The Riding of the Boar
Freyja, most radiant of the Ásynjur, who rides to battle and chooses half the slain, I light this flame where your name echoes. Yours is the song of seiðr, the fire of the falcon-cloak, the necklace that burns like the sun caught. Teach me to desire without shame, to grieve without drowning, and to ride forward when the road is dark.
Spoken at dusk on a Friday with a candle lit and a drop of honey placed on the altar stone.