Friday 27 March 2009
This prayer is to the Mexican Goddess Teteo-inan, the "Mother of Gods"--also known by another name meaning "Heart of the Earth." Her chief temple was on the spot selected by the early missionaries for the "Lady of Guadaloupe" to make her appearance, and the native shrine was razed to make way for the temple of the imported cult of Christendom. Although a "mother" Goddess she was depicted as youthful representing her ties with the land in its youth.
HAIL to our Mother who makes the yellow flowers to bloom--who scatters the seeds of the maguey as she comes from the Land Divine!
Hail to our Mother who casts forth white flowers in abundance!
Hail to our Mother who shines in the thorn bush as a bright butter-fly!
Ho! She is our Mother--the woman god of the earth. In the desert she feeds the wild beasts, and gives them to live.
Thus--thus you see her ever abundant in gifts to all flesh.
And as you see the goddess of earth give to the beasts, so also she is giving to the green herbs and the fishes.
Hail to our Mother who casts forth yellow flowers to the sun from the Land Divine!
Friday 13 March 2009
We sacrifice ourselves to obtain love.
We sacrifice ourselves in our work hoping to rise above.
Eventually it cathches up to us, we're overrun by emotions with tears dripping in our laps.
We sacrifice ourselves for work, our spouse, our family, friends, and children.
When and where will the love for ourselves begin?
If we cannot love ourselves, we are nothing more than an eternal echoing emptiness, just existing.
It is true peace, love, and happiness we are resisting.
It's time to stop sacrificing and discontinue our self-hatred.
We must stop this insanity. This behavior we must forbid.
We are all beautiful and have a special place on earth.
It is ourselves we must explore.
We must remain true to ourselves and sacrifice no more.
Being in love with ourselves is how it is meant to be.
When we can do this, we are finally free.
Thursday 5 March 2009
Today's worship is dedicated to the Greek Ishtar, Aphrodite and decorated with the glorious orgiastic art of Erich von Gotha
O mighty one, your irresistible power
overwhelms us mortals; helpless we obey you
and follow desire's demands despite all good sense.
Through you, O goddess, do we see with lovers' eyes
your own beauty reflected in our beloved.
Through you do new lovers welcome one another,
and old loves find their passion ever rekindled.
Aphrodite, whose gifts to humankind are great;
who nurtures growing love in the harshest of soils;
who so quickly impassions unsuspecting hearts;
Aphrodite--kind one, fierce one--I honor you.
Thursday 19 February 2009
Today's worship is dedicated to the awsome and terrifying power of Goddess as expressed through the great Kali.
Victory to you, O Mahakali! Victory to you, O primordial source of all beings! Victory to you, O formidable—looking goddess, who are renowned as the mother of the world!
Victory, all victory to you, O great goddess Mahakalika, of terrible and frightening aspect! Victory to you, O Moon on the locks of Shiva who are ever adored by gods, men, hermits and devotees.
Victory, all victory to you. O consort of Rudra; you are fearsome to look at and prefer a drink of hot blood; you are described as having a sword in your hallowed hand and as one who fills her cranial bowl with the blood of her victims.
Glory, glory to you, O Kali, the bearer of a cranial bowl and a sword in your hands. Victory to you, O terrible Delusion, the might of Rudra and the very death of Death.
O Mother, it is for the slaughter of the demons Madhu and Kaitabha that you appeared from the body of Hari. O Mother, your dark form radiant as the sun looks so splendidly winsome that the god of beauty himself cannot but succumb to its charm.
You are ten—faced with thirty attractive eyes, the crescent moon and a lovely coronet on your head. O Divine mother; who can describe your comeliness and your dark hair like massed clouds?
The beauty of the wreath made of your victims’ skulls looks splendid as do the weapons and missiles in all your ten hands. You carry a cranial bowl, a sword, a three—pronged trident, an axe, a club, a disc, a bow and a conch, all in their proper places.
The beautiful skirt made of he severed arms of your enemies looks so becoming like the sacred ornaments adorning every part of your body. Your ten dread feet are all smeared with blood and your long tongue sticks out, rendering your appearance frightening.
When, O Mother, you laugh aloud, the earth shivers (like one suffering from shaking chills). Blessed are you, O Primordial Energy and foster—mother of the world, you are the presiding deity of Doom (who causes universal destruction).
O Mother Kali! It is your divine feet that made Shiva’s appearance possible in the world; you have long protruding tongue and a frightening look. Blessed, all blessed are you O Mother Kali of Calcutta, who are thousand—armed and who have your abode in Shivapura.
O Kali, as Sita you were instrumental in bringing about Ravana’s destruction and Raghupati’s victory which, appearing became amorous of the Lord’s feet. You assumed manifold forms for the well being peace and happiness of the world.
You manifested yourself in the form of Krishna and let your sword be mysteriously transformed into a flute in his hand. Sometimes you take on the form of Vishnu with his four arms, at other times of one (Durga, for example) having eight arms, at still other one having ten or eighteen arms.
You sometimes appear with thirty—two arms, at other times with just the double this number, and at still others you multiply your arms into a thousand in order to slay your enemies. You are the very power of Hari invoked with prayer at midnight; you have long sharp fangs and a protruding tongue showing your blood—thirsty and fearsome nature.
You are furious combatant with a sword in your hand (you are usually shown on the battlefield or in a cremation ground where you sit on a corpse surrounded by jackals and goblins); you are at once soothing like the moon and fearsome like Rudra and the slayer of the wicked. You are a sublime as a hundred—peaked mountain and a primordial deity of black or dark complexion. You dwell amongst dark, untrodden caverns.
You are the original mother (of all beings) and at the dame time a dread deity with human heads for your garland; you are the very slayer of Kansa and subduer of ghosts and goblins; you are yourself Bhadrakali, a dweller on Kailasha and one who thirsts for the blood of the wicked.
Again and again you strike off the heads of your enemies (with your lashing sword) and fill your cranial bowl with blood (oozing from corpses). You gorge yourself on the demon host one after another and rushing on and on shed their wicked blood.
Blessed, blessed, blessed are you, O Mother Kali, who cause your enemies to lick the dust one after another.
Friday 13 February 2009
Todays praise poem is entitles Thank You and is written by the Druid Greywolf
Both given and withheld
For soft skin offerings through pain
For not shying from the falling rain
Thank you for the black hair shining
Scent of skin and salty sweat
Bloodied lips drawn back and smiling
Shaded by the ravens wing
Thank you for the black nights
Deep within the dark embrace
Of spirit and of tortured flesh
The shifting shadows on your face
Thank you for the warmth of words
That penetrate my silent soul
Lifting spirits high and wild
To dance in freedom on the wind
Thank you for the rivers of devotion
Flowing eastward to the sunrise
And the boundless ocean
Open to receive my sacrifice
Thank you for the corner field
Where once I knelt before you
Tasting the sweet essence
Of your nectar on my tongue
Thank you for the snake that hissed
When my mistaken human heart
Touched too close to tender bliss
A soul once bartered for a kiss
Thank you for the visions
Of the dead and of the dying
For the pain and for the blood
And for the flood of tears I’m crying
Thank you for the taste of red wine
Smeared across my lips
The tension and the passion
In the cradle of your hips
The past reborn from hollowness
The fire on which we burn
Rising on a pall of smoke
From life to life return
The teaching and the tenderness
The lessons hard to learn
The darkest secrets of the heart
The pages left unturned
The woman, priestess and the child
Hanther, witch and wife
Sane and Insane
Bold and young
Bound and free
Lover, mother virgin, crone
For all you are and yet may be
I give thanks with a raging heart
And everything I am or might become
I offer to the flames of love
Devour me, devour me o Cerridwen, devour me
The taste of love be on thy tongue
The taste of blood be in thy mouth
The melting heat of sun and moon
The heat of love, sweet passion
Come o Cerridwen devour me, let every vein be torn
Come o Cerridwen devour me, that I may be reborn
Thursday 5 February 2009
Today's worship is dedicated to the most commonplace, yet most beautiful and sensual of Ishtar's gifts, the kiss. Today's poem/prayer is by Storm Faerywolf. Here is a link to his website.
The Prayer in the Kiss
fueling the fires of passion,
the gateway to the beloved opens,
in the surrender of the will to the body,
which is the temple of every god known
and so my prayer is made:
that we find ourselves in each other's arms,
Friday 30 January 2009
And suckle softly from the bosom of thy past
My embrace will enfold you like the infinite rapture
And you shall be as the stars for a time, as you return back to the mother
I am the creator of all, and the providor of everything
In my breast you found life and the flow of wisdom
In my arms you find peace, heaven, nirvana
In your mind you are complete
Now you are a man once more
And the bosom that once nurtured you
Now enfolds in you in all it's sexual power
What once sustained you now gives you release
Love is that in many forms
In many minds, in many souls
My love will touch all, and all love shall return to me
Come to me, and know all of me
I am mother, lover, virgin, crone
Goddess and creator
Destroyer of doubt and giver of fire