The household cult ritual I performed two weeks ago was wonderful; as someone who hasnt made use of a teapot (with associated milk jug and sugar bowl) at home in far too many years, the chance to sit down at a table and make a cup of tea in this way was not only strangely nostalgic but also had that strong sense of 'other' - something I dont normally do and something special I am doing for this specific time and purpose only. I guess it comes down to separating the mundane from the sacred (in as much as a cuppa can be sacred).
There is something also reassuring about this regular, fixed and planned manner of reverence. Something not too easy to put into words but something that appeals, something that I am drawn to (my inner Roman Catholic altar boy clammering to get back out) and something I cant help but feel should remain part of my personal practice.
Anyway, tomorrow is set aside for Rigantona. At present this is what I might call a 'developing' relationship, so i dont have a prepared hymn to offer to Her. I could on one hand borrow from Deiniol and his hymn, but this time I think it best not to and to allow a hymn to develop itself over time based upon my personal experiences.
Briganti, mother of the flame, may I pray with a good fire
Briganti, mother of the flame, may I sacrifice well
Into the eye of the first one did Taranis blow life,
the frost in the bones of the land melts away,
the flesh of the land flushes with life
as the blood of the oceans runs hot on the shore
some incense is lit;
Briganti of the flame,
weave our words into your veil, bear it aloft;
to Taranis the sky father
to the Grey Mare on the hill
and to the Lord in the Wave
Incense is burnt
Mare on the Hill,
The heart in this landscape
I offer you this, as it is proper for me to do so.