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.
Secret Smile
A warm golden light streams from the temple doorway. I enter.
Shining, the Goddess stands on the altar. She's actually grinning.
This is not always the case. Usually Her smiles are of the small, secret variety that art historians call “archaic.”
Not today. Today She wears a big, wide grin. Anyone who thinks that statues are static has never lived with this one.
Gifts always make Her happy. The coven was over for Full Moon last night. Each of us kindled a candle before Her. For five days they will burn there, bearing the intentions of our heart.
From the midst of Her crescent of flickering candles, She watches, motionlessly dancing, as I offer the morning incense.
She smiles.
Above: Peplos Kore, ca. 530 BCE
Acropolis Museum, Athens
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