I never thought that the gospel story of the prodigal son would come true for me, but it did recently when my godson, Chris, visited me from far, far away for the first time in years. His girlfriend, Dana, accompanied him. After offering them a jolting shot of Turkish coffee, I went straight to the point of fulfilling my godparent duty by ruthlessly interrogating him about his religious practices. Sensing an opening in his theological stance, I went for it: I convinced him of the righteousness of Wicca (see below my blog, "Wickerman," on my latest embrace of Wicca). Whammo, within the hour, he and I are wearing laurel wreaths, burning hand-held candles, and barking at trees on the street. Damn good spiritually cleansing---and bonding---exercise.
Chris hasn't heard from Dana in days now, and her whereabouts are unknown.
St. Blonnd the Aerhedd, patroness of Wicca, pray for us all!
-Old Gargoyle
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