Eleusis, here I stand,
your land is our companion,
your sky is over us all,
your life is our deepener.
Heaven and Earth were the parents of Rhea,
grandparents of our Lady Demeter,
our patron of fertility and eternal life,
goddess who grieves and goddess of joy.
Her father was Chronos, the Yama of karma,
who eats all his children til forced to relent.
Oh truth of impermanence, gateway to mysteries,
only divine inspiration can tell.
Here one is unavoidably in touch with the moon,
with weather, stars, seasons and the changing forms of life.
Autumn here is truly autumnal, winter very winter,
spring springs forth with a bound and summer brings its lazy, drying heat.
As Irene, the handmaid of the goddess,
we are gardeners of this land
and gardeners of our souls.
The Earth is their mother.
We seed it and care for it, till it and dress it,
through conditions ever changing, ideal or adverse,
we worship its glories and reap from its providence
and live in connection with the part and the whole.
We are builders from the rocks
raising our Babelling towers.
We build our Pure Lands in the fields of Eleusis
midst the corn and grain and the fruit of the land.
We shall make shrines
to the spirits that move us,
to gods all most ancient,
and those still at hand.
Here are the chill of night
with infinite stars alight,
the heat of old Sol
and the scent of sweet lavender.
We are moulded by spirit
fathoming motives, dreams and such stories,
reflecting on lore
from the mages of old.
We are entranced in the fullness of living
in service to muses,
love, labour and learning,
ecstasy, verse, pure reason and art.
Oh Irene, spirit of peace, never leave us.
We are apprentices seeking your skill,
squires and servants to natural divinity
earth and sky, wind and fire.
A stone to dress, a log to cut, a wall to build, a field to till.
We theraputae are growing by healing;
we are the Kore, stolen by Hades,
we are the flowers that return in the spring.
We are young Demophon
drinking the nectar;
we though just mortal,
imbibe measureless zest.
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