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.
Flight to the Sabbat
Full Wolf Moon: coven flying night.
The ointment makes the rounds; those who wish to, partake.
We lay down and Fly.
I am at the Sabbat in the firelit woods, kneeling at the altar.
I take His hand and kiss it. I tell Him I love Him. (I won't say there are no tears.) I lay my head in His lap. I speak the secret fears.
After a time, He takes His hand from my head and raises me up. His smile sears my soul.
Go and dance, He says.
The drums soar. I dance.
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