So I begin, evoking the words that accompany my playing. Silently.  Hail Guardians of the East. Watchtowers.  The breezes of morning; powers of Air. A soft wind tugs at my hair. A gentle rush of wind...  Blow the stale emptiness away. Fill our lungs. Help us bring that sweetness into our lives. Clear blue skies. Clear minds for us to find our way.  I breathe deep.  Yes.  A gentle warmth and peace settles over me.  Over my hands.  My fingers.  The melody is delicate. And pure.  And even....haunting.  Let our emotions create a safe place.   I smile and wander on the guitar to the end of the first passage.  I glance up at the crowd.  "Blessed Be," someone says.  Yes.  Someone felt it.  Sing with us songs of the Wind's haunting whisper, which calls to our hearts without making a sound.  Walk with us here in soft, fading memories, with our toes in the streams of thoughts yet profound.  Dance with us in sweetest abandon, as our circle is cast that no one will break.  And smile, as we smile, as you join us, and laughter drifts over hidden lakes.

I look down at the wooden fingerboard beneath my fingers. The wood seems to breathe. Alive and pulsing.  Excited.  And pleased.  I wander to the next passage.  And in my mind, I recite the words...without words... Hail  Gurdians of the South.  Watchtowers.  "Blessed Be," a voice says softly.  Warmth and life.  Powers of fire.  "Yes."   Come into our hearts and warm us.  "Yes."   Help us emerge from our isolation. Help us to embrace our emotions.  Burn away all that is false.  Or wanting.  The guitar throbs in my hands.  Like a heart....beating.  I lick dry lips and try to calm my heart.   To no end... Blessed Be and Welcome, dear Fire.  "Yes."  Yes.  I wander to the ends of the second passage...and pause.  But for a moment.  "Blessed Be," voices say.  A few this time. Together.

Sing to me songs that most have forgotten.  Speak of these dreams that most never know.  Walk in cool gardens where one may remember, the hope of youth stored below.  The longing for passion that I have since honored, with lust and remorse of the lives that I've touched, are all that I know that here might unite us, in the warm, longing pulse of our blood.

The third passage rises from my fingers.  Cool and flowing.  Like a stream.  Or a calm river.  Flowing.  Endlessly.  Like the unending circle.  And so I call... Hail Guardians of the West.  Watchtowers.  The purest of rivers of life.   Powers of Water.  "Blessed Be."  Rain on us and quench our yearning thirst.  "Yes."  Help us to remember the womb from which we come.  Ocean.  Lifegiver.   “Mother".  Let all of us be connected.  One.  Inseparate.  Merging....until all is one.  We are one.  "Yes."   Welcome reflection.  I smile again.   Blessed Be.   "Blessed Be."  Sing music impassioned, sung high, sung low.  With tears I have fashioned untuneable woe. As so sadly my quick spirit graces with groanings of death griefs that  live.   I  cry unto  Apia's high  place  my  broken  speech  to  forgive.   I look up at the people before me.  The air is charged with energy.  Most are smiling. A few hold their hands together before their breasts.  Or over their mouths.  A few wipe their eyes.  From joy, I hope.  There's an uncomfortable fear in the eyes of a few.  Those who came here expecting drink. And pleasure.  And abandon.  This is not what they had in mind.

I grin and look down at the thing of wood which I am holding.  I.  It.  One.   We no longer stop at the contact of my fingers, but flow easily together.  One and the same.  One being.  One passion.  One melody.  Together, we flow into the final passage of the opening movement.  Hail Guardians of the North.  Watchtowers.  Powers of Earth.  "Yes. Yes."   Sustain and nurture our roots.  Give us stability.  "Yes."  Strengthen our resolve and keep us centered.  Help us be here in the now.  A soft, but forceful wind tugs at my clothes.  And my hair.  I feel myself.   My roots.  Deep in the Earth.  Sustaining.  Grounding.  Breathing.  Living.  Being.  Ah...one.  Alive.  Welcome Earth!  "Welcome."  May a great circle be cast.  Of love.  Harmony.  Light.  Peace.   "Blessed Be."  Yes. I smile. Blessed Be.  And...I add...in the spirit of Aeschylus... With amplest oblation, to high heaven we come, for hope's consummation, when death's wind is dumb.  The billow whose path no one traces, nor what strand on its crest I shall reach. I cry unto Apia's high places to forgive my broken speech.  And the melody... Fades...  With the passage.  Silence now.  Mostly.  But for a breath.  Or a sniffle.  No tinkle of glasses.

In the back there are no hushed whispers.  Upon me...all eyes.  And the void of silence. The weight of promise fulfilled.  Or fulfilling.  I smile warmly.  My acknowledgement.  I touch the guitar with hesitant fingers.  The strings are hot and alive with energy.  The wood seems flesh.  Pulsating with life.  My dear one.  My precious.  Softly singing siren.  I lean close to the microphone.  My hands are shaking.  My lips trembling.  I start to speak....but the words fail me.  Alien.  Unfamiliar.  Unmelodic.  And strange.  But I do speak....in a quiet, weak voice.  "Our Circle is cast,"  I say to them in a whisper.  Just loud enough to be heard. But not so much as to raise the amplifiers or shake the speakers.  "We are between the Worlds."

"So mote it be!" a strong voice answers from the audience.

"So mote it be!" answers another.

I laugh!   And then an image suddenly rises from the crowd before me.  A young, beautiful woman with hair like the sun.  She begins to sing in a pure, strong voice.  I stammer for a moment, unsure, but I join her.  We join her.  It and I.  The guitar thing.  I've never heard the melody.  But it plays from my fingers.  It resonates from the wood.  The girl sings a counterpoint melody to the tune I am playing.  A contralto, I think, though I'm not really sure.  No words.  No language.  No syllables . But with meaning as clear as the morning dew. 

"I come to you now with willful abandon," she sings.  "My part to your circle will I gladly impart.  And together we walk in the meadows of understanding."  Welcome, Spirit of Center.  Welcome Goddess.  Beyond all bounds.  Above and below.  Bless our Circle."  

"Yes."

I smile, surprised, for I am singing.  In unison.  With her.  She smiles warmly at me, radiating love and warmth and peace and acceptance.  She opens her arms to those around her...  Hold all these, your children, in loving arms. "Oh, Passionate Horned One," she sings.  "You are welcome.  Dance with us."  

And another voice rises from the crowd seated before me.  An older, beautiful woman with hair like autumn leaves. She also sings counterpoint melody to the song we are playing.  A soprano, I think.  But again, there are no words can I decipher.  No language.  Or syllables.  But the meaning is clear as the bright light of noon.   

"I come to you now with willful abandon," she sings.  "To bless this circle.  For together we shall walk in the heights of realization."

Welcome Spirit of Center.  Welcome Goddess.  Mother.  Beyond all bounds.  Above and below.  Bless our circle. "Yes."   "Yes!"   "Oh, Horned One," she sings.   "You are welcome.  Dance with us this night as we weave our energies together. Now is the Dark Moon of the Mother Goddess.  The time has come for us to embrace the darkness within, and to reclaim that which was lost.  Enter the womb of the Mother as as you have for ages."

I laugh, trembling.  No one else sees her.  Nor the maiden.  No one but I.  And I hear the melody of my playing from a far distance.  Like the sigh of the wind.  Ever present.  Drifting.  Searching.  Then another voice rises from the crowd seated before me.  An old, beautiful woman with hair like purest snow.  She sings counterpoint melody to the song being sung.  An alto, I think, though I'm not really sure.  No words can I decipher.  Again...no language.  Nor syllables.  But with meaning as clear as the evening's fading light.  "I come to you now with willful abandon," she sings.  "My part to your tale I contribute with honor.  And together we walk on the winds of remembrance."  Yes.

I laugh... Understanding...  Maiden.  Mother.  Crone.   Welcome Spirit of Center.  Welcome Goddess.   Crone.  Beyond all bounds.  Above and below.  Bless our circle.  "Yes."   "Blessed be!"   "Yes!"   Many voices now.   "Oh, Horned One," she sings.  "You are welcome here.  Dance with us in the still darkness.  Hear the faint murmur of our beating heart.  One, and yet distinct.  All around us is the essence of her warmth.  A knowing embrace to comfort and heal."  Slowly, a blanket of mist covers you, enveloping you in darkness.   "Embrace the darkness  within without struggle," sings the Maiden.  "With courage and strength, reclaim the night, and allow the healing to begin," sings the Mother.   "Feel the strength thru surrender," sings the Crone.  "Power without aggressiveness.  Dark without light."

The mists separate, and you emerge from Her womb, re-born and transformed by the dark.   "Join with us, within us, and around us,"  I speak softly into the microphone.  "Each of us is a part of this circle.  Words mean nothing.  But your heart....means everything.  Think of what you feel.  And in your mind's eye, see that which you would offer to this circle."   Music and breath.   Melody.  Drifting, but whole.  I look out across the faces.  Closed eyes.  Silently moving lips.  Energy dancing about their heads.  Colors.  Hues.  A thousand different shades.  But all the same tint.  Peace.  And acceptance.  And joy.  "Breathe as one."   "In perfect love..."  I whisper, "...I offer you this."  We drift for long moments in one another's arms.  Warm.  And joyous.  Forgiving.  All strife....gone.  Blessed Be.  "Blessed Be," says one voice.   "Blessed Be," says another.  And another.  And another.  And
another.   The crowd soon murmurs it together.  And the soft peace lies over every one of us.

I smile.  It is done.  The song.  And the singers.  Precious Goddess.  Mother of all Creation. We thank you for attending our Rite.   "So mote it be."

I grin.  "Let us close the circle."  Farewell Guardians of the East.  Powers of Air.  Breath.  We thank you for protecting our circle.  "Go in peace..."  Stay if you will.  Leave if you must.  "Hail and Farewell," I sing into the microphone.  

"Hail and Farewell!"  is the reply from the crowd.  

"Farewell Guardians of the South.  Powers of Fire.  Light.  We thank you for protecting our circle.  "Peace."  Stay if you will.  Leave if you must.  "Hail and Farewell."  

"Hail and Farewell!"  

"Farewell Guardians of the West.  Powers of Water.  Renewal.  Life.  We thank you for protecting our circle and ask your blessing as you depart.  "Hail and Farewell."   

"Hail and Farewell!"  

Farewell Guardians of the North.  Powers of Earth.  Provider.  We thank you for protecting our circle.  "Hail and Farewell!"  

"Hail and Farewell!"   

And the melody....begins to fade.  I lean close to the microphone... "Our circle is open, but never broken,"  I say to them.  "May the Peace of The Goddess be in your hearts and souls."

And then... As suddenly... The melody has faded.  I coast out... On silence... Like a rogue... Upon the ice.  My fingers are still... Though the last chord still vibrates... In the warm, contended wood... Beneath my hands.  Silence.  Mostly.  But for the hint of a murmur.  The crowd is now standing.  And moving quite oddly.  And I only slowly understand or hear... The rush of applause.

I smile as, before me, three women shimmer, and fade into the realms from which they came. And I'm left here to bask in the glory of our singing.  Alone.  Though embraced.  Exhausted. But strong. I grin and thank the Goddess.  Maiden.  Mother.  Crone.  This was a good night.  A special night.  Before me, in the crowd, faces glow.  Most of them.  There are a few who will never feel it.  But most...simply know.  And accept.  I bow slowly and rise from my stool upon shivering legs.  My head is light.  I make my way from the stage, and stumble as I leave it.  Hands quickly support me, and pat me on the back.  Voices speak to me in loud, boisterous tones. But I can't hear them.  The greyness gathers around me.  And I know...that I'm weak. Exhilirated, but exhausted. So many people.  Watching.  Listening.  Feeling.  Needing.  I quickly pass friends and well wishers to find a place where I can rest.

None to soon, I find the small cell they call a dressing room and collapse into the big lounge chair someone provided for me.  I sigh deeply and try to catch my breath.  My head quickly clears, freed from the weight of my bones and flesh.  I lick my lips, and feel ill to my stomach, but it quickly passes.  Thank the Goddess.  I smile and feel my heart beating in chest, and the blood pulsing through my veins.  I won't be ill this time.  As intense as it was.

I look around the room and know how out of place I am here.  I look at the sound proof panels where, emblazoned upon the walls, are the logos of heavy metal bands who have been here before me.  And I sit there for long moments in silence.  Haunted... By the melody.  And the song.  And my breath.  Goddess.  It sings to me in the mornings, as I awaken from slumber.  And it calls me through the days as I try to live my life.  And in sleep, I'm always dancing with softly singing sirens.  And they bring me here to the stages to make their presence known.  I can never resist. E ven now, the song echoes in my mind.  And I can't escape it.  Nor do I want to.  I am hers.

But it takes so much more out of me now.  It didn't used to be like that.  I would sing and play all night, and be charged!  But I've done it so many times.  And so many come now.  So many who have heard it all before.  Who have been there before.  It's a soft familiarity. S trange. Welcoming, and embracing.  But draining, as well.  The crowds these days.... just make me feel old.   They take so much, and give nothing in return.   Wasn't always  like this.  Used to be give and take.  Dozens of people raising the energy together.  Before the fashion came.  Before the yuppies came.  There's still a few, quite a few, who come for the right reasons.  And I sing for them.  And or Her.  But there's many more who come to hear the witch sing.

Then... Suddenly... There's a knock... Upon the door.  I look up.  Startled.  But smile as I can.  A visitor.  I sigh.  A young girl enters.  Mid teens.  If that.  Just the softest swell of breasts beneath her Budweiser t-shirt.   "I hope it's alright," she says.  "They said you wouldn't mind."  I smile warmly, though I do mind.  I try not to mind.  A few minutes more.  That's all I need.   "That was wonderful," she says, playing with her hair.  "I felt what you were feeling.  I don't know how else to say it."  I thank her, but drift off, still dreaming of my sirens.  Her words I can't decipher.  No language.  No syllables.  No meaning I can find in the structure of her melody.  I smile.  Her noise.  This smiling creature.  With heavy mascara.  A pierced nose.  Black lipstick.  All effect.  For no reason.  She suddenly steps forward and touches my arm.  I look up and focus and smile as I can.

 "You ok?"  she asks softly, deep concern dancing across her face.  I nod.  And smile.  I shrug.

"Did you hear what I asked you?" she asks.

No.  I didn't.  I shake my head.  "I'm sorry," I tell her, and close my hand over hers.  "I'm like this sometimes...when I finish."

 "It's ok," she says warmly, the shadows lifting from her face. She kneels down beside me.  She's so young.  With eyes searching.  A wide, innocent gaze, full of hope and free of pain.  Was I ever that young?
 
"What did you ask me?" I implore.  I try to pay attention this time, drawing myself back into the world of flesh and blood.  She smiles excitedly and looks away, but turns back.  She squeezes my arm firmly, her nails digging into my skin.  She watches me for a moment, and looks deep into my eyes.  And, in a soft, clear voice, she asks me;  "Have you ever seen 'The Craft'?"

I watch her. The words don't quite register.  Gentle blue eyes stare at me through heavy mascara.  And I'm not sure what I heard.   "The Craft?"  I ask.

"Yes.  You know.  The movie."
 
The movie.  Oh! Yes.  The movie.  I shake my head.  No.   "I never saw the movie."

She smiles kindly.  Like I don't understand.  And she's right.   "I won't tell you what it's about," she says quickly.  "But I couldn't help thinking of it.  And I think you should see it."  She squeezes my arm again. "It doesn't have much to do with the real thing, like I saw here tonight.  But it's opened some minds.  Some young minds."

"Opened to...."

"Possibilities."

I shrug.  I guess.   "Possibilities."   A movie.  I've never much watched movies.  Mindless entertainment.  I don't see what this has to do with anything.  I look up at her.  Why is she here?
 
"Just remember," she says,  leaning close and kissing me lightly upon my cheek, "Everything she touches changes."  She giggles.  "And everything happens for a reason."

I nod.  She's right about that.  Everything does.  But I still don't see. I look up to her again.... And find.... Air.  Just air.  She's gone!  I look quickly around the room.  I'm alone.  She's just....gone.  The door is still closed.  And she couldn't have gotten out without my knowing it.  What the hell?  I blink a few times and look around the room again,  just to be sure.  But she's not here.  How odd.  I swallow hard and shrug it off.  Am I that tired?  Gods. I am.  My arms feel weighted again.  My body is heavy.  I should be exhilirated.  But I'm just tired.  Always tired after a performance.  So much goes into it.  I think of the girl.  Of her eyes. Of her.... makeup.  Such an alien creature to me.  I'm not old, but I'm far removed from her generation.  Andthere are no bridges.  No common
ground.  How odd.  The divisions settled in so quickly.  We have more in common than different.  And yet we hardly know one another.  I feel for them.  Because there's no one to show them the way.  No one but the images on-screen.  In the movies.  And on television.  And all they know is what Hollywood tells them. Who will show them the truth?

There's a crash!  No....  A  knock.  Someone is knocking on the door.   The girl?   "Yes?"  I ask expectedly.

"You OK?"  a deep, baritone voice asks me.  A man's voice.  It's Alton, the stage manager of the club, the owner.
 
"Yes, Alton," I reply. "I'm fine."  But I'm not fine.   I'm odd.  What a strange night.  First the ladies.... Then the girl. I don't know....

"Could you come out for a minute?" Alton asks.

I sigh.  Not now.  Please.  Not now.  But it's Alton.  He never disturbs me.  If he needs to see me, it won't be something foolish.  He wouldn't do that to me.  I force myself from the chair, and launch myself up onto my feet.  Don't think I could manage it any other way.  I teeter on wavering legs for a moment to get my balance, and move to the door.  I hesitate before turning the door knob, with images of just moments before dancing through my head.  The song.  The Spirits.  The girl.  All I really want to do is lie down.  I need to soak it all in.  Make sense of it.  It was so wonderful.  At first.  And now....nothing makes sense.   I sigh again, softly, and turn the knob, letting the door swing open.

Alton stands in the doorframe, smiling.  "I know you don't like to be disturbed," he says apologetically, "but I thought you might make an exception this once."
 
He steps away from the doorframe and into the hallway, and motions to his right with a wide swing of his arm.  He cocks his head, inviting me to follow.  So I do.  I step out of the room into the hallway.... And meet wide, shining eyes.  Young girls.  Four of them.  And a young boy.  They seem nervous.  Unsure.  Expectant.  I can't read them.  Not clearly.  But I'm tired.  And there's so much on my mind. They're all dressed like the young girl I saw in my room.  Or something like her.  All bizarre fashion.   Jeans that ride low on their hips.  Dark cloth.  Black t-shirts and blouses and dresses.  Heavy mascara.  Two of the girls have black lipstick and look like they crawled out of a morgue.

 "Hello," I say softly.
 
The shortest girl smiles broadly.  She's surer than the others.  Their leader, of sorts.  Or at least the boldest.  She takes a hesitant step toward me, but stops.  She starts to speak.  Once.  Twice.  Three times before finding her voice.  "We saw you," she says, glancing at the others.
 
A  long, uncomfortable silence passes between us.  I look at them, and they watch me.   "Yes?"  I ask them.
 
She blushes.  "We wanted to ask you something, if that's alright."
 
I shrug.  And nod.  "Of course it's alright."
 
She smiles.   "We were wondering...if you teach."
 
 "Teach?"

 "You know.  The Craft.  Do you take students?"
 
I glance at Alton.  He's smiling.  He's tried to talk me into taking students for ages.  And I've never wanted to.  But +somehow....this time.  I don't know.  I look at them, and their shining eyes.  Someone has to teach them. Or at least set them out on the right path.  I never wanted to do that.  But someone has to.  I shrug again.  "Yes," I tell them.  "As a matter of fact, I do."
 
"Cool!" the girl barks, a little too loudly.
 
I motion to my little room.  "Come on in and let's discuss this."

They all grin and quickly file, one by one, into the room.  Alton lays his big hand on my shoulder and squeezes it.  Then, without a word, he walks away from me down the hallway.  I watch him, wondering what's going through his head.  After all this time, I'm suddenly taking pupils.  Guess he knew I would sooner or later.  How could I ever explain my reasons?  To him.  Or even to myself?  I watch him round the corner heading back to the stage area, and, as he passes, I notice a woman standing there.  A beautiful woman.  So familiar.  Her features.  Her bright eyes.  Her lips.  And I realize ... slowly ... who she is.  The girl.  Who came to me.  Who squeezed my arm and planted a seed.  The mascara is gone.  The black lipstick ... gone.  The weird clothes.  She now wears a silken white dress.  So clean it nearly glows.  She smiles and waves at me.  And slowly.... She fades.  Just like the ladies.  The Spirits.  She fades.  And I'm alone in the hallway.
 
An odd peace settles over me.  A clarity of thought I haven't known in years.  Like awakening from a dream.  And seeing....what you were meant to see.  No others words....
 
I smile.  Ok.  Now I see.  Soft melodies dance in my head.  Faint voices sing.  I turn away from the empty hallway, and step back into the room.  With my students.  And I grin....as one strums the strings of my guitar.