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Subscribe to this list via RSS Blog posts tagged in personifying priesthood

Posted by on in Culture Blogs


Him's our hobman, Hob's man, him what gives his body over, over to Old Hob.

Old Hob, him he throws he's shadow over. Hob's man.

Don't you go a-steppin' in he's shadow, now.

Wi' he's eyes sees, wi' he's ears hears, wi' he's tongue speaks, he do, then.

Him don't wear Old Hob's mask, no. No, that old mask wear he.

Most ways, him's our man, like to me and ye. Most ways, any road.

Come Sabbat, though, him he throw he's shadow over.

Even everyday-like, though, be shadow of that shadow over he.

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs

Classical Greek society (article) | Khan Academy

In ancient Greece, when an athlete was chosen to represent his city at, say, the Olympic Games, he first went to the temple.

There the priest would perform certain rites of purification and consecration. Then he would tell him: Remember, your body now belongs to the god.

When you give something to a god, of course, you want it to be the very best that you can possibly give.


So it is with spiritual athletics. I spoke the other night with the personifying priest for the upcoming 2021 Midwest Grand Sabbat.

There's a regimen to giving your body to a god. (Never doubt that the god, of course, gives back in kind.) Diet, exercise: in all ways, mentally and physically, you have to hone, to pare, to mold yourself into the best you of which you are capable.

I've done it myself. It's grueling work, especially for us over-fed and under-exercised denizens of the so-called 21st century. It's hard to give yourself to the hunger, even when that hunger joins you to a god.

I do my best to be a good trainer, to correct and suggest and encourage. Reflecting, I realize that I also have one other thing to offer here.

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs

“Most painted dick in the Midwest.”

If I never accomplish anything else in this long and varied life of mine, I suspect that I can safely claim that distinction at least with little fear of competition.

Such is the life of a priest of the Horned.

At the Grand Sabbat, the priest wears a mask, a collar of fresh green leaves, and a coat of paint.

The god wears the priest.

Eight days on from Mystery Night, I've just about scrubbed off the last of the god-paint. Well, there's still a little around the edges of the toenails, and my navel (being too ticklish to scrub). Such things are neither lightly taken on, nor easily shed.

Do you know why the god's glans is painted red at the Sabbat? The way I heard it, it's because He's the Opener of the Way.

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs
How Was Grand Sabbat This Year?

“So, how was Grand Sabbat this year?” asked my friend.

Funny. I organized the event (Thursday through Monday, with the Sabbat itself on Saturday night), also acting as chief priest and thus, in effect, host of the gathering. At the Sabbat itself, I served as personifying priest.

All of which makes me the least qualified person to tell you how things went.

I've seen inexperienced priests go into a ritual expecting (and sometimes achieving) profound states of spiritual ecstasis. They think that it's all about what they're feeling. If they can manage to get themselves into the zone, presumably the rest of us will groove along with them.

They've got it all wrong.

Of all the people at any given ritual, the one whose experience is the least important is the priest.

So, as to the Sabbat, I can only tell you what other people said.

(Several said, “Best yet.” But, of course, people always say that. Which is the best Grand Sabbat? The one we're at, of course.)

As for the Sabbat itself, as personifying priest, I'm not qualified to judge because (in a sense) I wasn't even there—at least, not in propria persona.

Here's what I can tell you. The Sabbat reembodies the creation of the Tribe of Witches. It doesn't just reenact the Primal Sacrifice out of which the world arose, it makes present the Sacrifice. So it did this year, and did it well.

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  • Kile Martz
    Kile Martz says #
    I'll tell you how "good" it was. I went to lunch today with my partner and a dear friend. We happened to run into another friend
Mirror to the Sun: A Letter to the Priests and Priestesses of the World

You are not your god. You are not your goddess.

(At least, no more than anyone else.)

Yet you act for your goddess. You act for your god.

That's the paradox of priesthood.

People judge your god, your goddess, by what you say and do.

At all times, therefore, act accordingly.

You—priestess, priest—are not the Sun.

You are a mirror reflecting the Sun.

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In Which the Priest Answers the Inquisitive Child

Yes indeed, it was I in the mask and the paint last night; that's no secret. Everyone knows it.

But the god was there also.

Did you for a while forget that it was me, and see and hear only the god, even if just for only for a little?

You did, and that's the mystery, and the power: that if I do my work well, and you do your work well, then sometimes, for a little, the god will consent to cast his shadow over his priest, so that in this way he may speak, and dance, and sense.

And you too may see him then, and speak with him, and dance with him.

Why does he consent to do this? He does it because we are his people, and he loves us.

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