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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It's Wednesday's and Pugsley's big sword-fight scene in the school play.

A severed limb thuds to the ground. Blood sprays the front rows.

The camera pans the audience: horror, incredulity, disgust.

All but the Addams Family.

They're loving it.

I'd gone with some of our sister coven to see Addams Family Values.

There we were, a row unto ourselves among the pastel suburban families, laughing at all the wrong times.

Just like on screen.

 

Pagans. We're our own people. We see things differently. There's a look to us. And we laugh at all the wrong times.

We're not just marching to a different drummer. We've got our own band.

Hell, we've got our own musicology.

Pagans. We're not just a religion.

In some ways, we're more like an ethnic group.

 

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Tagged in: Tribe tribe of witches
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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