moon for our major November Eve working. Even in the Underworld, you have to clean before the guests arrive.
So, sweeping up limestone dust, I realized that I was sweeping spirally: in a contracting spiral, to be precise.
It's the most efficient way to sweep a floor, really. You pick a center point. Then you go around the first time, sweeping in, toward the center. You go around again, sweeping in. Around and around you go, until finally there's one central pile of detritus.
Sleek. Efficient. Pregnant with meaning.
The leaves are falling here in Witch Country, and I've found the same pattern to apply while raking, the rake being the broom's outdoor equivalent.
In all things, the Pattern.
Two days til November. May and its joys are all of a ha' year hence.
Life—for now—is a contracting spiral.
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