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.
All Acts
Don't let familiarity blunt the impact.
These are revolutionary words.
All acts of love and pleasure are my rituals.
No circles, initiations, or Drawings-Down necessary.
Wiccanly speaking, that's revolutionary.
And—audacity of audacities—it's a revolution built right into the system.
Some years back, one of the local Wiccan churches (living in Paganistan, I get to say such things) held a Beltane ritual with three simultaneous Great Rites: male-female, female-female, male-male.
The mixed couple used the traditional blade and chalice.
The women poured from two bowls into a third.
The men used a blade and a horn.
Then people went around and drank. Some went to one couple, some to another.
(I remember that the horn—clearly akin to the legendary drinking-horn Face-Washer—was somewhat prone to splashing. Several people commented on this. The horn-priest explained with a grin that in male-male couplings there tend to be lots of liquids splashing around. Yup.)
But most folks went to all three.
As a religion, Wicca is young, and it certainly has its share of problems.
But those words, mate, those words.
That Goddess is a f**king revolutionary.
Go tell that to “Lady” So-and-So.
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