Some say the Great Noble Spirits are sleeping, or have forgotten us. But I tell you that a Faery comes to me nightly thus: To share his Fire as we make love within the Starry Well, To share my Story and unite the realms of Heaven, Here, and Hell. My Aurifex who works the breath and waters of my soul, and in our communion deepens the wealth of being whole.
No, do not forsake the Deep Ones hidden within the twilit Dream, for whom we yearn and burn to vivify their shining stream. The heart is set aflame in virid raw desire when he approaches bearing his cunning Blue-Sun fire.
Then together we give praise unto the Holy Night; we worship with our lips and hands and loins in sacred rite. He teaches me the ways of praise and devotion to the Mystery, and knots the threads that bind the Winds and sets me wandering free.
A Child, a Bride, a Hag attend unto the Moon. Roses bloom and burn as jasmine's scent the Eve attunes. Our flesh, one Flesh, as it weirdly writhes and gushes forth: the Door Without a Key is opened by the Horn'd One's torch. We consecrate ourselves with the Moon Dove's silver'd tears and we call upon our Darksome Mother to embrace our lusts and fears.
Most Holy Harlot of the Sabbat, by the Knife and by the Cup: Come dance the Winds around the compass as we feast and run amok. Make our black hearts beat like a drum pounding in your frenzied Flight, as we join the Dance on ochre'd feet to make wild our delight!
Swear now the wicked vow to unveil the Goblin Masquerade, As lunar Scythe—your Crescent Crown—licks our fingers with its blade. Altogether make the Covenant to fill the Cauldron to the brim— as every drop of Red that bleeds from us is a spell upon the Wind.
Nine herbs, nine woods, nine kisses given forth into the fire to boil up a potent brew, a nectar dripping honey-tongued Desire. Our eyes are opened in the Sight, fill now they with Green Mist, as quickly turn the seasons by the spirits with whom we tryst.
And Beware! Beware the Fire flashing from our Knives in fuck and fight: Its sharpest edge cuts foe and friend alike, just as Dawn is born from Night.
And if we be so Lucky then to win the Old Ones’ boon, as we keep our eyes well-steadied on the waters of the Moon— look not away from there the prize, the treasure-hoard of yore, and take the leap in waking sleep to live forevermore.
And in these acts we re-member that we are the fevered hands of Fate: Hand-to-hand we've claimed the fire-brand in allegiance with the Fetch Mate. The Old Ones have shaken us so that now we come awake, and as Legion and strange Otherhood we take a stand before it's too late.
Keep the Silence as we work, masked and cowled and veiled, but for the rest of us is clad in sky within the Wild Weald. And we know that at the crossroads were meet the Ghostly Tracks, the Other-Selves shall lead the Front as they emerge from hollowed backs.
Back-to-back we dance the ring against the coursing Sun, That to There, the Furthest Shore, with our Faeries we do run. And beyond the strand across the seas stands reaching up to Heaven a Broken Mountain wherein burns the Sun to Midnight given. So shines the altar-pyre darkly in the deep of this black cave, the Sun's been swallowed by the Wolf whose jaws do form the Grave.
And like the lance that pricks the thigh to awaken our delight, dare to climb the latticed bones to steal a spark of Might.
Behold! The Secret Queen! The Daughter who shall lead us on our way! Our Nightly Flights shall win the fight as we battle back the day!
To and fro, between the lintel posts we strive to keep on going, and know that stealthily we win a new Fate from this doing.
Every thread is precious, every thread we knot and bind, Into the burning blackness labyrinthine we wind, Tethering our cords to one another deed-by-deed, working for the Land as it calls us to its Truest Need.
Together, in relationship, we are weaving the great Story: And that every thread is precious, every song shall find its glory. Silver Lightning flashes downward, a kindled kiss out of the Dark, Great Eyes are Watching from the Outer Spaces whose gazes leave a Mark. And as you stare into the blackness, and it reflects your Star-Self True, know that the Story we are weaving is at the same time weaving you