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Subscribe to this list via RSS Blog posts tagged in Midwest Tribe of Witches

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.

Last modified on
The Tribe of Witches: A Story for Our Day

This is the story of the Tribe of Witches.

Five hundred generations ago, a people called the Hwicce (HWICH-eh) lived in the basin of the River Severn in what is now England.

Their forebears, mostly Angles speaking a Germanic language, had come from the Continent, and settled in the tribal territory of a Keltic-speaking people called the Dobunni, the “People of the Two Tribes.”

In time, as is the way of things, these two peoples became one people: and this was the making of us. For from their union, some say, Kelt and German, sprang those that today we call the Tribe of Witches; and, indeed, we still bear their name.

And this is the main thing: that from our very beginning, we have been a mixed people.

Look at the Wheel of our Year: sunsteads, evendays, and cross-farthings together: the Keltic with the Germanic. We are a mixture of peoples, and our lore a mixture of lores.

Last modified on

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Blood Pact

Registrations are coming in for this year's Midwest Grand Sabbat.

(The firelight on the trees. The Stag That Walks On Two Legs, come down from the altar. The frenzied dancing. The love-making in the shadows.)

Yesterday one arrived that had actually been signed in blood.

Last modified on

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Ingathering

In the dream, it was the morning of this year's upcoming Grand Sabbat.

As I'm making preparations, Tall Rob comes up to me: beautiful Rob, wet-dream of the Western World, looking just as good as he did when I last saw him 10 years ago.

“Here, I wanted you to have this,” he says in his husky voice, pushing a handful of wadded bills into my hand. “Looking forward.” He smiles and moves off.

I look at the money for a moment, then push it uncounted into my pocket.

Rob has been dead for 10 years.

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Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • Steven Posch
    Steven Posch says #
    Whatever the "real" nature of such dreams, they do indeed serve to create a very real sense of connectedness across time. I've nev
  • Mike W
    Mike W says #
    I've had a "contact dream" a couple of times that is very real to me. In these dreams, I am sitting at a picnic table in the wood
  • Anthony Gresham
    Anthony Gresham says #
    When I was very young I would occasionally dream of visiting an antique store run by an old fisherman. Then one night I dreamed t

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