• You couldn’t set out to be a good witch or a bad witch. It never worked for long. All you could try to be was a witch, as hard as you could. Terry Pratchett
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  • Just a quick note
    I’ve updated my bio page with a link to Les Cabinets Des Polytheistes, where my story “Spine of the World” is published (and in which people can play Spot The Netjer if they are so inclined), and my less-specific webspace Suns in Her Branches, which is broader than this space (which is specifically for reconstructionist-derived […]
  • Opet article is up
    And can be read here.Filed under: Patheos Links
  • Opet is coming ’round again
    And the Emboatening Crew is once more celebrating by making Kiva loans. You’re all welcome to join us. (My monthly column in Patheos Pagan is about Opet and charitable works, and will be going up tomorrow assuming nothing goes wrong.)Filed under: Festivals, Uncategorized
  • The Art of Being A God
    It’s interesting having one foot in reconstructionist religion and one foot in religious witchcraft, for a lot of reasons. One of the things that I’ve been thinking about lately is the shape of how the gods appear within the context […]
  • Mythopoeia
    Continuing with rambling on the topic of my exploration of pagan movement history, another critical concept: mythopoeia. The word means, literally, “myth-making”, and it is one of the near inescapable traits of at least the origin points of pagan religions. […]
  • Hills of the Horizon: The Past is Another Country
    The problem with extrapolation from history is that nothing is testable. The evolution of a religion over time is not a predictable and easily comprehensible thing, where we can look at a point in time and say, "It was like this then, so it would be like that now." The process of deciding what needs […]

Sestinas

Once upon a high summer dream
Go down to the garden gate
Where the windblown sign is of a wolf;
The path twines between trees
And vines
And past the hives for the bees.

The flower opens for the bee;
The hidden lands, likewise, in a dream;
The tangled lacework of the vine
Can stick tight or release the gate:
These are the signs given by the tree
Where in the twilight stalks the wolf.

Accompanying the song of the wolf
The thrumming rhythm of the bee
The endless breathing of the tree
From form to dream
And back again, the gate
Like the spirals of the vine.

Here is the madness of the vine,
The shape of the wolf,
The passage through the gate
And returning like a bee,
Drunk on honey and dream-
ing of the Queen of Trees.

The fruits of the tree
And the grapes of the vine
Are the sweetness of the dream,
And there, the wolf
Knowing what must be
Guards the passage and the gate.

Death and hell, the gate
Sheltered in the shade of the tree
Not that the bee
Fears either fruit or vine
Or the wolf
Shudders from the waking dream.

The gate in the tree,
The wolf in the bee,
The dream in the vine.