Creating Circles and Ceremonies: Rituals for All ... - reading...

Book III: W heel of the Year 239
The dance shall be accompanied entirely by drums, starting with a strong rhythm and becoming
yet faster. In addition to the drums, the Priest or one chosen by him should read and
chant the following, over and over again, in time to the dancing:
Oh witches come, oh come! Sing ye, Horned One. Sing to the timbrel, the deep-voiced
timbrel. Joyfully praise Him, He who brings joy. Holy, all holy music is calling. To the
hills, to the hills fly oh witches, swift of foot, on, oh joyful, be fleet!
The music shall last for a long while. If there be drummers, the rhythm will end suddenly at
a sign from the Priest. If it is recorded, the finish will, of course, come of its own accord.
All shall drop to positions of rest. The Priestess shall stand before the altar facing north,
her arms outstretched, and call:
Mete us out joy, strength and magick, oh knightliest one!
If any of the magical catalyst* is available, she should throw a small handful of it into the
incense brazier.
Next should follow the rite of cakes and wine.
Finally, the Great Circle shall be opened.
*Magical Catalyst: Mix less than an ounce of saltpeter with an equal amount of chamomile
and powdered incense. Mix well, and place in a bowl at the base of the altar.
218. Second Harvest
The sun makes His descent
From the heavens and all that is above,
To caress the face of the One he loves;
To lay upon Her hills and mounds—
Earth! in all her green and growing splendor!
He enters Her valleys and caves,
Awakening Her inner fire.
Now all that is to be, held safe, within Her Body,
Alive within the space of Her Breath,
Fed by the running of Her Streams and
Hidden Wells,
Within the horizon full of stars,
The moon lifts a reflective face
Speaking the name of the Beloved.
Listen well for that name.
What you will
Is what you gain.
—Marylyn Motherbear Scott, 9/17/2002
219. T he Strength of the Magick
In this time of the Falling Leaves,
The Magician unweaves her warp and her weft.
Meticulous and nimble, her fingers untie the
knots in her web.
She honors it all, alone, she silently grieves.
Carefully pruning the tree of her birth,
She ponders new life that will grow.
She cuts and she trims, she gathers her wood,
To place in the stove of her soul.
Rolling and turning the threads of her weave...
Her fingers touch life, they touch death.
Sifting and turning, this web that’s been made,
She separates wheat from the chaff.
Serenely she chooses what’s to be saved.
She lets fall the dirt of her dead.
Out in her garden, she digs a deep hole.
She buries the flesh of her pain.
Into her pestle fall hardened old ways,
Thru grinding, she softens her soul.
Kneading and turning, she bakes us a bread
Made from the bones of her past.
She stands in her kitchen, alone in the night,
Smelling the spices of life.
She takes out her blade, she carves out a slice.
The rest she leaves for me and you.
—Mz Imani, 1996
220. Mabon God/Goddess Invocations
Hail Dionysus, God of vineyards!
Lord of laughter, wit and wine,
Lord of the Dance who lifts our burdens,
Walk with us between the worlds.
* * *
Cosmic Womb of all Creation,
Queen of Harvest, Queen of Heaven,
Ever changing yet remaining,
Walk with us between the worlds.
—Sanura & Diane DesRochers