My polytheism’s the gods, and not just mine.
My polytheism keeps pork separate from a meal for a Jew, rearranges smoke breaks so a Muslim co-worker can pray, listens to the faith of Christians and smiles.
My polytheism knows why strangers want to speak to me about the dead, sits watch with a dying homeless woman, holds space for the grief of friends.
My polytheism has nothing to prove.
My polytheism fits seamlessly with the skepticism of the atheists, the curiosity of the agnostic, the bewilderment of the new.
My polytheism likes to climb walls, pick locks, rattle cages. It likes to grow in concrete, uproot sidewalks, topple pillars and overgrow cities.
My polytheism isn’t yours, but it’s hardly mine either. It can’t be taught or learned, bought or sold.
My polytheism doesn’t like chains or gates, fences or prisons.
Visit Paganarch to read more about Rhyd’s polytheism!