The Calling of the Ninth Wave
Clíodhna, fairest of the Tuatha Dé Danann, whose three bright birds sing the wounded into sleep, I stand at the edge of your water. Take from me what I cannot carry and leave it in the deep. Send me the wave that cleanses and not the wave that drowns. Let me love the way the tide returns — reliably, and without being asked twice.
Offered at a shore or with a bowl of salt water; speak it once, then keep silence for the space of nine breaths.