A Pagan Ritual Prayer Book (16 page)

The God and Goddess:

• When God and Goddess unite in love,
  

  mystery is born,
  

   
  

  and from mystery all things.
  

   
  

  Mystery born from mystery born from mystery.
  

   
  

  The Great Mystery:
  

   
  

  this is their gift.
  

   
  

The Goddess:

• She is great and not to be held
  

  because it is her arms that hold.
  

   
  

  She is ever-present and not to be seen
  

   
  

  because there is nothing to compare her to.
  

   
  

  Ride across the plains
  

   
  

  and you are on her body.
  

   
  

  Climb the mountains
  

   
  

  and you climb her breasts.
  

   
  

  Go into the ocean
  

   
  

  and you are in her very womb.
  

   
  

  Mystic Yoni, not to be held.
  

   
  

  Mystic Yoni, not to be seen.
  

   
  

  Mystic Yoni, only to be loved.
  

   
  

  Mystic Yoni, Gift-Giver.
  

   
  

  Mystic Yoni, Birth-Giver.
  

   
  

• I can't really forget you because my life is your living.
  

  If I seem to not remember,
  

   
  

  know that that's just my mind and not my heart.
  

   
  

• Your are She, the One without beginning.
  

  You are the Mother of All, Who gives birth to the world.
  

   
  

  You are the Essence, from Whom all things are formed:
  

   
  

  Wherever we may look, You will be there.
  

   
  

  Your are She of many names:
  

   
  

  When Your true face is known, all naming ceases.
  

   
  

  In Your presence all stop in wonder:
  

   
  

  All life is a prayer to You.
  

   
  

• Are you not in this day, in the light and the dark?
  

  Are you not in this month, in the growing and the decrease?
  

   
  

  Are you not in this year, in the warmth and the cold?
  

   
  

  Are you not in all these things you have given birth?
  

   
  

  Are you not in all your children, one of whom stands here speaking words of praise?
  

   
  

• Too much everything,
  

  too much owned and done,
  

   
  

  too much required of me, owed by me,
  

   
  

  has driven me to the presence of the Goddess,
  

   
  

  where there is never too much.
  

   
  

G
^w
ouwind
:

• Your outstretched enfolding arms offer cattle,
  

  pour out rich milk,
  

   
  

  that we might, like children, grow in prosperity.
  

   
  

  Leading cows you come to your worshippers,
  

   
  

  who, pouring golden butter, come to you.
  

   
  

Herne:

• Herne, your antlers fill the sky,
  

  shading out the stars that shine there,
  

   
  

  bringing in the darkness your own kind of light,
  

   
  

  the light of mysteries, the light that only you can bring,
  

   
  

  in your night.
  

   
  

Inanna:

• It is she, Inanna
  

  she is the great Inanna.
  

   
  

  The victor over enemies in war,
  

   
  

  It is she, Inanna;
  

   
  

  she is the great Inanna.
  

   
  

  The victor over barriers to love,
  

   
  

  It is she, Inanna;
  

   
  

  she is the great Inanna.
  

   
  

  The victor over all that opposes us,
  

   
  

  It is she, Inanna;
  

   
  

  she is the great Inanna.
  

   
  

Indra:

• With a cast of the vajra you killed the serpent V
  tra
  

  and the waters erupted, lowing with pleasure.
  

   
  

  The six-eyed armless one lay prostrate after you did this, O Indra.
  

   
  

  A soma draught intoxicates you,
  

   
  

  you burn with divine flame when you ride forth, O Indra,
  

   
  

  when you ride against demons,
  

   
  

  and all your enemies tremble.
  

   
  

Isis:

• Mother, Wife, Mourner, Magician;
  

  Sistrum-Rattler, Revenge-Director,
  

   
  

  Ecstasy-Inducer, Love-Inspirer:
  

   
  

  Isis.
  

   
  

Lugh:

• You came to the court which feasted at Tara,
  

  and, challenged, listed your skills:
  

   
  

  Champion and harper, and doctor,
  

   
  

  cupbearer and scribe and poet;
  

   
  

  on and on the list went; each time came the answer,
  

   
  

  “We have one of those, you cannot enter.”
  

   
  

  Then came your punch line:
  

   
  

  “Do you have anyone who can do all these things?”
  

   
  

  They did not, of course, and had to let you enter.
  

   
  

  You became the true king, saved the goddess's children from inhospitable oppressors.
  

   
  

  Snhining-speared champion,
  

   
  

  I have told this tale of yours, and will tell more at other times.
  

   
  

Manannán mac Lir:

• Who is it whom we see?
  

  We see a man with silver hair, with silver beard, flecked with salt foam.
  

   
  

  We see a man in a cloak of no colors, or is it of every color?
  

   
  

  When it moves, it hides and reveals; sometimes things show through it,
  

   
  

  sometimes they ripple as if on their surface,
  

   
  

  sometimes they fade softly at their edges, as if imprinted on fog.
  

   
  

  We see a man holding an apple branch:
  

   
  

  its fruit is golden, and rings like bells when he shakes it.
  

   
  

  And its golden-toned music soothes us, would sing us to sleep if we listened to it for long.
  

   
  

  But he shakes the branch and the apples sound just until we hear it,
  

   
  

  and leaves an ache in our hearts when its echoes fade.
  

   
  

  We see a man who drives a chariot without reins.
  

   
  

  His horses ride sure-footed, wave-maned across the sea,
  

   
  

  which seems a flowered plain beneath the turning, diamond-flashing wheels.
  

   
  

  We see a man who is alternately too bright for our eyes to bear,
  

   
  

  and then compassionate in his gaze.
  

   
  

  We see this man. Whom is it we see?
  

   
  

  That's easy—we see Manannán, a guide to those on journeys,
  

   
  

  who shows the way where there are no tracks;
  

   
  

  We see a comforter who smooths away memories that rot the heart.
  

   
  

  We see Manannán mac Lir,
  

   
  

  Comforter and Guide,
  

   
  

  Son of the Sea.
  

   
  

Menot:

• Measuring and measuring again,
  

  checking your math over and over,
  

   
  

  your reckoning always right,
  

   
  

  but you faithfully measuring out the next.
  

   
  

  When I doubt,
  

   
  

  and hesitate,
  

   
  

  and check my calculations for precision,
  

   
  

  I am worshipping you, who expect no more from me
  

   
  

  and no less.
  

   
  

• Straight
  

  True
  

   
  

  Right
  

   
  

  Well-formed and measured.
  

   
  

  Clear
  

   
  

  Pure
  

   
  

  are you, Menot.