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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Prairie Restoration

 MSU Scientists Discover Legacy Of Past Weather Inscribed In Stories Of  Prairie Plant Restoration | Research at Michigan State University

 

In Which You, Dear Reader, Will Likely Learn More About Our Intrepid Blogger Than You Ever Really Wanted to Know

 

Contains frank discussion of body hair.

 

 

Among men of my family, our lack of body hair is something of a standing joke.

One morning, I'd let the pot of tea steep too long.

“That'll put hair on your chest,” said my father, taking his first sip.

“You mean I'll actually have sixteen?” I quipped.

“Quit bragging,” he quipped back.

 

For most of my adult life, I've tended to keep my body hair clipped pretty close. For a while—maybe still—being “smooth” was a gay “thing.”

But after some deep discussion with the warlocks about men's inner lives, and manhood generally, I began to wonder what this said about the ambivalence of my relationship with my own male body. I realized that it had been years since I'd actually seen my body with its full compliment of what the epic poets of old Eriu called “the manly hair.” So I set out to remedy that.

Call it prairie restoration.

 

Six fields, the lower four now given back to the wild. In time, they find their own cherished length, and stay there.

 

Humans are animals; our gods are animal gods. Hair is our inheritance.

 

In the frozen pit of a dark, cold winter, I dream one night of gazing down on my own naked body. Where pubic hair was, a thick clutch of crisp green leaves now springs.

I wake filled with a bright sense of vernal joy.

 

I've worn the little silver goddess around my neck for years.

She rests now against my breastbone, nestled in a manly little locket of chest hair.

All sixteen of them.

 

 

 

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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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