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 Shyest Wind

East Wind blowing today. Expect change soon.

The Winds don't figure much in modern pagan thought or experience, but the ancestors saw it differently.

Born of Earth's dance, the winged Winds, swiftest of gods, are the invisible messengers of the gods, with much to impart to those willing to pay attention.

Here on the edge of the Great Western Prairie, there's nearly always a wind blowing. Around here, stillness is temporary.

It's West Wind who does most of the talking hereabouts. He's a garrulous fellow. West Wind brings us most of our weather and almost all of our rain. If you want to know what the future will bring, look to the West.

We hear a lot from North Wind too, sometimes too much. North Wind means winter, cold and snow. When he and West Wind team up, look out. Better keep that snow shovel handy.

South is the warmest of our Winds. We don't hear from her much, but she's especially welcome when she comes (as she nearly always does) in late winter and early spring. Then she's the bearer of thaw and greenness. In summer, she brings heat and humidity. Nearly whenever she blows in, though, she's the best of guests.


And then there's East Wind. East Wind is a shy one, and we don't see much of her hereabouts; it always feels strange to be walking eastwards (as I did this morning) and feel the wind in your face.

But when you do, expect a change. That's East Wind's message.

It's been an early spring this year, but an extended one, slow in the coming. The Green has risen from his long winter's sleep in Earth's bosom. The fruit trees are just breaking bloom, and with a little luck we'll see lilacs for Bealtaine.

But Winter and Spring have been playing at cat and mouse for something like a month now, and I think we're all ready for a resolution.

Well, it looks like we may well get one.

East Wind blowing today.

Best expect a change.








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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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