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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The Limits of Skepticism

For years, it was my parade example of Pagans Letting Our Imaginations Get Carried Away With Us.

An interdimensional rift had opened up in a house in South Minneapolis, causing (as one might expect) no end of trouble.

An interdimensional rift.

In South Minneapolis.

Yeah, right.

Fortunately, one of the local Wiccan elders with a background in shamanic practice was able—with the help of his current student—to get that nasty rift closed and everything back to normal.

Phew.

I'm sorry, credulousness is not a virtue. Nor is belief. To misquote G. K. Chesterton, “Once people start believing, they don't believe in something; they'll believe in anything.”

I was telling the story of the South Minneapolis Rift at a party one night when one of the listeners said, “Oh, that really happened. That was my house.”

I questioned him about it, and he told me his version of the story.

“I don't know what it was, and I don't know what they did,” he concluded. “But whatever it was, it sure took care of it.”

Well.

While my skepticism remains undiminished, I am prepared to admit that (vocabulary aside) Uncle Wolf and his student were operating well within the parameters that, so far as we can tell, have characterized historic witchery for millennia.

There was a problem, and they took care of it.

Skeptic or no, that sounds like the real thing to me.

 

 

 

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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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