Book of Light
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Pay no attention to what the critics say;
there has never been a statue set up in honor of a critic. -Jean Sit




Sine Timore

As life unfolds now without fear,
I will remember you
When thought is pure and vision clear,
I will remember you

When man is measured by his worth,
and time is just a point of view.
When hate no longer treads this earth,
I will remember you

© 1980 Ardriana Cahill



Dark Mother

Dea Hacate. The crossroads I keep.
My magickal promise? To wake you from sleep.
I dare you your safety, pry open your eyes.
I test you your mettle. Tempt fear, till it dies.


Release your misgivings. Day sight makes you weak.
The lazy like living when challenge is meek.
Little joys, little trials, little lives safe from blight
Your soul is too large and the mid-road too tight.


Indecision is cancer. It eats you inside.
Fear traps your choices, you cannot decide.
Do you follow your heart? Or let reason rule?
Let pagan blood burn or let civil light cool?


If you loose the flood gates, just what will you learn?
If you play in the dark, will you ever return?
Your courage is tested when shadows are deep.
But unlike the day, there, you sow what you reap


So, save you from sorrow? Save you from the cost?
Is to save you from Life! And the wonder is lost.
Dare you your limits, to test what is true?
To lose your illusions? You’ve nothing but you.


But you are enough, so much more than you know.
Dare you discover how deep you can go?
Swallow hard all your fear and let caution lie
Sage senses waken, as brute senses die.


Which road will you choose? By Hacate, an oath!
Neither right, neither left. Yes, you must choose them both!
While the Sun casts His light on the Magical Moon.
The secrets of midnight make sense of the noon.


In your deepest darkness, when sight is unclear
My limitless insight will banish your fear
So tears will not harm you and pain is no test,
When patience is endless and trial, a jest.


Indecision is cancer. It eats you inside.
To meet your best self you must no longer hide.
Step into my darkness, sure footed and free.
Next Moon, at the crossroads, come gather with Me.

© 2008 Ardriana Cahill



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Compromise

When words of praise
fail to reach the heart
of my god,
I worship Nature,
and my god and I are one
in its wordlessness.

© 1980 Ardriana Cahill


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Possessed

A summer sunset…

Its colors and brilliance
Pour into you
And you drink
Knowing your thirst
Will not be quenched.

Then…
As it slowly pulls away,
Somehow,
Part of you goes with it.

© 1982 Ardriana Cahill



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Proud Heritage

Within my veins five thousand years
Of history imprints my life,
In the way I’ve told of the love I hold
Honor bound
In the blood of my fathers

A people blest in beauty, rich
With songs of sweeping grandeur won,
Rose from their worth to ring the earth
With delight
In the blood of my fathers

They bowed their head to none by god
Acclaim to their unconquered souls
For this they fought the harpers taught
Of the pride
In the blood of my fathers

Bold Men and Women, side by side,
Lived life and knew what that word meant,
They shall not die
As long as I
Shall live
By the blood of my fathers!

© 1982 Ardriana Cahill


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Maaxah’s Song

By the moonlit sea
or standing stone
By the twisted tree
I stand alone.
By the nameless shore
or desert rill.
When the haunted woods
are hushed an still

Echoing a charm
of ancient prayer
The Moon and I
bewitch the midnight air.

By the sheltered lea
or hidden isle
By the sighing stream
I hide awhile.
By the mountain lake
or misty vale
Robed in fiery flame
or starlight pale.

Whispering a spell
of ancient weave
The Moon and I
beguile the cunning world.

© 1981 Ardriana Cahill



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The Summit

Always she knew
The Priestess was right
When she spoke of silence
And the greater self.

Not being talkative
is not the same
as being silent.

And when she discovered
That silence,
there also, did she find
the living spirit
that taught her the secrets
of the infinite.


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Wayfarer

Seldom in my search for wisdom
does my path cross that of another traveler.
Many pass near, but not close enought to touch
Thus, to stop and rest with you
and share your story is rare and valuable.

Many are they who have climbed before us
but nowhere will you find a worn path,
for each must travel his own way.

I have watched the faithful one
who gazes only at the journey's end
and so trips and stumbles on every small obstacle
at his feet.

I have watched the stoic one
who looks only at the ground before her
and so, is unaware that she looses her course.

I have watched the covetous one
who follows only the distant others
seeking a more favorable path
and so travels neither forward nor backward,
but spends himself in pursuit of what seems to be.

I have heard the righteous one
who shouts that only her path leads the way
and I misstep going my way.

I have met the cynical one
who journeys downward saying
he has reached the top
and found no wisdom there.

But today - I met you,
a song maker not unlike myself
singing to me the songs of your journey
so different than my own,
so beautiful in their sadness
so powerful in their stillness.

I will continue to travel on
learning for each who passes near,
sharing with each whom I may touch,
gathering my wisdom as I have done before,
with this exception.
I will carry a new song...
A song of you.

© 2004 Ardriana Cahill


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Song of the Grandfathers
Written after studying the Lakota (Western Souix)language

Child-Sprirt, three days old, how will you grow?

Will your mother sing the quiet songs
that teach respect for wonder?
Will she tell you that all things of earth and sky
carry a message to the people?
Will someone hear these as he travels the path of reason?

Will your father dance his pride for a brave and nobel son
on the day someone earns his name
by an act of courage or cunning?
Will there be a sun-gazing in thanksgiving
for one such as you?

Will the Stone Dreamer prepare you
to go into the wilderness on a vision quest
to meet your one true self
as Hunter or Healer,
Warrior or Leader
Seer or Keeper of the people?

Will you hear the standing people,
the star people, the people of the air,
the four legs, and the many legs
and the messages they bare?

Will you return to us saying, "I am someone"
as we, finding truth in your truth, wait to greet you?
Will you live out your days
at peace with yourself?

Mitakoza,
the sun rises darkly on the people.
My hope for you falls to the ground.
There is nothing left to hunt,
and the Seer covers his head
at the sight of our future.
The Keeper of our history will grow old
and soon,
only ritual will bind us together.
We will dance only to remember.

And you, born to own the earth,
Child-Spirit, three days old...
how will you grow?

© 1983 Ardriana Cahill


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Lest We Forget

Within the prison
of pain and disillusion

there is no window to see
those outside

digging with bare hands
to set one free.

Yet once freed,
the broken hands

are mute witness to
a true friends efforts.

© 1988 Ardriana Cahill


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By Choice
Written after reading a book by Krishnamurti

If the price of inner freedom is memory
Then I shall not be free.

I cannot ask of myself
to walk out this door, knowing
I will never see you again
and forbid your memory.

You see,
if in the renewed pleasure your memory evokes -
there also comes the pain of your absence -
then I will embrace that pain.

For you are worthy of both.

© 1984 Ardriana Cahill


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Stray

Along the shore
the footprints
mark your passing.

And with the tide
your place among us
was seemingly lost.

But the sand knows you passed.
And the sea knows you passed.

And, so do I.

© 1989 Ardriana Cahill


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Etching

There was magic in the day,
I remember...
Lying beneath the trees
we watched the sunlight
playing tag.

The smell of new grass, green,
I remember...
An image of one thin blade
tracing the line of your cheek
until you smiled.

The distant sound fell away
I remember...
With each, sweet, red wine kiss,
sweeter still, I knew not why.

Oh yes. I knew.

I knew
the trees were only trees,
the grass was merely green.
And all the magic
in the day
was you.

© 1984 Ardriana Cahill


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Confessor

My excesses bothered you, or so you said.
And yet they held you fast to me. You swore.
I was your very best and secret friend.
I worshipped you a decade’s length or more.

To guard the hidden treasure that we forged,
we oathed a silent, secret loyalty.
To be, as long as treasure lasts, to each
the ever best that we knew how to be.

In time, you pitched me to your angry God.
My love - to bait a moot salvation test
You hocked our friendship for the merest loan
of one week’s washing in your Sunday best.

And fool – with just the next forbidden kiss,
The effort - all a bitter irony
One pagan kiss undid the whole event
That sadly could not be undone for me.

To fix me and our love as an offense
And spend those words to gain your piety
As if each word had cost you nothing. Yet -
“Bless me Father”…and a kiss…has cost you me.

© 1995 Ardriana Cahill


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Ostrich Eyes

Pathetic Doe eyes
When I look at you.
Enormous Anime eyes
When you charm my heart.
But when you say you love me,
Ostrich eyes. . .
Five times
larger than my brain.

© 1996 Ardriana Cahill


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Showtime

I stepped out
on the cliff’s edge,

Peered down in wonder
at the raging currents uncontrolled.

I didn’t think
I could
do it.

Threw myself off,
plunging into
Life.

© 1991 Ardriana Cahill


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Present Perfect

It was amazing . . .

it was like the gods
were looking the
other way . . .
and didn’t
see my stomach
leap at the sight of
your face.
It was like
the cookie jar
was open
and no one
was watching
the way you
were watching me.
Like all the flights of fancy
I’d ever tested
my wings on
were just practice
for you.
Like the
center of
the cinnamon roll,
the Fates were
saving the best
for last.
And no one
saw the wonderland
that raced through
my veins.
And I knew my heedless
heart was going . . .
to want

to be

to do

things.

. . .And I was going to burn.

© 1996 Ardriana Cahill


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To My Muse

Here…Discipline sits and Open Mind
to find their efforts mute
without your kind.
Here…Lofty Vision willing . . .
Here Craft and Artistry fight - and there —
holds Observation and Perception
Mischief, Sentiment, Delight
Dear Muse,
do not withhold thyself for spite . . .
since one or two Opposing Views.
stand ready . . .
for thy lofty air’s descent
to heaven—or to hell
to spell a myth . . . to cast with you.

So to us, Muse
please, make your way
or the bloody reason does not rhyme.
And all the players faintly wilt
and stilted will the ideas flow
For we . . . the lot . . .
are here as potter’s clay
Our way unguided
and the plot . . .
without you
thickens...

not.

© 2003 Ardriana Cahill


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Insight

For many days, I have looked at this face,
and have not recognized, behind these eyes,
the foreign thoughts
that drive me toward an unsuggested goal.

As, I look across the wasteland that is my recent past
I remember, all to well, a face
that would smile to me in this mirror.
I have mourned its loss.

But, I remember also,
the narrow eyes of self-righteousness
reflecting back at me,
And I have danced at their wake.

Today, there among those foreign thoughts,
I rediscovered … decision.

It slowly crept across my face like a thief.
Then laughed at me.

© 2004 Ardriana Cahill


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Futility

Love.

Dear gods, how I hate that word.

I am exhausted by the flowering,
art nouveau speech,
where from the lips of poets,
huge, multi-colored birds of paradise
emerge to describe love.

There is no simple element
that is not compared for love.

There is no minor adjective
that is not applied to love.

There is no common noun
that is not the object of love.

When it is not
simple, minor or common…
will you know
what I mean when I say,

I love you?

© 1986 Ardriana Cahill



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The Kite
For S.S.G.

Bat winged and dragon tailed,
I fly to the height of my fancy.

Stretched taut, I dance and dip with the wind,
anchored by one who knows…

I fly too near the sun, she draws me in.
I dive too near the earth, she lets me out.

Every move I make
is felt by her educated hands.
Then, when she reels me in
and we stand face to face,

I take the string
to be the root to her wings.

© 1990 Ardriana Cahill


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Lesson One

O, the shameless lack of trust
in the gift from which my songs take form.
I fear that it will show itself
shallow and wanting.

As passion precludes reason,
and sense exceeds perception,
I dip my pen in fear that one day
I shall discover the dregs of my art.

When the still, expectant night summons my
presence as witness to the birth of a star…

When the ocean swell tugs at my hem,
tempting my return to the beginnings of life…

When the south wind entreats the striking of my
shackles and the changing of my element
to become its lover…

I am sure language will be lost to me
and the song will go unsung.

Until,
I see my fear trampled
in the wake of the
poet’s truant discipline,
called forth by just one word -

Write!

© 1989 Ardriana Cahill



Mirror

Thus – it began…

That I should meet myself
in meeting you.

In accepting my gift, you gave me substance.
In setting me free, you gave me value.

I saw myself clearly, all that I was,
and wished to be, reflected in you eyes.

So should there be,
such as love would cherish,
one day of awakening...

I owe that day to you.

© 1982 Ardriana Cahill


Essence

What answer to a prayer
of love unfettered?
Not earthly start,
but spirit bettered
thus, when my heart
is freed in friendship’s care.

To reach, instead of grope
in pain or pleasure,
that time with you
may be that measure
of life more true
than my unuttered hope.

© 1983 Ardriana Cahill


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Home* Introduction * Defining Terms* Book of Shadows* Book of Rituals
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