God of the Alder-Tree
Whose roots go deep underground,
Whose path goes deep underground,
We call upon you today.

Lord of the Western Ocean,
Lord of healing and curer of wounds,
Lord of the setting sun,
We call upon you today.

Crimson-stained hero,
Beheaded god who lived on
As the skull of oracles,
Lord of crows and ravens
That eat all that dies and rots,
Lord of the black-feathered wings
Of destiny and nemesis,
Show us our fate,
Or what fate you deem it wise to show us.

And if it is our fate
Not to know what that fate shall be,
Give us at least a signpost,
A light along the path,
That we may not stumble foolishly
And lose the last few crumbs
Of the wisdom you have gained
From the dark places where your roots entwine.

Chant:
As the crow flies, So the truth lies
As the flame burns, So our fate turns

(Let all sit in a circle, and let divination be done by one who has the skill, for any who ask. And let no one speak on the message given to anyone else. Put out the candle and leave the room.)

​

From Pagan Book of Hours, paganbookofhours.org