Above you hangs the moon. She is full and heavy, dripping her milkwhite light on the planet below, like a mother's breast that anticipates the nurturing of a child. The remainder of the heavens expands about the glowing orb, velvety and black, pricked by a multitude of winking stars. You take a deep breath -- heavy-sweet with the odors of a cooling summer day. The field, the dark, the sounds of the night, the forest and the moon all collide in time that does not exist.

As you look around the clearing there comes the realization that you are one among many -- old and young, robust and slender. They, as you, have come from many distant places to be here this night. A sea of faces, each barely masking the taunt anticipation behind them, utters whispers that merge with those of the nocturnal insects. An atmosphere of peace and unity with both worlds prevails.

A hush, like the roll of a soft wave, moves across the crowd. Silently, the people form a circle. A lone cloud scuttles to greet the face of the moon and veils its brilliance for a second.

In the darkness, man, woman, and child join hands. As the light once again filters down among the people, you hear the awed murmur of the crowd. The center of the circle, empty only moments before, is brilliantly lit by the aura of a single woman.

She is like no other. You search you memory, but you can remember no equal, neither in this life time or in any slips of memory that your stingy brain has allowed you to recall.

Her stance is straight and proud. Her strong yet delicate arms rise to the heavens, drawing down the light of the moon into her breast. Into her soul.

She is swathed in shimmering material that any human has yet to make; you marvel at how it ripples about her, like fine flesh that kisses the night.

Some in the crowd see her as a raven-haired beauty; others see her as a white-blonde princess. Yet there are those who observe a fiery, red-headed warrioress. To you her skin appears a musk-honey color, but to the man next to you it shines with polished ebony. It is then you realize that you are connected to the thoughts of all in the Universe. To look upon her radiant face is to have the air stolen from you lungs, and gasp, eyes fluttering in mild fear of drowning in the logic of nothing. The sensation flashes by; you are left with steady breath and a pumping heart.

To look within her is to experience the Divine . . . The Goddess!! The logical mind does not well accept the creative premise of divinity. Therefore, you internally debate whether you are looking upon human flesh or a figment of the heavens. You have been told by others that the human is Aradia, Queen of the Witches. Some have said she is the incarnation of the Goddess herself, others say she is the daughter of the Goddess, as She could not enter her full self in human flesh. Regardless of the debate, you know that you have waited a very long time to see her. Although the humans here are total strangers to you, you finally feel that you are home. This is the place where you belong. She speaks. Her silver voice rings loud and true. In amazement you watch as the tallest trees around the clearing bow down in reverence as she begins The Call:

She lowers her arms and holds them open toward the people circled around her. A small girl-child in the crowd cries out in fear, erupting the peace of the circle. Her horrified mother attempts to remove the child as the little one breaks into a lusty squall.
But Aradia only smiles and beckons the small one to her. She holds her arms in a cradling position, and where they once were empty, the child now materializes, encircling the child to her breast. The mother is left guiding only empty space from the circle.
If there was one among the crowd who does not believe in her reality, it surely blossoms in that moment, as the child nestles into aradia's shoulder in peaceful contentment.
Still holding the child, Aradia gestures one elegant arm to the sky and speaks:

She pauses to caress the head of the girl-child, then lowers her gently to the ground. The tot scrambles quickly back to its mother, the cherub face serene, radiant, and blessed.
Aradia begins to glide slowly around the circle of people, looking intently into many shadowed faces. She speaks:

Her eyes grow large and luminous and her voice flares with raw power as she proclaims:

She places the palm of her right hand on one man's forehead. She shouts:

The softens her voice and winks at another:

She turns quickly to an old woman:

She then tips the chin of an attractive young lady:

And pivots with a seductive laugh. She moves about the circle, touching each individual, murmuring encouragement of hopes and dreams, laying aside fear and hatred.

Your heart begins to beat its own primal rhythm as she moves -- no, glides -- toward you. Your stomach does those familiar flippity-flops when you realize it is you she has singled out. She stands but a breath in front of you. You feel her warmth envelop you with the perfume of musk, or is it lavender? She is so beatiful you think your eyes will never see normally again.
Her hand delicately touches you shoulder, sending a rapturous vortex of power jolting down your body, then building in your belly. She speaks in a whisper that, amazingly, all can hear: