Pagan’s Plight
 With apologies to “Bill”

Degree or not degree, that is the question
Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the
Memorization of lists and hand gestures 
Or to take arms to a sea of dogma
And by opposing end them?
To be solitary- so seek truth without interference
No more; and by truth we say end.
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to –‘tis conformation
Devout to be wish’d.  To be solitary, 
- Seek truth
Seek truth!  Perchance to Know the Goddess: -ay there’s the rub;
For in that Knowing the Mystery is grasped,
When we have shuffled off the degree’s coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That gives Wicca-by-the-book so long a life;
For who will bear the whips and scorns 
Of the Degreed?
The High Priest’s wrong, 
The High Priestess’ contumely,
The pangs of being shunned, Karma’s Delay,
The insolence of rank, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With an Athome?  Who would fadels bear,
To grunt and sweat under an amours HP?
But that dread of Truth
The Undiscover’d country from whose born
No Traveler may speak, -puzzles the Will
And makes us rather bear 
those Degreed we may
Than fly without vanity?
Thus Ego offers Degrees for us all
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sickled o’re with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and movement,
With this regard, their currents turn awry
And lose the name of “Pagan”.


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The Boo Hoos!
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