Monthly Archives: April 2017
Catching up on Nerthus Submissions
It’s finals time again, folks, so I’ve been mostly offline slogging through writing a couple of papers (I think I wrote my first MA thesis in less time than this one paper is taking, but at least I’m enjoying the topic). I’ve had multiple submissions to the Nerthus agon, that I’ll be sharing below in a moment. The Agon ends at 9pm EST tomorrow so if any of you are thinking abouit submitting, you have one more day. 🙂
Here are the outstanding submissions.
Prayer to Nerthus
By D. Fields-Bryant
Mama
As a child I call to You
I know You though I have never beheld Your face
Our veiled progenitrix
My heart pounds the shaman’s drum
As I greet You in Your domain
I both long and fear to be enfolded on Your lap
For You are Lady of both bounty and sickle.
Embracing Your form
My senses are filled with Your heady perfume
Petrichor and bog flowers.
Wise Earth Mother
Shrouded Keeper who marks the boundaries of my steps,
Winnow me
Separate the grain from the chaff
As I strive to be worthy
Of You and Your succor.
I Praise Your Name
By K. Usik
I Praise Your Name
She comes in guises, in masks
To me, She comes in black earth
Like writhing soot, Her roots touch each and every one of us
For that, I praise Her Name
In deadly might, She gives life
To insect, to grass, to waterways, to us
She is in us
I have never seen her face
Knowing the price
But I have felt her, cocked smile, as She points to the Earth
Savage soil
Seeds bursting
Emerging
Fehu, Ingwaz, Jera
Underground waterways
These are all mine, She says
And so are you
For how are we without Her? I want us to sing Her praises
As we did millenia ago
Your ancestors praised Me, and now you have a debt to do so
She whispers
Knowing Her, how could you not?
It is the absolute joy
In burdock, clover, dandelion, and plantain…
All weeds, we say
But that is where She gives Life
The soil, the blood, and bone
That is where She is
I call Odin the Great Sweeper
But She is the Great Swallower
Intense She is in Her Might
She sucks you in straight to the soil, to Life and Death
That is why we are trapped in Her Name
But I do not want to live in a world without Her
No
She is Life within Death
She is Death within Life
And to that, I owe her a debt
And to that I praise Her Name
Great Earth Swallower
Roots of Rivers
Bogs of Bones
Grower of Grains
And
Lady of the Forest
I praise Your Name
OK, folks, if you’ve emailed me and I haven’t posted your Nerthus piece, email me again, because this is all I have outstanding! Happy Saturday.
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Just so we’re clear
I have lately been getting harassed by a mentally ill individual so I am going to state this here so there is no misunderstanding.
The material I post here and on any other website that I maintain (including but not limited to boneladyblog.wordpress.com), unless otherwise stated is mine. You do not have permission to use it in any other capacity. You may not use my images or my articles. If I find that you have stolen my work, I will take legal action.
Is that clear enough for you?
Get therapy and stop spewing your pollution on me. Stop trying to make me part of your insane, delusional world. You are sick. Get help.
commedia dell’arte
Love is a strange thing.
I throw myself into them,
these spirits so fierce,
their presence so strong,
and they catch me
and lift me up with their song.
I fall in love with voices I cannot hear.
I ache for these men
who served that Muse far better than I.
Through that longing,
I see their world.
When I cannot touch them
pieces of my heart flutter away
like snow.
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Be sure to check out my other sites:
Wyrd Curiosities at Etsy
My academia.edu page
My amazon author page.
Walking the Worlds Journal
My art blog at Krasskova Creations
My blog about all things strange, weird and medieval.
And if you like what you see, consider becoming a sponsor at Patreon.
Polytheist Problems Ancestor Edition LOL
I was meeting with one of my apprentices last week (as we do monthly) and we were discussing shrine work and she mentioned that due to space concerns she had her ancestor shrine in her bedroom. I used to live in a small New York City apartment so I know what it’s like trying to find space for shrines (especially when they keep growing!). I just nodded and made the offhand comment, ‘Be sure to cover the shrine when you’re ah….getting frisky.” The look of utter horror on my poor apprentice’s face was the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time and we had quite a good laugh over it as the impact of what I’d said really hit home. This is a bit of protocol that most people aren’t generally taught and wouldn’t necessarily think of on their own so I promised that I would write a little something about it here. (Thank you, to the apprentice in question, for allowing me to use this as a teaching moment here on my blog!).
Now first of all I just want to say that I have amazing apprentices. They are all very devout, very talented, and very hard workers. That one of them did not know this is in no way a knock on her practice. It’s actually more on me because I should have thought to say something when she first set up her shrine but when you’re deeply steeped in practices for decades, it’s easy to forget the obvious.
So here’s the question: is it ok to put one’s ancestor shrine (or other shrines) in one’s bedroom.
The easy answer is yes, absolutely. Especially when living in a tiny space, we have to make do. There’s nothing inherently wrong about putting shrines in one’s bedroom. I have several in mine because I like to work at them (pray, meditate, make small offerings) before going to bed. It’s a good, practical space. Now here’s the caveat: because the bedroom is also the most intimate space in one’s home, special care has to be taken around the shrines. Allow me to explain.
Sex is awesome and there’s nothing wrong with it. LOL. It does however carry a measure of miasma (again, this is a neutral term. It does not mean it’s bad.) that should be cleansed away before approaching one’s shrines. More to the point, if it’s one’s ancestors, they probably don’t want to watch, no matter how skilled one might be a-bed. LOL. And I’m guessing that no matter how much one might love one’s ancestors, one does not want them watching either! A shrine is the home of spirits or Gods. It’s an invitation to those spirits or Gods to be present, a doorway or window into our world. Out of respect, I was taught that it is best to cover one’s shrines with a clean white cloth, if they are in one’s bedroom, before engaging in any sexual activity. It’s a simple matter of respect.
Now I have a huge folding screen that separates my shrines from the rest of my bedroom, which effectively negates this problem. The only shrines I might not cover are those to Deities that are specifically concerned with sex (my Freya shrine is also in my bedroom and I tend to leave it uncovered) though I might suggest doing divination to make sure the Gods in question are ok with that.
And, that is all I have to say on this topic.
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Be sure to check out my other sites:
Wyrd Curiosities at Etsy
My academia.edu page
My amazon author page.
Walking the Worlds Journal
My art blog at Krasskova Creations
My blog about all things strange, weird and medieval.
And if you like what you see, consider becoming a sponsor at Patreon.
One More For the Road
Coda
“Nobody sings as purely as those in deepest hell.
What we take for the song of angels is their song.”
Kafka wrote that a century or so ago. He was right;
but what he missed, or perhaps knew but did not say,
is that only holds true for those who willingly
sacrifice their souls to the Work.
We are fighting Uncreation.
There is no room for sentiment.
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Be sure to check out my other sites:
Wyrd Curiosities at Etsy
My academia.edu page
My amazon author page.
Walking the Worlds Journal
My art blog at Krasskova Creations
My blog about all things strange, weird and medieval.
And if you like what you see, consider becoming a sponsor at Patreon.
More for the Beast
ἀβίωτος
He never returns us whole,
that daimon,
when one has fostered in service to him,
when one has broken in service to him.
We’ve seen too much.
We’ve walked in too many worlds.
He never spits us back out into this world whole.
Half a soul
Half a heart
A broken body
And too little humanity to count
or too much.
Just like too much was burned up
or not enough.
And all the rest of one’s life is spent longing
For that searing fire
that purifies beyond purification
that renders beyond rendering
that makes us perfect conduits
for perfect fire
and bones too hollow
for even a hint of humanity
to remain.
.
It is our humanity that does us in, every time.
Mediocrity consubstantiated.
This world seems so much shit and ash.
It is so hard to find transcendence here.
But there is this
and it is sometimes no small thing:
that desolation of being spat out
the revelation of one’s own lack
might just fix the soul for other spirits.
They all seem so very kind after all,
post one’s artistic manumission.
What’s a God or Two running through one’s head
when one has served a daimon who does not play at pain?
What unaccustomed freedom.
What fine, dark joy.
What revelation.
It is still not enough.
But it will do.
A Dancer’s Manifesto, 1986
If you don’t bleed
You’re not working hard enough.
If your body does not scream in pain
You have done nothing.
Smile too while you’re at it.
If you yield,
You are weak.
Up again.
There’s life left in you yet.
One, two, three
Let’s see the bloody tracks marking those steps.
Let’s see that floor dyed red.
Labanotation, bitches.
Get up and move.
Seek pain and it will guide you.
It will tell you what is true.
There’s no bull shit there.
Bleed.
You will never be enough.
That daimon is always hungry for more.
Marsyas got off easy.
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Be sure to check out my other sites:
Wyrd Curiosities at Etsy
My academia.edu page
My amazon author page.
Walking the Worlds Journal
My art blog at Krasskova Creations
My blog about all things strange, weird and medieval.
And if you like what you see, consider becoming a sponsor at Patreon.
Two More for My Spirits
A small note
For those of you
whose voices shattered in the making,
who failed to enchant
the world’s stage,
who struggled away
in church choirs …
or worse:
I remember you.
It is a small thing, but I remember you.
You served that Muse
that exquisitely demanding daimon.
Though it drank your marrow
warm and new and young
you served it still –
bloody mortar
securing its awesome edifice
for another generation.
It is worthy work,
a worthy sacrifice,
and I remember you,
always.
The God of Sacred Monsters
A face used to masks
I see You twice over:
lounging and languid,
slender, sculpted,
all smooth alabaster
and smoldering hunger,
ash and lust.
I can never look for long,
though desperately I want to,
want You.
I am too aware
of those perfect lips
and that sly smile
remote, exquisite
perhaps a little cruel—
pain is necessary after all
for such perfection—
and all it promises.
I see You, Enorches,
a wicked knot of movement
dancing a harlequinade
whispering in dulcet tones
“Everything I am
take to yourself
and my mouth,
full of honeycomb,
will pour nectar for you”*
Divine and noble
You have feasted upon Your own heart.
No one sees the strings,
unforgiving as ivy,
when You take them.
Like a paper thin stiletto between the ribs,
You slide in,
pouring Your sweet voice
through that flesh.
like honey
like nectar
stained with blood.
(line adapted from “La Calisto” by N. Cavalli. Image by Δ from the cover of “Toys of Dionysos” by H. Jeremiah Lewis)
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Be sure to check out my other sites:
Wyrd Curiosities at Etsy
My academia.edu page
My amazon author page.
Walking the Worlds Journal
My art blog at Krasskova Creations
My blog about all things strange, weird and medieval.
And if you like what you see, consider becoming a sponsor at Patreon.
Gangleri's Grove 