Wednesday, June 11, 2008

The Goddess Rosary Or Lady Prayer

This can be said while fingering the big beads on the Rosary.

Use the Glory Be (below) for the wire/string before the large beads,
and then finger the large bead and say:

Our Lady who is the Essence of the Earth
We have called you by many names*
Return now unto Your People
Speak Your Will, and it shall be done
As Above, so Below.
Please give us each moment: our life, light & love.
If we have let you down,
Please forgive us and cleanse us,
According to our own willingness to forgive others.
And deliver us from Spiritual Evil
For You are the Goddess, Queen of the Universe,
Yours is the Power, the Grace, the Wisdom & the Beauty
Age unto Ages
Ah-Main

*When I use this prayer to invoke the actual presence of the Goddess, I like to recite at this point a list of Her many names, such as:

Asherah, Maria, Miryam, Isis, Diana, Shakti, Tara, Brigita, Venus, Sophia, Demeter, Freya, Gaia, Tiamat, Oshun, Quan-Yin......

Books in PDF format to read:

Anton Josef Kirchweger - The Golden Chain Of Homer
Janus Lacinius Therapus - The New Pearl Of Great Price.pdf
Anonymous - The Magical Library Of Harry Price

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The Hound Of Heaven By Francis Thompson

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbed pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat -- and a voice beat
More instant than the Feet --
"All things betray thee, who betrayest Me."

I pleaded, outlaw-wise,
By many a hearted casement, curtained red,
Trellised with intertwining charities;
(For, though I knew His love Who followed,
Yet was I sore adread
Lest, having Him, I must have naught beside.)
But, if one little casement parted wide,
The gust of his approach would clash it to :
Fear wist not to evade, as Love wist to pursue.
Across the margent of the world I fled,
And troubled the gold gateways of the stars,
Smiting for shelter on their clanged bars ;
Fretted to dulcet jars
And silvern chatter the pale ports o' the moon.
I said to Dawn : Be sudden -- to Eve : Be soon ;
With thy young skiey blossoms heap me over
From this tremendous Lover--
Float thy vague veil about me, lest He see !
I tempted all His servitors, but to find
My own betrayal in their constancy,
In faith to Him their fickleness to me,
Their traitorous trueness, and their loyal deceit.
To all swift things for swiftness did I sue ;
Clung to the whistling mane of every wind.
But whether they swept, smoothly fleet,
The long savannahs of the blue ;
Or whether, Thunder-driven,
They clanged his chariot 'thwart a heaven,
Plashy with flying lightnings round the spurn o' their feet :--
Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue.
Still with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbed pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
Came on the following Feet,
And a Voice above their beat--
"Naught shelters thee, who wilt not shelter Me."

I sought no more that after which I strayed,
In face of man or maid ;
But still within the little children's eyes
Seems something, something that replies,
They at least are for me, surely for me !
I turned me to them very wistfully ;
But just as their young eyes grew sudden fair
With dawning answers there,
Their angel plucked them from me by the hair.
"Come then, ye other children, Nature's -- share
With me" (said I) "your delicate fellowship ;
Let me greet you lip to lip,
Let me twine with you caresses,
Wantoning
With our Lady-Mother's vagrant tresses,
Banqueting
With her in her wind-walled palace,
Underneath her azured dais,
Quaffing, as your taintless way is,
From a chalice
Lucent-weeping out of the dayspring."
So it was done :
I in their delicate fellowship was one --
Drew the bolt of Nature's secrecies.
I knew all the swift importings
On the wilful face of skies ;
I knew how the clouds arise
Spumed of the wild sea-snortings ;
All that's born or dies
Rose and drooped with ; made them shapers
Of mine own moods, or wailful or divine ;
With them joyed and was bereaven.
I was heavy with the even,
When she lit her glimmering tapers
Round the day's dead sanctities.
I laughed in the morning's eyes.
I triumphed and I saddened with all weather,
Heaven and I wept together,
And its sweet tears were salt with mortal mine ;
Against the red throb of its sunset-heart
I laid my own to beat,
And share commingling heat ;
But not by that, by that, was eased my human smart.
In vain my tears were wet on Heaven's grey cheek.
For ah ! we know not what each other says,
These things and I ; in sound I speak--
Their sound is but their stir, they speak by silences.
Nature, poor stepdame, cannot slake my drouth ;
Let her, if she would owe me,
Drop yon blue bosom-veil of sky, and show me
The breasts o' her tenderness ;
Never did any milk of hers once bless
My thirsting mouth.
Nigh and nigh draws the chase,
With unperturbed pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy ;
And past those noised Feet
A Voice comes yet more fleet --
"Lo ! naught contents thee, who content'st not Me."

Naked I wait thy Love's uplifted stroke !
My harness piece by piece Thou hast hewn from me,
And smitten me to my knee ;
I am defenceless utterly.
I slept, methinks, and woke,
And, slowly gazing, find me stripped in sleep.
In the rash lustihead of my young powers,
I shook the pillaring hours
And pulled my life upon me ; grimed with smears,
I stand amid the dust o' the mounded years --
My mangled youth lies dead beneath the heap.
My days have crackled and gone up in smoke,
Have puffed and burst as sun-starts on a stream.
Yea, faileth now even dream
The dreamer, and the lute the lutanist ;
Even the linked fantasies, in whose blossomy twist
I swung the earth a trinket at my wrist,
Are yielding ; cords of all too weak account
For earth with heavy griefs so overplussed.
Ah ! is Thy love indeed
A weed, albeit an amaranthine weed,
Suffering no flowers except its own to mount ?
Ah ! must --
Designer infinite !--
Ah ! must Thou char the wood ere Thou canst limn with it ?
My freshness spent its wavering shower i' the dust ;
And now my heart is as a broken fount,
Wherein tear-drippings stagnate, spilt down ever
From the dank thoughts that shiver
Upon the sighful branches of my mind.
Such is ; what is to be ?
The pulp so bitter, how shall taste the rind ?
I dimly guess what Time in mists confounds ;
Yet ever and anon a trumpet sounds
From the hid battlements of Eternity ;
Those shaken mists a space unsettle, then
Round the half-glimpsed turrets slowly wash again.
But not ere him who summoneth
I first have seen, enwound
With glooming robes purpureal, cypress-crowned ;
His name I know, and what his trumpet saith.
Whether man's heart or life it be which yields
Thee harvest, must Thy harvest-fields
Be dunged with rotten death ?

Now of that long pursuit
Comes on at hand the bruit ;
That Voice is round me like a bursting sea :
"And is thy earth so marred,
Shattered in shard on shard ?
Lo, all things fly thee, for thou fliest me !
"Strange, piteous, futile thing !
Wherefore should any set thee love apart ?
Seeing none but I makes much of naught" (He said),
"And human love needs human meriting :
How hast thou merited --
Of all man's clotted clay the dingiest clot ?
Alack, thou knowest not
How little worthy of any love thou art !
Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee,
Save Me, save only Me ?
All which I took from thee I did but take,
Not for thy harms,
But just that thou might'st seek it in My arms.
All which thy child's mistake
Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home :
Rise, clasp My hand, and come !"
Halts by me that footfall :
Is my gloom, after all,
Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly ?
"Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,
I am He Whom thou seekest !
Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest me."

Books in PDF format to read:

Aleister Crowley - The Fun Of The Fair
Edna Kenton - The Book Of Earths
William Blake - The Marriage Of Heaven And Hell

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Blessing By Flanders

May the East fling open your windows,
and fill your rooms with air;
May the South send you strong sunshine,
and give you the strength to dare;
May the west wash rivers into your
heart, and oceans into your soul,
May the North share the secrets and
gifts of the earth,
to heal and make you whole.

by M. Flanders

House Blessing 1

My husband and I did a variation of this and Chris agrees that it worked so well that people like to visit our house. It makes for a warm, happy, well protected Pagan home. Enjoy.

Assemble:

1. Salt & Water
2. Incense (fire and air)
3. Milk & Honey
4. Oil (for anointing)
5. Wine (for offering)
6. Bells, Pots, Pans, Whistles, etc.

Cast a circle in the main room (living room) and after casting, visualize the circle expanding to include the entire house. Call upon the spirits and energies living in the house (or apartment).

Invite those who will be harmonious with the new household and its energies to remain. Invite/ask those who will be happier elsewhere to depart. Release all "energies" not compatible with the new household. (This may be expressed as a "release" in order to unbind anything that may be stuck.)

Then call upon, greet, and invite ancestors, patron deities, and all harmonious spirits and energies to dwell in the house as they please.

Gather up the pots, pans, and all the noise-makers. Go to each door and window, not forgetting the fire-place and dog-door, making as much racket as humanly possible--to shoo out anything unwanted. (This is hysterical fun, and also raises lots of energy for the next important step.)

Go again throughout the house and at each portal (door, window, etc.) Sprinkle salt-water and cense, saying:

"By the Elements I purify and charge this portal."

Then anoint the portal with milk and honey, saying:

"By Milk and Honey I ensure prosperity and peace within this place."

Finally, anoint the portal with oil, saying:

"With Oil I seal this portal and protect all within."

At the front door a special prayer is said, asking the guardian deities (God & Goddess) "to freely grant entry to all friends and loved ones, and to prevent passage (turn aside) to any who would do harm." Then, if it's a house--pour wine across the width of the threshold; if it's an apartment anoint the threshold with light touches of wine.

The house-holders then each take a sip of wine, leaving some as an offering to the Gods, and the Circle should be closed. The remaining wine, milk, and honey should be offered to the Gods. (In our case to the fruit tree and the oak tree in our yard.)

Addenda: This is very effective if done as part of a house-warming party, followed by much feasting. It has also been done very effectively by two people. It only takes about 30 minutes to do a large house.

Do make certain to "ground" afterward, by closing the circle and by eating. This ritual can "stir" up everybody and make the house feel full of "buzzy" energy.

Witches Burning

Date: Thu 07 Jan 88 15:43:34
From: L.a. Hussey (on 161/93)
To: All
Subj: Song

Lately I've been seeing an outrageous escalation of figures from the burning times, now we're up to 9.5 million! And there seems to be some sort of perverse
"we're more persecuted than the Jews" mentality behind it. Completely ignoring the fact that the burning times killed some large number of people over 4 centuries, where the Nazi Holocaust killed its millions in a matter of 5 YEARS.
Also, I've been pissed off lately by Charlie Murphey's "Burning Times" song, which has propagated the 9 million figure and has in it lines like "The Earth is a Witch/ and the Men still burn Her". So, in the good old-fashioned tradition of lectures set to music, I offer the following verses. I need to see how many people they offend before I sing them at Esotericon.

BURNING TIMES

The songs are sung to rouse our anger
Of martyred witches gone to the fire
But what is served by righteous singing
When all we do is stew in our ire?
Nine million dead in four hundred years
More in that time simply died of disease.
Why do we dwell on long-passed dead
When we are alive in times like these?

cho1: Rise up, Witches, throw off your masks
And cease crying guilt for ancient crimes;
Earth and all her children need us,
For all face now the Burning Times.

In the face of that hostile power,
How did the old knowledge stay alive?
How do we have a Craft to practise?
Our ancestors knew how to fight and survive!
How do we honour our blessed dead?
Slavery threatens all but the few!
We must teach their cunning ways;
Everyone needs the skills they knew.

cho: Rise up, Witches, gather your strength,
And let your power spread and climb;
Earth and all her children need us,
For all face now the Burning Times.

I'll not cast off science's works
Witches all forces to Will can bend.
I'll not accuse, for war and waste,
Some patriarchy of faceless Men.
Men do not cast the only votes;
Women alone do not demonstrate.
Rather than shut out half the race,
Who, if not we, will change that state?

(cho)

I will not blame a Father's Church --
Blame and guilt are Their tools, not mine.
And even in the shuls and churches
Allies there will I seek and find!
I will not answer hate with fear;
Nor with a smug, cheek-turning love;
I will not answer hate with rage;
By strength alone will I not be moved!

(cho)

I will not hide in my sacred grove --
The factories and cities yet ring me about.
I will not climb my ivory tower --
The real world exists though I shut it out.
I will not work for Church nor State
Who serve themselves while they serve us lies.
Nor only for my Witchen kin
But for the family of all alive!

(cho)

So if rebellion means to fight
A State lost sight of why it was built,
If heresy's to reject a Church
That rules with force or fear or guilt,
Then let us all be rebels proud,
And shameless heretics by creed!
A tyrant's hand subjects the Earth
More heretic rebels are what She needs!

(cho)

copyright 1988, Leigh Ann Hussey

Also try this free pdf e-books:

Howard Phillips Lovecraft - The Lurking Fear
Mary Mazzer - Witch Brew

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The Eddas The Keys To The Mysteries Of The North

Book: The Eddas The Keys To The Mysteries Of The North by James Allen Chisholm

This is a practical manual of self-transformation. It takes the form of a working edition of the mythological poems of the ancient Norse Poetic Edda for modern “pagans” who practice the magic and religion of the North. The poems of the Poetic Edda form the most complete and authentic body of surviving pre-Christian Germanic religious and magical lore. The mythological poems of the Elder Edda hold the keys to the Understanding and practice of the pre-Christian religion of the Germanic peoples. This book enables the reader to fathom the
mysteries of the Eddic poems so that the elder Troth of the Gods of Europe may again be rightly hailed in holy groves, and the Hidden Wisdom of the rune-masters rediscovered. This book is especially practical for those who wish follow the authentic pre-Christian religion and magic of the English and other Teutonic folk.

A new translation of the mythological poems of the Edda is the main component of this work. The religious content is revealed with accuracy and clarity. Earlier renditions have been artful paraphrases by scholars who valued the poems as literary monuments, but disregarded the religious and mythic content as the nonsensical but amusing folklore of a more primitive world. None of them ever imagined that their audiences would include practitioners of the Eddic religion. The inaccuracies of such translations have led many modern pagans astray. This is the truest translation for purposes of understanding the religious content of the Poetic Edda.

For the rune-magicians, poetry was a powerful form of magic. The Eddas hold the wisdom of the Erulian Rune-Magicians, and many of these poems may be fathomed to incredible depths and heights, by those who know how to ask. This book is about asking. These poems provide sufficient material for an accurate reconstruction and revivification of the Odian religious and magical philosophies. These poems hold spells, invocations, and lore from which rituals, sacred dramas, and initiatory rites can be reconstructed or authentically created, as well as the keys to understanding the soul and the nine worlds of Yggdrasil - the world tree of the ancient North. Many of the keys are provided also for unlocking the secrets of mysteries of the cults of Thor, Tyr and the Vanir, though much of this lore is filtered through an Odian lens.

The Eddic poems are spells, in which the mysteries of the old lore are encoded by word, rhythm, alliteration, idea, and rune. The words of a given stanza are not juxtaposed merely because the resulting rhythms and word plays are pleasing, but because of there are deep magical resonances among such words. The impact of these magical stanzas perhaps may not be registered consciously, but the magic of Eddic lines reaches far below the shallow waters of mundane conscious understanding into the depths of the collective unconscious, into the realms where our souls mingle with the realms of the Gods. The power of the Eddic verses can be used for invocations and magical operations. It is the task of the modern elders (priests) and vitkis (magicians) to gain a conscious knowledge of the meanings and powers of these combinations of word, meter and rune. The stanzas of the Eddic poems hold the secrets of our Gods. It is the task of this book to provide the modern seeker with the keys to understanding deeper levels of meaning and to encode these into modern English for fashioning invocations to the Gods and for shaping powerful poetic staves in magic.

Download James Allen Chisholm's eBook: The Eddas The Keys To The Mysteries Of The North

Books in PDF format to read:

Hargrave Jennings - The Rosicrucians Their Rites And Mysteries
Anonymous - Welcome To The Secrets Of The Root Witch
George Robert Stowe Mead - Echoes From The Gnosis Vol I The Gnosis Of The Mind
Eliphas Levi - The Key Of The Mysteries
James Allen Chisholm - The Eddas The Keys To The Mysteries Of The North

The Priestess Of Panormita

Hear me, Lord of the Stars!
For thee I have worshipped ever
With stains and sorrows and scars,
With joyful, joyful endeavour.
Hear me, O lily-white goat!
O crisp as a thicket of thorns,
With a collar of gold for Thy throat,
A scarlet bow for Thy horns!

Here, in the dusty air,
I build Thee a shrine of yew.
All green is the garland I wear,
But I feed it with blood for dew!
After the orange bars
That ribbed the green west dying
Are dead, O Lord of the Stars,
I come to Thee, come to Thee crying.

The ambrosial moon that arose
With breasts slow heaving in splendour
Drops wine from her infinte snows,
Ineffably, utterly, tender.
O moon! ambrosial moon!
Arise on my desert of sorrow,
That the magical eyes of me swoon
With the lust of rain to-morrow!

Ages and ages ago
I stood on the bank of a river,
Holy and holy and holy, I know,
For ever and ever and ever!
A priest in the mystical shrine,
I muttered a redeless rune,
Till the waters were redder than wine
In the blush of the harlot moon.

I and my brother priests
Worshipped a wonderful woman
With a body lithe as a beast's,
Subtly, horribly human.
Deep in the pit of her eyes
I saw the image of death,
And I drew the water of sighs
From the well of her lullaby breath.

She sitteth veiled forever,
Brooding over the waste.
She hath stirred or spoken never.
She is fiercely, manly chaste!
What madness make me awake
From the silence of utmost eld
The grey cold slime of the snake
That her poisonous body held?

By night I ravished a maid
From her father's camp to the cave.
I bared the beautiful blade;
I dipped her thrice i'the wave;
I slit her throat as a lamb's,
That the fount of blood leapt high
With my clamorous dithyrambs,
Like a stain on the shield of the sky.

With blood and censer and song
I rent the mysterious veil;
My eyes gaze long and long
On the deep of that blissful bale.
My cold grey kisses awake
From the silence of utmost eld
The grey cold slime of the snake
That her beautirul body held.

But--God! I was not content
With the blasphemous secret of years;
The veil is hardly rent
While the eyes rain stones for tears
So I clung to the lips and laughed
As the storms of death abated,
The storms of the grievous graft
By the swing of her soul unsated.

Wherefore reborn as I am
By a stream profane and foul,
In the reign of a Tortured Lamb,
In the realm of a sexless Owl,
I am set apart from the rest
By meed of the mystic rune
That reeds in peril and pest
The ambrosial moon--the moon!

For under the tawny star
That shines in the Bull above
I can rein the riotous car
Of galloping, galloping Love;
And straight to the steady ray
Of the Lion-hearted Lord I career,
Pointing my flaming way
With the spasm of night for a spear!

O moon! O secret sweet!
Chalcedony clouds of caresses
About the flame of our feet,
The night of our terrible tresses!
Is it a wonder, then,
If the people are mad with blindness,
And nothing is stranger to men
Than silence, and wisdom, and kindness?

Nay! let him fashion an arrow
Whose heart is sober and stout!
Let him pierce his God to the marrow!
Let the soul of his God flow out!
Whether a snake or a sun
In his horoscope Heaven hath cast,
It is nothing; every one
Shall win to the moon at last.

The mage has wrought by his art
A billion shapes in the sun.
Look through to the heart of his heart,
And the many are shapes of one!
An end to the art of the mage,
And the cold grey blank of the prison!
An end to the adamant age!
The ambosial moon is arisen.

I have bought a lily-white goat
For the price of a crown of thorns,
A collar of gold for its throat,
A scarlet bow for its horns;
I have bought a lark in the lift
For the price of a butt of sherry:
With these, and God for a gift,
It needs no wine to be merry!

I have bought for a wafer of bread
A garden of poppies and clover;
For a water bitter and dead,
A foam of fire flowing over.
From the Lamb and his prison fare
And the Owl's blind stupor, arise!
Be ye wise, and strong, and fair,
And the nectar afloat in your eyes!

Arise, O ambrosial moon,
By the strong immemorial spell,
By the subtle, veridical rune
That is mighty in heaven and hell!
Drip thy mystical dews
On the tongues of the tender fauns,
In the shade of initiate yews,
Remote from the desert dawns!

Satyrs and Fauns, I call.
Bring your beauty to man!
I am the mate for ye all;
I am the passionate Pan.
Come, O come to the dance,
Leaping with wonderful whips,
Life on the stroke of a glance,
Death in the stroke of the lips!

I am hidden beyond,
Shed in a secret sinew,
Smitten through by the fond
Folly of wisdom in you!
Come, while the moon (the moon!)
Sheds her ambrosial splendour,
Reels in the redeless rune
Ineffably, utterly, tender!

Hark! the appealing cry
Of deadly hurt in the hollow:--
Hyacinth! Hyacinth! Ay!
Smitten to death by Apollo.
Swift, O maiden moon,
Send thy ray-dews after;
Turn the dolorous tune
To soft ambiguous laughter!

Mourn, O Maenads, mourn!
Surely your comfort is over:
All we laugh at you lorn.
Ours are the poppies and clover!
O that mouth and eyes,
Mischievous, male, alluring!
O that twitch of the thighs,
Dorian past enduring!

Where is wisdom now?
Where the sage and his doubt?
Surely the sweat of the brow
Hath driven the demon out.
Surely the scented sleep
That crowns the equal war
Is wiser than only to weep--
To weep for evermore!

Now, at the crown of the year,
The decadent days of October,
I come to thee, God, without fear;
Pious, chaste, and sober.
I solemnly sacrifice
This first-fruit flower of wine
For a vehicle of thy vice,
As I am Thine to be mine.

For five in the year gone by
I pray Thee give to me one;
A lover stronger than I,
A moon to swallow the sun!
May he be like a lily-white goat,
Crisp as a thicket of thorns,
With a collar of gold for his throat,
A scarlet bow for his horns!

Also try this free pdf e-books:

Howard Phillips Lovecraft - The Quest Of Iranon
Sri Swami Sivananda - The Science Of Pranayama
Franz Cumont - The Mysteries Of Mithra

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Pan To Artemis

Uncharmable charmer
Of Bacchus and Mars,
In the sounding, rebounding
Abyss of the stars!
O virgin in armor,
Thine arrows unsling
In the brilliant resilient
First rays of the spring!

By the force of the fashion
Of love, when I broke
Through the shroud, through the cloud,
Through the storm, through the smoke,
To the mountain of passion
Volcanic that woke--
By the rage of the mage
I invoke, I invoke!

By the midnight of madness,
The lone-lying sea,
The swoon of the moon,
Your swoon into me;
The sentinel sadness
Of cliff-clinging pine,
That night of delight
You were mine, you were mine!

You were mine, O my saint,
My maiden, my mate,
By the might of the right
Of the night of our fate.
Though I fall, though I faint,
Though I char, though I choke,
By the hour of our power
I invoke, I invoke!
By the mystical union
Of fairy and faun,
Unspoken, unbroken--
The dusk to the dawn!--
A secret communion,
Unmeasured, unsung,
The listless, resistless,
Tumultuous tongue!--

O virgin in armor
Thine arrows unsling,
In the brilliant resilient
First rays of the spring!
No Godhead could charm her,
But manhood awoke--
O fiery Valkyrie,
I invoke, I invoke!

Books in PDF format to read:

Anonymous - Pagan Holidays
Al Selden Leif - Pagan Samhain Recipes
Stephen William Hawking - Space And Time Warps
Charles Baize - Pagan Scriptures
Anonymous - Pagan Stones And Gems

The Firing Line

There's a firing line that crosses our heart
So, How close to this line do we need to get
Before it's crossed over and we begin to sweat
Please, Just tell me my spot on the wall
Where should I stand / How should I fall
If I'm up there, Who's got the gun
When do they load
Take aim & let go.
It's really not fair Someone's standing in my spot
That great Little spot that I Thought just for me
Why won't he listen so I can be FREE
It's a simple request that he needs to hear
"Move over now buddy" My time is real near
You see I want to go for my Line Has Been Crossed
The older you get the thicker your lines
Yet, The Love you can feel is much more intense
Everyone should take chances with their own Firing Line
It's a part of your body a part of your mind
Don't worry now for your spot will be there
The question for you is, "When To Prepare."

(c. Roy Rindom, June 6, 1994)

Books in PDF format to read:

Will Herberg - The Writings Of Martin Buber
Ida Craddock - The Wedding Night
Tuesday Lobsang Rampa - The Third Eye
Tuesday Lobsang Rampa - The Saffron Robe
Aleister Crowley - The Winged Beetle

Song For Hecate

O Lady of the darkest soul of night
Mother of Midnight, Ancient Shadow Queen
Bringer of Visions, give to me the sight
To see the sacred in all living things.
And in cold death, still beauty may I see
When You take back into Yourself
the beauty that was me.
O great Hecate, beneath Your waning moon
I stand dark-hooded on the shadowed road
and face three choices, though all roads lead to You
All stories end at last, untold and told.
O Crone of Wisdom, give to me the sight
To see the dance within all things
of darkness and of light.
O Ancient Lady, Mistress of the Night
You of three faces, Maiden, Mother, Crone
Protector of Witches, dancing with delight
On Your brown Earth, together or alone.
Dark Mother Goddess, give to me the sight
In death, in life, may I behold
Your Mystery dark and bright.

~Rhiannon Asher

Also try this free pdf e-books:

Tuesday Lobsang Rampa - You Forever
Aleister Crowley - Songs Of The Spirit
Aleister Crowley - Songs For Italy

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Magical Poetry

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

The Goddess Rosary Or Lady Prayer

Saturday, June 7, 2008

The Hound Of Heaven By Francis Thompson

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Blessing By Flanders

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

House Blessing 1

Night Prayer

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Witches Burning

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

The Eddas The Keys To The Mysteries Of The North

Book: The Eddas The Keys To The Mysteries Of The North by James Allen Chisholm

Monday, April 28, 2008

The Priestess Of Panormita

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Pan To Artemis

Saturday, April 5, 2008

The Firing Line

Friday, April 4, 2008

Song For Hecate

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