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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Sentiment Unbecoming a Witch

I'm sorry, but I don't want to hear it.

(Actually, I'm not at all sorry, and I really don't want to hear it. But this is, after all, Minnesota, and that's just what we say.)

Self-pity is sentiment unbecoming a witch.

That's why witches don't whine.

Witches never whine.

Whining = air pollution. Whining poisons the air around you. Whining poisons everyone around you.

Whining poisons you.

Witches don't have time to whine; witches are too busy doing.

If you're unhappy about something, change it.

Even if you can't change the world around you, there's still one thing that you can change.

What might that be? Hint: what's the witch's most important tool?

(If you said “athame,” you're wrong.)

Real witches don't waste time pitying themselves.

Real witches don't whine.

Real witches do.



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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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