BLESSING OF THE BOOK OF SHADOWSHearken as the witch’s word calls to all, a gulf to ford. Bridge the vast realities. An it harm none, do as ye please. Elements, protect and guard this book, from wandering eyes and prying looks. Fill it with thine ancient powers, in this right and ready hour. Powers of the North, the East below, help me to live, to learn, to grow. Lend your strength and stability, to practice the Craft and with love be free. Powers of East, the wind, the Sky, watch over these pages with thine eye. Your wisdom and knowledge, for these I do ask, that this book be worthy of the Craft and its task. Powers of South, Fire, and hearth, help these Shadows to prove their worth. Infuse them with all your healing and passion, so only good comes from the work that is fashioned. Powers of West, the Water and sea, change and growth are granted by thee. Bless these pages with all that you know, that righteous readers may learn and grow. And to the unschooled eye that see, confusing words and sophistry, lead them from these sacred pages, and bless their passage through the ages. For free will of all, and harm none, as I have willed it, it is now done. So mote it be!
Confession may be good for the soul, but it seldom makes the one that heard it feel good. The nee to clear the air or get something out in the open can cause a bigger rift than the reason for confessing in the first place. Words cannot be retrieved once they are spoken. They are gone and calling them back is impossible. Some weigh on people’s hearts like hi lv s gi nv ya, many stones or heavy rock. Some are flung, like di ga it s di, a spear, to wound. And most should never have been spoken. Life and death are in the use of words. If we feel the need to confess something, we should do it where the listener knows how to handle what we say. It is an unthinking person that needs to be relieved of a burden to the point of putting it on someone who may find it hard to bear.
~ He knew his words were bad; he trembled like the oak whose roots have been wasted by many rains. ~
‘A Cherokee Feast of Days’, by Joyce Sequichie Hifler