Chamunda, goddess of all reckoning, you who inspire fear with a glance, you who licks the wounds of asuras (demons) as you laugh and trample them to death, come to us drunk on the blood of life, inebriated on the wings of hope. Your skeleton red reminds us of our origins in Mama’s darkness as your digambari (garbed in space; sky-clad) pleasure makes us tell the need for nothingness. Garbed in space, your hair aflame in a cobra tiara, you dance on cremation grounds and bring joy to despair, laughter to sorrow, mirth to uneasy embarrassment. Holding your kapala (skull cup) full of your enemies’ blood, you choose life at every juncture and will us to do the same. Divine mother of might who rides the owl of death, the corpse of ultimate transformation, be with us now.