The round.

Come now and ring the cauldron round, here where secrets be told and truth be found.

Bar the line with salt from the sea, sweep the floor with a switch cut from a blasted wormwood tree. Sing the chant to close the way and on to see what is, was, and come as it may.

In the centre place the cauldron, scrubbed and blessed until it shines. Fill it to the brim with goodly herbs and finest wines. Dance the step aright, and ware of withershins, this is where the night’s magic begins.

In the shadows sway and prance, by the flicker-flame entranced. Be thee merry and be thee free. By the stars above let your pain off to fly, let go the holds that bind you. Let flow your tears and cry.

In the step find the grace, look upon the lady’s own fair face. Terrible and beautiful as the world in which she lives, hope and hate, light and dark all are the gifts she gives.

Take the bell and swing it round, that all who hear be blessed by its sound.

Now round again, the final pace, close the circle as it was opened, with love and will and no selfish desire base. Long hallowed may be this place.

Lay aside the bell and switch.

Know you are whole.

Lo and behold.

You are a witch.


Published by

Jacko Steenekamp

To sum myself up is simple. I'm weird.

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