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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Egg Dance

What with the Evenday being more than a month away—as I write this, the Imbolc thirtnight is barely over—there are some that might accuse me of pushing the season.

Guilty as charged.

But I'm going to plead extenuating circumstances: I want to give our choreographers time to do their work.

And it's never too early to start planning for Spring.


It's one of those old, old traditions of Spring.

The Egg Dance.

You lay out the eggs in a pattern on the ground. (No labyrinths, please.) Around here, it's generally a Sun Wheel: a cross-in-circle.

This becomes your dance-ground. You dance in and around the Sun Wheel (or whatever), à la Sword Dance. The point is not to break any eggs.

Danced one at a time, the Egg Dance becomes a competition. When you break an egg, you're out. Whoever doesn't break any, wins. The truly hardcore do it double time. Or (as above) blindfolded.

You can do it as a couple dance. If you can finish without breaking any eggs, it bodes well for your relationship. Really well, as in "tantamount to handfasting."

Or you can do it in groups. Now that's precision dancing. When it works, it's impressive. When it doesn't, it's hilarious.

Along with the fun, of course, there's some deep, deep Springtime magicking going on here as well.

But I doubt you needed me to tell you that.


For all our dance-wrights

You know who you are








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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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