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.
Charter: A Carmen Figuratum
St. Mark's Cathedral, Minneapolis.
Looking up from the hymnal,
I see him, sitting
cross-legged on the altar:
buck naked
(oh baby!),
antlers out to here,
grinning like a jack o' lantern.
I blink, and he is gone.
I stand there, thunder-struck;
though he spoke no words,
my heart is riven, riven through.
I am here, even here.
As you have loved me, so I have loved you.
Do this, remembering me.
In our day, here in the American Midwest,
is reborn, in all its archaic terror and glory,
the Sabbat, the witch's true paradise.
Do this, remembering me.
Robert Lentz, Lord of the Dance (1982)
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