My soul is not satisfied with an inert universe. The gods may not make a habit of speaking to me personally, but I can't help but whisper comments to them.

When I lay down on my deathbed, I want to know that I have done all I could to be a first rate human, not a third rate pawn of the gods.

If you think it is spiritual to burn food in front of starving people in hopes that your gods will bring this back to you in triplicate, you are missing the point and sowing animosity from all sides.

A modern culture built on the back of dying gods immerses me.

Everything mortal wears a chain with its death on the other end. None of you should escape that you are on earth only a very short time, but you all think you have figured out how to be gods. Tell me the story of the man who sees his death and loves it as much as it loves him.

The gods preferring their libations diluted with rainwater and mixed with freshly cut grass.

Man created god upon his thoughts to externalize, to give form to his belief to give a reason for what they could do. The gods stole away the energies, let man believe he was ruled rather than that he rules.

Do you think, one day, your number is up? That the gods look down and say, ‘Oh, you have had a winning streak when it comes to not having your throat torn out by a tiger, but you’ve come up snake-eyes today'?

Having spent all of my decision-making years as a Pagan of one stripe or another, I have long found it condescending at best to assume one cannot worship the old gods or believe in magick without breaking out the leather bracers, wings, or Ye Broken Olde English.