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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People of the Morning Star

Hear O People of the Morning Star

 

Name the Horned

(among other names)

Morning Star

(Lighber, they call him):

on earth, the star that shines from his brow

(but this is a mystery).

As Morning Star, he walks the heavens;

as Morning Star, he loved the Moon,

and so became Father of Stars.

 

(Shining, son of Dawn, some name him,

but others say differently.)

 

Name his green self and twin

(among other names)

Evening Star

(Flamber, they call him).

As Evening Star, he walks the heavens.

Together, they guard

the gates of the sabbat, beginning and end.

And so, his children, we bear his name,

and so we bear his sign.

 

I drink, Morning Star, from your left breast;

I drink, Morning Star, from your right.

I drink, Morning Star, from your phallus:

your phallus, your right, and your left breasts,

Morning Star, giving me suck.

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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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