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 Nazi Who Came to Beltane

Anyone who's been around the pagan community for very long can tell you that we have our share of the broken and the damaged, and then some. Hai mai, it's a hard world.

But every now and then there's one that's just too broken, even for us. Eventually even the largest of heart realizes that this one's needs are just too great, and we send him or her off into the outgarth. Well, you can't heal everyone. We're a small community; we simply don't have the resources.

In 40+ years in Paganistan, I've seen a handful of these folks come and go: too weird even for the pagans. Now that's saying something.

From across the yard, I pegged this guy as one immediately: a taker. He's not here for what he can give, I thought, he's here for what he can get. So I avoided him. My time is too valuable to waste on those who don't know how to listen.

He'd followed someone in from the Heart of the Beast May Day Parade. The black eye he got fighting with antifa folks. (Another crowd for whom I have no respect.) One after another, he leeched onto people and wouldn't shut up.

Well, we may look like a group of (mostly) white, (mostly) middle class Minnesotans. Do not be fooled.

It's a credit to us that we didn't let it be about him. Around him, Beltane went on: the dancing, the song, the laughter. The food was good, and the conversation was good.

Finally, the witches decided: enough. As he seated himself at the fire and launched into a harangue, the witches began to sing. They sang the nazi up from his chair and out of the yard. Call it levitation.

Then the host took him by the elbow, led him to the curb, and übered him into oblivion. Sieg heil!

The worst thing that a tribe can do to you is to throw you out. Essentially, it's a death sentence.

Well, that's how it is with tribes. Unlike some, we don't have to take everyone.

Out, foul nazi. You have no power here.

Begone, before someone drops a house on you, too.

 

 

 

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Tagged in: Nazis Neo-Nazis
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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