Prayer to the Goddess of Divination

The World, which speaks,
the Goddess, whose words they are,
whose body is the world,
is the Earth who gives our own bodies their birth,
is speaking to us in words that seem mad:
mad words of a mad priestess,
as the cryptic utterances of the Python of Delphi,
sitting on the tripod over the cleft,
breathing the fumes, tasting the laurel she chewed.
Mad words of uncertain meaning,
difficult to interpret,
dangerous to follow,
but even more to ignore,
and always true.
These are the words, the type of words, the World speaks,
the utterances of the Goddess;
these are the words we must listen for,
and listen to,
though they come to us half-heard,
hints from the edge of sound and sanity,
blown to our ears on the fluttering wind.
Though obscure, though the seeming ravings of a disordered mind,
they are still Her words.
I doubt them:
in my doubt, may I listen.
I lack faith in them:
may they speak to my soul.
I do not trust them:
may I know them to be true.
May she speak with sure words
and may I listen with sure understanding,
or if I do not understand them,
with wonder, with amazement, with awe, with love,
may I still listen to the words she speaks.