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.
Boidh Se!
-SM
“Lost in a thicket bare-foot upon a thorned path.”
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