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.
The Wayward Daughter
Dion Fortune was wrong.
Not all goddesses are one goddess.
There's Earth, Mother of all Life. She and her family—Sun, Thunder, Fire, the Winds, the plants, the animals—live out our lives together. Her story—our story—is what we call the Wheel of the Year.
And then there's the Moon.
Moon is the wayward daughter, the child who goes off and has a life of her own.
She has her own cycles, but they're not synched with those of everyone else. She has her own changes, powerful and independent. She's still Earth's daughter, part of the great family of the gods, and part of the life of that family, but very much on her own terms.
There in her sky (L. M. Boston) she wheels, independent of Earth's cycles, wandering the horizon in her Great Cycle as she will: ours but always her own.
That's why we worship her.
Her holidays are her own holidays, separate from the rest. Tonight we enter into her three nights' Darkness, from which she will rise again in three days' time. In honor of the Rose Moon, soon upon us, I'm baking a coconut cake with rose honey syrup. It is right to greet her Newness with sweetness.
We need those who stay, indeed we do.
But we also need those with the courage and the drive to go off on their own.
So we honor her, as we should.
In the name of the wandering Moon.
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Thanks for this story. It will stay with me.