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Subscribe to this list via RSS Blog posts tagged in american paganism

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
The Golden Cattail

It is said that when first our people came to the fair land of Paganistan, having crossed the waters of the Father of Waters—him that is called the Mississippi—they were met by the fair Lady of the Land herself.

They say that she gave them fair greeting and set into the hands of him who led them these two things: a cattail and an apple.

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Posted by on in Paths Blogs

A diaspora, a scattered and exiled people is held together mainly by shared stories and songs, customs and language. Through space and time, generations and movement, the traditions passed down change. They fade and dwindle, but they also are revived and brightened. They are added onto, embellished. Neighborhoods and cities become their territory, each gaining its own character, each city having a synthesis of all the waves of immigrants that enter its gates. Conquest, slavery, genocide, war, so many tragedies and trauma haunt us all in different ways. Expressing what has been lost and erased and  asking gods, spirits and ancestors why all these things happened, and asking who we are now, what are we becoming, what is this this idea, this great story we are all part of, called America? We struggle, who tells this larger story of who we are, who controls and steers it determines who are the heroes and the villains.

What was the original version of the story, of the song may not be remembered?  There are a thousand versions. How well it is sung or told and whether the people believe in its poetic truth and power matters more. Each people has a story of their journey of how they became American, each is a part of a great story, the story of America.

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Bullhead

There were once two brothers who loved the same woman.

In a fit of rage, seeing which way the wind was blowing, the elder killed the younger. He tore him limb from limb, and threw the pieces into the Mississippi.

Now it so happens that this woman was a witch-woman. She paddled her canoe up and down the Mississippi, singing songs of power as she went, gathering the pieces of her lost love wherever she found them.

She found his head.

She found his torso.

She found his right arm.

She found his left arm.

She found his pelvis.

She found his testicles.

She found his right leg.

She found his left leg.

Up and down the River she paddled, from the Headwaters to the Gulf, singing songs of power as she went. All the parts of her lost love she found, all but one. A bullhead had eaten it.

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs
We The Witches

Say that there actually were witches of our sort, back in the Old Days.

Say that there were.

In the Old Country, times are hard. It's as much as your life is worth to keep to the Old Ways.

All the old stories tell of the Land-to-the-West, the Land-Across-the-Waves.

So we pack up our bags and, in hope and fear, we go there.

And when we arrive, lo! there in the forest—and such a forest!—we find him already waiting: the Horned our god (and such a god!), just as we knew him before.

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Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • Jamie
    Jamie says #
    Mr. Posch, I revere Thomas Morton's memory. Imagine how different it all could have been.
  • Steven Posch
    Steven Posch says #
    That would be Tom Morton (1579-1647), who did indeed raise America's first May-pole. Nat Hawthorne's story The May-Pole of Merrymo
  • Anthony Gresham
    Anthony Gresham says #
    I remember reading of someone known as John of Merrymount. I think Hawthorne turned the folktale into a short story.

Posted by on in Paths Blogs

 

Memorial Day

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  • Anthony Gresham
    Anthony Gresham says #
    Thank you for a beautiful prayer. I have reposted it on Facebook through your link at the top of the page. I also printed out a

Posted by on in SageWoman Blogs
All My Roads Lead South

I’ve had so many people encourage me to leave the South over the years, because they think I don’t belong here. They’re sure I’d be happier somewhere above the Mason-Dixon, despite my aversion to cold weather. I’m not convinced that my journey would be any easier, just different.

I was born and raised in the mountains of North Georgia near the southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail. I spent 17 years in Atlanta, six years in Savannah, and I’m currently residing in lower Alabama. If anything, life keeps pushing me deeper into the South instead of carrying me away from her. I have to believe there’s a reason for that, so I’ve decided to embrace the two aspects of my identity that don’t seem to go together at all: witchiness and southernness.

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Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • The Cunning Wife
    The Cunning Wife says #
    I (mostly) grew up in the South, too, and still live here -- 13 years in Georgia, 8 in South Carolina, and soon we'll be moving to
  • Ariel Aron
    Ariel Aron says #
    I'm so glad I'm not alone in this. I live in southeast Georgia I look forward to the Savanna pagan pride days every year to social
  • Jen
    Jen says #
    You are definitely not alone. Savannah Pagan Pride is a blast. I really enjoyed it when lived there, especially with all the color
  • Suzanne Tidewater
    Suzanne Tidewater says #
    Thanks for sharing your perspective!

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