[Ded­i­cat­ed to mul­ti­cul­tur­al Cat­alo­ni­ans] From a sum­mer trip to Gali­cia. The video is very dark, but it's a queima­da!! Must be done in dark­ness. The spell is re­cit­ed in Gali­cian lan­guage. You can see the orig­i­nal text of the spell and its trans­la­tion to Span­ish in Wikipedia . Here I'm go­ing to show on­ly the en­glish trans­la­tion be­cause of the space. -​-​-​-​-​-​-​-​ooOOOoo-​-​-​-​-​-​-​-​ [from Wikipedia] Queima­da has ori­gins in the Pa­gan fes­ti­vals of Gali­cia. It is a punch made from Gali­cian aguar­di­ente, a spir­it dis­tilled from wine and flavoured with herbs or cof­fee, plus sug­ar, lemon peel, cof­fee beans and cin­na­mon. Tra­di­tion­al­ly while prepar­ing the punch a spell or in­can­ta­tion is re­cit­ed, so that spe­cial pow­ers are con­ferred to the queima­da and those drink­ing it. Then the queima­da is set alight, and slow­ly burns as more brandy is added. Men­tion of queima­da is found in Celtic, Ro­man, Visig­oth­ic, and Ara­bic lit­er­a­ture. There is al­so ev­i­dence of the queima­da tra­di­tion in the eleventh or twelfth cen­tu­ry. -​-​-​-​-​-​-​-​ooOOOoo-​-​-​-​-​-​-​-​ TRA­DI­TION: the fi­nal­i­ty of the prepa­ra­tion rit­u­al is to dis­tance the bad spir­its that, ac­cord­ing with the tra­di­tion, lie in wait for men and wom­en to try to curse them. Af­ter din­ner, in the dark­ness of night (one of the best times for it), the peo­ple who take part in it gath­er around the con­tain­er where it is pre­pared, ide­al­ly with­out lights, to cheer up the hearts and to be bet­ter friends. One of them ends the pro­cess of mak­ing the queima­da while recit­ing the spell hold­ing up the burn­ing liq­uid in a la­dle and pour­ing it slow­ly back in­to the con­tain­er. -​-​-​-​-​-​-​-​ooOOOoo-​-​-​-​-​-​-​-​ THE SPELL tra­duc­tion: Owls, white-​owls, toads and witch­es. Demons, gob­lins and dev­ils, spir­its of the misty vales. Crows, sala­man­ders and mages, charms of the medics. Rot­ten pierced canes, home of worms and ver­mins. Wisps of the Holy Com­pa­ny, evil eye, black witchcraft, scent of the dead, thun­ders and light­nings. Howl of the dog, omen the death, maws of the satyr and foot of the rab­bit. Sin­ful tongue of the bad wom­an mar­ried to an old man. Sa­tan and Beelze­bub's In­fer­no, fire of the burn­ing corpses, mu­ti­lat­ed bod­ies of the in­de­cent ones, farts of the ar­s­es of doom, bel­low of the en­raged sea. Use­less bel­ly of the un­mar­ried wom­an, speech of the cats in heat, dirty turf of the wicked born goat. With this bel­lows I will pump the flames of this fire which looks like from Hell, and witch­es will flee, strad­dling their brooms, go­ing to bathe in the beach of the thick sands. Hear! Hear the roars of those that can­not stop burn­ing in the fire­wa­ter, get­ting so that pu­ri­fied. And when this be­ber­age goes down our throats, we will get free of the evil of our soul and of any charm. Forces of air, earth, sea and fire, to you I make this call: if it's truth that you have more pow­er than hu­man peo­ple, here and now, make the spir­its of the friends who are out­side, take part with us in this Queima­da!!