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.
Sometimes We Don't Know the Answer Until Someone Asks the Question
“So, why sixteen circles around the Wheel?”
I'm wearing my new Sun-wheel petroglyph hoodie. (In this dark time, I tend to surround myself with icons of the Sun.) Boldly displayed on my chest is the Sun-wheel itself, one of the ancestors' most sacred symbols: in each quarter thereof, a mini-Sun; around it, sixteen more.
Leave it to P, a detail-oriented guy if ever there was one, to ask about specifics.
Any teacher knows the scenario. I didn't realize that I knew the answer to his question until he'd asked it. I'm happy to tell him, but of course I owe him some attitude first.
“Really P, I'm disappointed in you," I say in my most withering headmaster voice. "Isn't it obvious why sixteen?”
He gives me the look that I deserve.
“Four: it's the sacred number of the Sun. It's like nine: three threes. Sixteen is four fours: double the power.”
Such bantering play, of course, everywhere characterizes the conversation of the loreful.
In a time of darkness, we strengthen ourselves with images of light.
Sometimes we don't know the answer until someone asks the question.
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