The longest night, searching the soul and the wise council of the oracle.

Photo by Christine Macleod

To rise before the sun is no hardship as we head into the darker times of the year, the winds they whistle the tune of Odin and the wild ones, rain beats its steady rhythm upon the glass of our home and thoughts of facing the day rise to the forefront of our minds well before the glorious light of morning graces the land with its presence if not its warmth.

The last blooms of summer now blow upon the winter storms, yet if by chance we search the green a rare gem may still be found, bright scarlet lies amongst natures decay, tattered and torn yet as food for the spirit manifest we rejoice at its sight, a reminder, all things must pass, death is but a journey into the new world.
The progression of all things is marked at some point by an end of sorts, to continue along the path and into gnosis there are many pieces of ourselves that must die in order that there may be many to bear fruit in future times, just as those trees and plants that would appear dead to us now shall bear bloom and seed when the warmth of our sun graces them with its radiance once more.
Parts of who we were become as nutrient to that which grows, an end of a kind but not a random discarding of spiritual landfill, who we are is shaped by what we have been, would you change any thing of the past? I would not, for I would not have become who I am today, if but one thing could have been discarded, tears and cruelty, hedonistic behaviour, compromise beyond need, I could not have grown as all joy or sorrow serves its ultimate purpose within that forge, atop the anvil and beneath the hammer of that old blacksmith of the soul, we are remade of that which we once were. The trials of life are as fuel to the artisans fire.

Now that the light of day is short and joyous evening strolls among the flying (sometimes biting) insects and deep magenta sky are all but forgotten, minds within the Craft turn to work of a different nature, moments out and about become less frequent and time spent in thought and meditation more so, Many questions are answered and many more questions bubble to the surface from the depths of the great well, attempting to bring order to the chaos within we muse upon subjects plucked from the ether or riddles set by another.
There is one subject so often over looked yet quoted in disposable fashion by all within the occult community ( including this one), hiding within plain site yet rarely dealt with in truth, a sleeping dragon left unchecked, that once counselled-Gnothi seauton- Know Thyself, the wise warning to the foolish ego that was herald to the Oracle of the temple of Apollo at Delphi.

This very task, given by those who would aid me within my own evolution was one I have undertaken recently, the questions of who I am and where have I come from, what was I and what do I hope to become, not feeding the ego, but placing all in order and calming those turbulent waters within, to befriend this sleeping Dragon and not to have to tip toe around it or attempt to bury it beneath a pile of delusional thought, to truly Know Thyself is the goal, to move forward safe in the knowledge that no angry serpent will engulf you in its flame in future times.
Modern social conditioning does reflect in this journey into the depths, those buried thoughts and emotions, the worst of the self are the first to rise to the surface, emotional tears accompany every mistake made within the time of our short existence, unworthy of life, of consideration, foulest of beings to inhabit this earth, detritus, just another inconsiderate consumer of the resources of the world, but wait, this is not some examining of everything you hate about yourself, it takes time, hours in fact, to truly search the soul.

A death of sorts through realisation has taken place, the worst now dealt with, sweet blooms start to push their way up through the soil of the spirit, those joys of life, what you are truly capable of, those beloved by you and of those who of you yourself are beloved, triumphs that soon over shadow those past failures as the molten metal of you is slowly poured into the mould of who you will become, to be once more tempered and made strong within the fires of this hell.

I am the hunter,The protector.
I am not vengeance,
but I may wield the sword of justice.
I may become Tracker and Guide,
but do not follow me blindly.
Watch,
Learn from the mistakes I have made,
and will make.

This forest belongs to me,
yet it is never mine to own.
It is not the fertile loam that is the key,
for upon that lies a mask.
It is not the majestic oak that is the key,
for that giant too wears a mask.
All truth lies upon the wind.

To glimpse for just one second,
that which would hide beneath.
A key of shining gold.
Perhaps there shall become a chance,
to touch upon that rare metal.
To gaze upon the hidden realms,
to walk in the world of giants.

This crooked path through the forest,
plain to see for those with the eye,
when distractions fade and truth will out.
Yet beautiful they are.
Embrace them fully,
feel the warmth they exude.
Relish the love they bring.


The longest night in this ones life, born of need and not desire I am remade, I feel that in my own heart that at this time I do in fact Know myself, I am me and happy to be me, I sit on the Dragons own hoard warmed by the sighing breath of my new friend and safe in the knowledge of who it is I am.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

A setting sun and A Star crossed serpent.

The sun sets upon another chapter of the life and journey of this would become "Cunning" man.
What appears alikened to that death of summer is with hope and faith a birth of something far greater than anything of which I could have wished to have known.
This once lonely soul that attempted to grace the pages of the Internet with wild grasps at wisdom and knowledge is no longer such, since first sitting here, trying to find the answers that prior to this voyage eluded me there have been so many changes,so many more questions, each door leads to a corridor filled with more doors, yet the answers come, with guidance certainly, but upon the winds as gifts from the divine in most, the mentors work is not to tell the student, it is to point him/her in the right direction so that the enquiring mind may discover the truths for them selves, there are no secrets to those who would listen to the wind.
I have found true faith, love and family, I am able to move through the worlds with far greater ease than ever before, even though at this time I walk the edge, I fear not the drop, for there is the fabric of wyrd that shall gather me home and place me exactly where I need to be.

Faith in fate and a willingness to evolve the soul are the keys to the doors of eternity, these things will not be found within the pages of a leather bound grimoire, although the clues may lie within the pages, an illiterate being (not an ignorant one) would still be able to find the light as is often seen within the tribal societies upon our blue planet. In truth there are many intellectual occultists out there, so bound up within the tangled threads of their own egos that they will perhaps never glance toward the source or be touched by those perfect threads.
Our Craft ancestors were a simple folk, many could not write or read letters yet the Craft survived, symbols and pictures, rhyme and song gave substance and solidity to our forefathers, if many of those blessed souls were to stumble upon any of the nonsense that proliferates through the esoteric societies they would perhaps see only kindling for the hearth and no wisdom at all.
Yet we live within a mostly literate society, words have replaced symbols in many ways yet still they exist, always hiding in plain sight, there is a great deal of fuel for the fire being produced yet there are some true gems that will be understood on many levels by both prince and pauper.
These gems are like buses, you don't see one for a while, then two or three come at once.

Star crossed Serpent vol1 -Shani Oates.

Another long awaited gem of wisdom from the Maid of the Clan of Tubal Cain.
Shani has always given those true seekers of knowledge her time, wisdom and patience, and this is once more revealed in this first volume which I again have been privileged to read prior to publication.
It contains material by three successive generations of the Clan, Robert Cochrane, Evan J Jones and of course Shani herself, there is also a rare gem of a piece written by the Current Magister of the Clan- Robin The Dart. Some of this material has previously been published yet it has not really been edited correctly in those publications, so I would say, forget much of which you know of RC an EJJ's writings available in other books and read this which has been edited correctly and with the correct authority to do so. The reader will find that it makes far more sense than previously.
I will not elude to the various chapters contained for at this time I am unsure as to what is contained within this volume, although I will say that it is marvelous to see the evolution of this closed group through the successive generations, all things must move forward and evolve or become stale and die, this book acknowledges the stream from which it came in no small way, yet it shows how the participants look very much to the future and embrace the craft as a constantly growing, moving and living thing.
Thank you for sharing your wisdom with us Shani, it is much appreciated.


Flags,Flax and Fodder. Tony.

Need fire and a fool at the end of the world

It is beyond the chimes of midnight, a single Hawk calls to his brother upon the chill night air, eyes look up from the dancing flames in awe, recognition of all that has come to pass as a soul returns to its hearth, its family, to take its place among those much beloved, to stand once more between the worlds along side brother and sister of the faith, all is as it should be in this time and is welcome.

So the journey ends.

A Once shattered soul, now piece by piece reassembled, forged anew within the healing fires of the old man himself, deconstructed and remade, stronger and maybe wiser than before, each end heralds a fresh start, a new life, change and growth, the serpent that once hid within the shadows to avoid this gaze now resides in part within the spirit of this ever hopeful wanderer, a child of Cain, a son of Odin, touched by she who waits upon the parting of ways, dazzled by Sophia's light and humbled by the wisdom of dearest Lilith, guided by the divine she and gathered home again.
This Holy fool, blessed indeed, to take his place with kith and kin at that table within the castle of the king, that once lonely call answered at last.

Arab springs and Indian summers have passed, as the coming of winter now wraps at the door of our home, it would seem an age since I sat here last and attempted to place words where there are only thoughts, a personal journey requires time to the self, reflections, perhaps not always to be shared with others, matters for those with the means to discover for themselves and see the value that lies therein, one cannot walk the paths in another's shoes, one can only trace the footsteps of their passing, there is little value in reaching a destination without knowing how it was you arrived, wisdom is found upon the journey as much as it resides at journeys end, wherever that may be.

Yet there is one thing of which I will speak, if it would save the traveller from the thorns and the mire of the winding paths and that is of unification.

We walk between the worlds, we do not have to jump from one to the other, to bring the sacred to the mundane is the key and vice versa, this life is not always easy, but when we bring together those often considered dual aspects of the self (work/spirituality) all becomes clearer, the wild ride of the roller coaster becomes the steady pace of the locomotive, yes there are stops and delays but with fate driving the engine we will arrive safely, smoothly and with fewer pitfalls, the roller coaster has no destination after all, it only ends up at the point it started from with its passengers feeling sick. One life lived is far simpler than two, to juggle these aspects is distracting so we need to bring it all together. this often overlooked reality has been one of the most important keys for this one within the time that you and I have known each other.

There are of course those poor deluded souls who see only misery and destruction, shadows and pain within the other realms, and to consolidate these into the mundane world will only bring about the same there, to look beyond the shadow and lift the veil is the answer, as where there is end there is beginning also, deep shadows are cast by bright lights after all, if all that can be seen is darkness then the blinkers need to be taken off, as I for one have seen sights that continue to amaze me, I have found love, light and Gnosis when I have gazed into the well, there is no hate or pain, the rose blooms bright within the ashes of the fire, we reap what we sow and if we take filth into the void then we will return with filth as a reward.

Well, the chimney at our hearth will not sweep itself, so off I must go, each stroke of the brush shall clean the soot from the blackened stone, dark matter cleansed from home and life, all that would have troubled this one in the past year shall be swept away, the fire shall burn with renewed vigour and there shall be warmth in our home.

And All is Exactly as it Should Be.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

The accidental Life of an Anarchist and the death of Faith.

Artwork by kind permission of Joolz Denby Cover of the album Carnival by New model army.

"And it's not where you're from or where you've been
It's not a matter of blood or of family tree
Everybody believes what they want to believe
But they come from some kind of refugee
Running from something, turned out of somewhere
All looking for somewhere, exiled from something
And no one's really sure if this is home" Justin Sullivan/NMA-BD3

A part of my soul soars high upon the thermal currents, within those last throws of summer, thought and memory call out above the final cutting of hay as it desperately tries to dry out in time for those leaner months, sustenance for the beasts that would feed upon the fallen, taken by the blades of the cutting machine before it in turn returns to its own dusty shelter, to await the warm winds of April days when once more it shall reap the green.
Turning tides reflected upon the horizon, a fractured sky of crimson and slate, the last days of bounty, glorious, radiant and rich, announcing a fond farewell to the winds of the south and a welcome once again to the northern bite, those who would take rest in this land called back to hearth and home, perhaps to return at another time to this land of self discovery for those with the wit to look.

Fires burn in every part of this world, a time of deep unrest across the globe bought about by the human desires for food, oil, narcotic substances and what the neighbours have, fueled by desire, greed and religious doctrine, those who would seem to have lost their way try to show a sign that they are the guardians of faith even though it has in truth been lost to them, if it was even theirs to lose in the first instance, books are burned when perhaps they should be read, an atheist pope preaches doom and finality, unable to see the light due to the darkness that is spouted from the mouths of the desperate, as religion starts to wither and die, the way of all things that will not nurture and grow.

This one has never been a fan of any religion in the organised sense, I favour free thought and freedom of choice where fate will allow, so I for one shall not morn its passing, this does not mean that I myself am not religious, for I have faith and it grows and blossoms daily and I fear the end of this religious age a great deal.
It is often argued that doctrine creates a moral compass for those who adhere to it and there indeed lies a truth, for many people do not have morality and justice as natural virtues and adherence to a belief will instill in part this shortcoming in human nature, without some kind of faith civilisation will fall apart and it is now that we are seeing the cracks.
To live within a secular society is fine for most, yet there is an element that is unable to govern itself from a morality perspective, science daily steps over the line in favour of "because we can" and not asking "if we should?", greed and jealousy would have the individual covet that which belongs to another later to take by force that which is desired, shallow trappings of the modern world that would actually deny Darwin his theory and not perpetuate it, backward evolution through technological advancement, and to turn backwards is to become extinct.
So we have the tenets of the Abrahamic faiths, set upon the path to bring order to the masses, then, because of the failure to grow, adapt and evolve finally bringing about the destruction of those very same peoples, only a theory but all things may pass in time.

Personal responsibility, a true sense of morality and justice, these things I would hold close to my heart, goals attained through honour and Integrity, not to ever treat another in a way that I Myself would not wish to be treated. I shall not Kill, steal or commit sins upon another, not through law or doctrine, but because it serves no purpose to do so, to treat another as I myself would wish to be treated is my only law, and one I am happy to be bound by.
There have been many Oaths taken and perhaps yet to be taken, as such made or to be made by my own choice and not imposed upon me, I have agreed to be bound by such and will always be so, free by my own choice and not forced by another, free to walk away at any point if I so do choose guided by morality.

This life long Anarchist is bound only by his own laws and by his own moral compass, a freeborn man free to make the correct choices to the best of his ability, yes I have made mistakes, we all do, they are lessons to be learned from and often painful ones, but only if we are prepared to take personal responsibility for them do we continue to move forward along the path, we cannot always pass the buck on our own shortcomings and sometimes it is only ourselves to blame. If all people regardless of background were to accept this premise then the fires of this world would wither and die like the faith of Abraham's legacy, one day to assume the title of that "old religion", that is if there is anyone left to acknowledge it.

There is warning here, hiding in plain sight for those who would set themselves as up as the ones to follow, gurus and would be wise ones, look to the future and do not make the mistakes your fathers made, grow and nurture , for there is nothing to be achieved by standing still or rolling about in the mud like your ancestors, be wise and evolve with the time or like the tall grass you shall be felled and trodden underfoot.

"All these things you fear so much depend on angles of vision
From down in the maze of walls you can't see what's coming
But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing" Justin Sullivan/NMA- High.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

Artwork by kind permission of Joolz Denby Cover of the album High by New model army.

Autumn wind, a Beautiful daze and what price is Integrity.

Autumn's cold chill starts to bite, when solar rays deign to bless our skin with warmth we are quick to dismiss the coming of colder times, yet come they must. Even in the clearer Sky's of dawn, the ground wet with morning dew, the ones who would sleep under canvas covers find moisture rich and soaking through to the skin, sticking to the walls of their homes and bringing damp and discomfort to poorly prepared feet as the grass is trodden underfoot, hope springs eternal that the last vestiges of the summer sun will heat body and soul.
Soon the Geese will come and the swallows depart, wild hunts have made the first of their forays into the night sky, Thor's own hammer sounds the changing of the guard, bright flashes scar the sky as winter's grip makes its preparation to take back its own, dark days and chilly evenings around a blazing hearth, solice for the witch's soul as we too reclaim the night.

What is it that makes us who we are, what forms our earthly lives, brings shape to what we are to become, the lessons we learn, the influences we take, we are but clay figures to be shaped and formed by Fate and circumstance. From raw earth we become unique beings, reflections of the gods, we are products of our surroundings, sponges that soak up that which our own souls require, we seek out good company, hold friends as family and we are touched by thoughts and ideas that are already familiar to our inner selves.
We are the vessel, the journey and the destination, if we listen to our spirit then we will never fail, if we are to blindly follow we find our selves on the path to ruin and disappointment.

In all aspects of life there are those who fail to listen to the inner voices, those who would follow the crowd. To accept the world as it is with rose tinted glasses and blinkers, never to question the whys and wherefore's of this or any other existence, Ignorance is indeed bliss for the masses yet still they search, often unrealised, for some small part of the divine truth, to belong to that which the heart would yearn for if the ears could shut out the clamouring voices of a failing civilisation.
The Dream catcher, the rose quartz crystal and the lucky charm, all devices the ignorant may seek out in an attempt to grab something of the spiritual, this is not anger at these affairs, only sadness at the way so many wont let themselves become whole, to be satisfied with small trinkets in an illconcieved nod to the heavens, an insurance against the fact that True Faith has become something that mocked and derided within an increasingly secular land, they know there is truth beyond the walls but would not really want to find or declare a belief.

I have been reminded of this fact, (which is not exclusive to those who would walk an esoteric path) by a pleasant visit to a festival in the heart of Devon. Four glorious days among my own tribe, music and merriment shared with family and like minded people. The Festival originally set up by the Punk/Folk Anarchists- The Levellers, the spirit of the nineties, born out of Thatchers Britain. In those days we were shaped and formed by the things around us, we became as stone, immovable objects that would not be swayed by the establishment and the promise of wealth if we were to behave, always to wave two fingers at the man and not afraid to take direct action against those who threaten our freedoms, or the boys in blue that would beat down the doors of our homes to silence that voice, and there we were, twenty years later, as solid as we were then and stronger in numbers as our own offspring bought into the world now stand beside us.
Yet among the shaved heads, the Mohican haircuts and a sea of tattooed bodies, there are those who did tow the line, those who became as slaves to society, desperate to touch what they know in their hearts is something pure and incorruptible, to stand along side the true defenders of freedom and liberty, to believe in an integrity that they once sold to the Man, they did not listen to their souls and now they pay the price, it has been said that"it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the gates of heaven", and now the penny drops as the masses once more grab and grasp at that which is lost to them, Monday will be back to the mill and social ideology can go back into the cupboard for another year.
Sad statements to be sure, but this poor man refuses to give up that one thing that they cannot take, cunning man or deluded fool, you decide but my integrity stands tall, can you all say the same.

So as in the mundane world we see the way in which those who have sold integrity try to lay claim to that which is lost to them, sadly the same is true in the occult world, the work should stand for itself and clearly within some circles it does not, the answer would be to try and detract from the truths in favour of the mans own lies, power corrupts, it is time that certain people should take off the blinkers and glasses and try to find some thing that works, although it is commonly believed that certain activities of which certain groups enjoy, will indeed necessitate the use of spectacles due to poor sight, an unfortunate side effect.

We are old, we are young, we are in this together
Vagabonds and children, prisoners forever
With pulses a-raging and eyes full of wonder
Kicking out behind us again
(Justin Sullivan, NMA)

Flags,Flax and Fodder. Tony.

An Owl's Cry, A Dancing Serpent and the Arcane Veil.

An Owl's warning cry breaks the silence, cutting through the ether, echoing the metallic ring of the scythe as it fells the tall golden stalks of the harvest, toward the east a single Buzzard answers this call, as it too rises from it's slumber to face the dawn and all that it has to offer.
Along the dark forest track I make my way to the appointed place, tall trees stare down as this lone traveller goes about his own business, shadows against the night sky, companions who have stood where they are since before I was even a thought and will be standing still in that time where upon my earthly body is consumed and turned to dust, the fate that awaits every creature of flesh and bone who would dare to walk upon this glorious Eden.

The Air is still, perfect silence as my words and gestures soar upwards through the woodland canopy, accompanied by the gentle coils of smoke and sweet air that also rise to greet the dawn. Calls spoken aloud to those who I would beg to hear, to her a devotion and continuation of the week's observance, my pining stomach a reminder that I am closer now, and it is now that I offer my self to her, absolutely and in all lives to come.

A gentle acknowledgement as the sentiment is duly returned, softly in it's nature, that of which I seek creeps slowly into my being, the knowledge and guidance we all require to continue upon the path of gnosis soaking into my soul, within that time that appears to be between times, away from the mundane in a world that is ruled by both Moon and Sun, or perhaps neither, it is hers at this moment and graciously she allows be to share it.

That which has been denied, in times that now seem like distant echoes within the past, is now my own to behold, that which once hid within the dark shadow of the spirit now plays a merry tune for me to dance to, embraced at last by the serpent who would recoil at my touch, we can journey together, the snake who would help this one to ascend the ladder and not send him spinning down to the mud and grime that lies at the bottom, I have given all, I have taken only what has been necessary and I have not acted upon desire, all is found and I am prepared, the reward has been of such high value that to place a price upon it would be an heresy.
On this day I have ascended, further into the tree I have climbed and far from the noise and petty imaginings of those deluded minds, devious ones, who would claim thrones for themselves built on crumbling dust and imagined, as none would offer them a throne built upon good solid stone this option becomes all that is left.
So to fly, high above mortal men, is this not what we dream of, to obey the law and listen to the winds, only then will we be able to soar high upon the currents we so desire.

This world and its every day trappings, can become a place of great pleasure, as long as the likes of Shani Oates continue to write of the wisdom they have gathered and such an event can be seen upon the horizon.
The Arcane Veil: Past and Present.
I have been privileged indeed to be able to read this book prior to publication, it is set to become an occult classic, and should grace the bookshelves of any occultist regardless of tradition or background. Tackling meaty subjects and grasping at serpents that others would be afraid to hold.
Among the collected essays we find one upon the history of magic, within this the influence of Christianity upon it and how through it's adaptability it has survived, in fact it would have been consumed entirely if those who practiced it refused to evolve with the times. Shani wonderfully reclaims Lucifer in another chapter from the vile clutches of the likes of Lavey and places him firmly within the reach of any serious Crafter, not without its controversial topics "Witch Blood" (there will be heads turning and a small degree of spitting from some quarters) a classic and must read for any seeker of truth.
Available soon with any luck.

Bright blessings all, as we head toward the darker months.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

And check out this young pretender, my own dear brother has placed digit to keyboard at long last. The Cunning apostle

Flames of anger, sparks of hope, love light and the mistress of the dark

Warm rain and sleepless nights, golden wheat sways in the warm summer winds as those who would feed the people of this land take to their steel reapers to cut John off at the knee, the sky fills with hungry birds, laying on fuel for the coming journey, a feast upon the flying Ants as they themselves attempt to form new societies away from the bustle of the overflowing hills, all at this turbulent time when our own society seems to fall apart.

Far from the green and gold, the cities of England burn with fire, anger and theft, a misplaced youth in a world that has little to offer them, even time, the distance between the have and have nots now so great, that jealousy engenders greed, the lack of faith and hope creates a kind of hopeless fury, there is no consequence in a land that has no future to be seen.
The tip of the iceberg, a festering sore, that is but a symptom of the beginning of the end, yet it is not too late.
For every unthinking moron with brick in hand, dazzled by the plasma screen or pretty trinket in the shop window, prepared to be the reason and the means that our own civil liberties will be taken away, there are hundreds of valuable members of society, children of talent and imagination, vision and love, not to be tarred with the same brush, the future of our Island, the future of the world.
Staring into the flames of despair, the shattered lives of those who would choose to make an honest living, there is still great hope and we must not lose sight of that, for to do so would be a betrayal of our own dreams, and those children of hope.

Far from those fires of hate and vitriol, my dear brother and his beautiful family join with my own beloved around a gentler fire, in our peaceful garden, John Barleycorn felled here too, yet much enjoyed and in the form of a fermented grain, welcome talk and a heavy head the next morning, a feast before the fast that precedes the rite of the harvest moon, shared with one who accompanies me upon the same journey, together with those who would share his hopes and concerns, a happy gathering with love, light and futures bright.

My Sibling's departure was sadly marked with warnings and sadness, aside from our own separation there was news of another who has departed this earthly realm, a cousin of mine, found cold within the walls of his own dwelling, his own passion lay with the golden brown mistress, she who would turn a good soul into an hedonistic creature, one who would live for her company and no other, deceiver she is, an honest man turns liar and thief when within her grasp. A sad end to a sorry tale of not yet thirty summers long, a trail of destruction lies in the wake of his life, a grieving mother and a fatherless child, a lone brother and a wife without an husband, where to he departs I do not know, I hear "I am sorry" upon the wind that blows from his direction, to late a dire warning of what comes from a life of hedonism and excess, though my own relatives thought that at one time they would find me in such a manner, my life and indulgence are well tempered, need and not desire is my own mistress.

The harvest moon grows fat within the sky, bright blessed Luna reflects a great virtue upon the land, I meet her at the crossroads every night this week, as lover, as warrior, as wise man and fool, each dusk we greet and her bright torches do become as guides upon my return, hopes and dreams are granted, through love and devotion. My body craves that which I would deny it yet my soul begins to soar skyward as those connections, those earthly bonds which are unneeded are severed in favour of those which bring me closer to her.

Blessed Hekate, Enodia of the three ways.
Torch bearer, mother and guide.
How this one has come to love,
how this one has come to live.
Covered within the cloak of night,
There holds no fear, beneath your light.
Show unto me the path,
guide me well through the thorn covered land.
Sweet protector and cunning council,
teach me the ways of the wise.
Underworld Queen and mistress of fate,
pray, bring me strength in difficult times,
Show unto me the jewel that lies within the shadow,
Bestow unto me the key that will open the door.
I who would demand nothing,
I who would ask in hope and love,
I who would give all unto you.
Blessed Hekate, Enodia of the crossroads.
I am yours.


Flags,Flax and Fodder. Tony.