Sometimes you can't help but be jealous.
Guillermo was born in Havana, so naturally our conversation eventually turned to Santeria. Like most New Pagans, I've got a pretty pronounced case of Santeria envy.
Guillermo grew up surrounded by the Way of the Saints but doesn't really practice it any more.
“I still find myself saying Eparreí Changó whenever I hear thunder, though,” he said, laughing. “Some things you never lose.”
Oh, those fortunate intact cultures.
What do you say when you hear that first peal (or rumble, or crash) of Thunder in a storm? Certainly it calls for some sort of response. When someone you love and respect calls to you from across the room, do you ignore it and say nothing? Probably not.
In the old days, pretty much all cultures had a healthy respect for the Thunderer. It's hard not to. He's big, he's loud, he's powerful, and we couldn't get along without him. 1400 years ago, the Anglo-Saxon Hwicce—the original Tribe of Witches—called Him Þunor.
We call Him Thunder today. When I first hear His voice, I've taken to greeting Him by Name, along with a vocable: a word without literal meaning that signifies nonetheless.
Eya Thunder, I say. (Rhymes with Leia, as in “Princess—.”)
Hey there, Thunder.
Thunder, the Big Guy of the Skies, is calling. He's calling to you.
How will you reply?