the icy breath of the Goddess.
I raise my hand and touch the illusion.
My mind is powerful and my Ego is high
as the mountain in front of me.
Clouds run fast and silence comes
from the Fronds of the Ancient Walnut:
no scents, no odors, no sounds, no laments;
the cold vanishes…
I get all the colors all around me
and I see the enchanting dance of the branches:
it is the Walnut calling the witches,
it is our dream voyaging through the aethyr.
What was not becomes reality.
I am the deer running to the Sabbath!
I am the crow which observes the silence!
I am the craftsman of myself…
therefore I praise the Horned and the Great Mother!
And where the wind blows, at the mercy of the oneiric,
Lyric Fronds Of The Ancient Walnut – Opera IX