(Inspired by the work and memory of Doreen Valiente, the mother of modern Witchcraft.)
By Forest dark and standing stone,
By rushing wind and life’s first breath,
By flame that burns the flesh to bone,
By ancient sea, the land of death…
By the Mother and Her Son
Is the circle made and done
Descend the light of Moon and Sun
Our Holy Rite has now begun.
My blade has cast the circle round,
with razor’s edge and bluest flame,
from earth to heavens, sky to ground,
the power comes that has no name.
We summon forth the faery hounds,
From Outer Darkness now draw near,
to prowl beyond the circle’s bounds,
And put intruder’s hearts in fear.
Between the worlds of flesh and Fae,
we touch the Source and form the weave,
a ward to keep the worlds at bay,
that none may enter; none may leave.
This holy ground now lies between
The realm of Gods and mortal men,
By human eye cannot be seen
the faery sight alive within.
As above and so below,
enveloped in a cobalt flame,
the stars that shine, the stones that know,
within we speak Her sacred name.