Profound Lord, pouring honey into the mouths of Your Oracles, come now to be honored, for we have made a feast for You in this place. Grace us with Your golden light, and we shall be as the little children, basking in the hot sun.
You are the fire burning away the impurities which lurk in the crevasses of men– all those dark and hidden biases. You are the corrosive wind which errodes even the most stern, and the most ridgid among us. You are the vortex which subdues and swallows the burdensome pains that afflict us. O Paian, O Healer, share with us the panacea to cure our ills.
Lord of Death, come, and teach us the ways to be free in body and soul. We are the receivers of Your knowledge, and the receptacles of Your everlasting love. May we be pure of intention, so that You find a respite in these halls.
O Hand of Zeus, who yields not to the whims of mortal men, speak the True Oracles through these/this man/this woman who are/is prepared to house Your shining glory. O Loxias, come, and we shall receive You with great pleasure.
O Lord of the pristine sounding lyre, whose music soothes all troubled minds, we welcome Your voice, we welcome Your humor, we welcome the breadth of Your Immortal Self– and we name You, APOLLON!
APOLLON, who is our Lord, come!