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.

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Counsel to One Seeking a Patron God I

Gods make elusive prey.

Hunter, be relentless.

First off, know your forest. Learn the terrain, the trees, the watering-places. Look for where to look.

Then stalk. Note patterns. Hunt with every sense. Follow the spoor, read each subtle sign: the print in the mud, the broken fern, the hank of fur in the bramble. Listen for movement. Snuffle for scent. Trust your hunter's instinct: your feet will find the way.

At times, stalk actively.

At times, quietly wait. Choose the right spot, and your prey will come to you.

When it does, aim and shoot true.

When you do, brace for the arrow to your heart.

Finding your god is a falling-in-love.

Finding your god is a death.

Of this be certain: you do not hunt alone.

Hunter, be sure your quarry hunts for you.

 

For Roberto Pagliaro

 

Tomorrow, more on the same topic, sans metaphor.

 

 

 

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Poet, scholar and storyteller Steven Posch was raised in the hardwood forests of western Pennsylvania by white-tailed deer. (That's the story, anyway.) He emigrated to Paganistan in 1979 and by sheer dint of personality has become one of Lake Country's foremost men-in-black. He is current keeper of the Minnesota Ooser.

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