I attended my second Wicca cyber ritual on Tuesday.
“Let all who wish to meet with our Lady and Lord this night, enter now at the Eastern Gate.
Wild enchantresses of the night, ancient lords of mystery; fill our cups with joyous light.
Be here—we call to thee!
From all places whence came ye, come in peace, and blessed ye be.
Black spirits and white, red spirits and gray; hearken to the rune, I say....
We stand between the worlds, beyond the bounds of time. A place where joy and sorrow, night and day, birth and death, meet as one.”
reproduced by permission of the
high-priestess of JaguarMoon
Why are church services such prosaic affairs compared to Wicca? Criticize the archaic language if you will, and I’ll admit its similarity to Bewitched!, but at least Wicca attempts to create a place of beauty that is removed from everyday life. What is church but two songs, a prayer, a sermon, an offering, two more songs, and a benediction? Or, if you’re a Catholic, a tattered ritual containing language as mundane as a conversation in a supermarket. From the Latin that no one could understand, Catholicism has devolved to the level of special ed.
I have a lodge picnic tomorrow; I’m a week behind in my Wicca homework; and I’m temporarily without a patio roof or a sidewalk to my storage shed. There is a large hole in the front yard from my work on Friday when the sewer main stopped-up, and several other jobs and a coming vacation compete for my time. My knee still hurts, but not to the point that I am handicapped, and my energy level has risen so sharply that I amaze myself by how many hours I can work each day. I almost entertain the hope that I will someday be whole again.
Posted by Snowbrush