Under the Mother’s Blood Moon the incense wafts across the altar carrying upon its wind the prayers of offering. There is a flame lit, a dish for the meal, and a small glass of wine; all are gifts of spirit.
The heart is opened and the conversation with divine is begun. The tinge of presence washes into focus, thoughts flood the mind, and the skin shivers.
From the graves of the Well-fated the Ancestors sing, from the four corners of the World the Mighty Ones stand witness placing their hand upon the altar, from the center that is everywhere our Lady and our Lord ladle the mysteries of the Moon and Sun, and from the Witch the chant evoking creation arises unto the whole of the universe.
The ecstatic rides the blood and kisses the brow with the abode of the sacred names whispered from the stars, stones, and roots.
“Lost in a thicket bare-foot upon a thorned path.”