Tom 2

In her sorrow and disillusion,
after the cruel blow and desolation,
when without reason or relief,
her honor was wounded like tempered steel,
she turned to her friend Veronica,
the shaman of the Order of Melchizedek,
who with a firm voice and serene gaze
said: “This is not your end—you're still incomplete.”

She gave her a protective scepter,
handcrafted, with runes of moon and sun,
engraved in the language of ancient time,
revealed in visions by Melchizedek, her lord.

It was the year two thousand twenty-five,
and the wind of the world had shifted its stride.
Change was coming—portals and signs—
and she, taking the scepter, cried to the lines:
“Hekate! Hekate! Hekate!” she called at the gate,
and a woman in mist replied, calm and great:
"Trust, daughter of the immortal fate."

That night she dreamed of fleeing a great flood,
rivers roared in a thunderous mood.
A woman followed her, wrapped in mystery,
both wielding swords of ethereal blistery.

They arrived at a deserted, forgotten land,
where shadows wandered with no soul to stand.
And there, Hekate guided her hand,
leading her across the world’s last strand.

"Hekate, my mother," she softly declared,
"Make me unseen from the shadow that stares."
And the goddess answered with power and grace:
"Return, my child, to your ancient place."

She saw herself in a long-faded time,
in linen robes marked with symbols divine.
She carried offerings to a sacred site,
where fire and moon were held in the light.

Women of all ages chanted in trance,
"Hekate!" they called with reverent stance.
And then, at last, she clearly beheld
The Lady of Night, by moonlight compelled.

"At last you awaken," Hekate said low,
"And your soul now remembers what it must know.
I've followed you through every life passed,
and watched you when Odin brought you at last.

He decreed that you'd learn my hidden art,
the night, the magic, the shadowed part,
the crossroad knowledge mortals dread,
the gates between the living and the dead.

Take this key, return to the fire,
recall the rites, the old desire.
You must walk the threads of time again,
for the veil is torn and the winds ascend.

Madness stirs in the eyes of men,
the great war nears, the heavens bend.
The gods will tremble, the stars will fall,
and nothing will ever be what it was at all."

She took the key, glowing in moonlight,
and recalled her lineage, her soul’s deep flight.
Woman and man, in forms ever shifting—
mother and father, warrior uplifting—
lover, witch, sage, and wanderer old,
now reborn with her spirit bold.

She rose empowered, her veil undone,
for Odin returned from beyond the sun.
And he whispered, like thunder’s decree:
"You shall walk with Hekate, the priestess of me—

Goddess of thresholds, of fire and time.
Warn the fools of the nearing sign:
The true Ragnarok now draws near—
and only the soul that sees… shall cross clear."

Goddess of thresholds, of fire and time.
Warn the fools of the nearing sign:
The true Ragnarok now draws near—
and only the soul that sees… shall cross clear."

Ἑκάτην κλῄζω, ταυροφθαλμον, ἀρρητόστολον, αἰγίχoρoν,
νυκτιπόλον, ταναήλεγχε, φιλέσπλαγχνον, ἐρυσιπάρηον,
κούρην, ἠϋκόμοιο, Διὸς θυγάτερ μέγ’ ἀγαυοῦ,
σεμνὴν, χαρμόεν, εὔζηλον, ἀκαταπαύστῳ θυμῷ,
ταυροπόλον, σελαηφόρον, ἀγνὴν, μεγαλήτορα, δαῖμον,
ἐννυχίην, τριοδῖτιν, ἐράσμιον, ὀλβιοδώτην.
Ἄγναι, μεγιστοσύνην ἔχε, καὶ ἔλθ’ ἐπ’ ἐύξοον ἔργον,
εὐμενέως, χαίρουσα, τελέσσαι τελετὴν ἱερὴν ἐπ’ ἀρητῇ.

Hecate, the Goddess and the Priestess Goddess

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