Category Archives: Heathenry
He is so many things to me… words are weak in His presence and weak on this page as I struggle to shape them into something approximating His power.
He is a maw. That’s what started all of this, another poet calling Him a maw. And He is and we are ever being devoured in it. The whole initiation process into Him is a crushcrunching down between His predator’s jaws. It’s a good way to live, soaring within the storm. It sets a certain stage and we can run with that for now.
Endless shrieking hunger. Cold, calculating, yet searingly passionate in His focus. I hear it all the time, when He is near, that roaring in the brain. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a fool
Or has not learned how to listen.
He sees farther than we can ever conceive. He sees us too and our potential.
I know what it is like to be hunted down like prey. I know what it is like to fight a killer but I don’t know what it is like to walk away. Some knowledge isn’t worth having.
A vicious, beautiful Bastard and I love Him for it and sometimes I hate Him too but I never, ever forget the stench of my own fear in the woods when that first Hunt began or when His corpse creaked high in the Tree above me. I’ll never forget how He treasures my viciousness either.
a frenzied ravening Beast who has learned to wear a pretty mask to court the ladies (and some men too). He is brutal and wondrous and the ironsharp tang of His presence a joy my heart can barely hold.
the sovereign Power that has drenched the earth in blood and glory, the wailing wisdom of poets, the shivering terror of bards, and the enchantments that hold it all together swallowed and spat about by His flock of charmed women with razor tongues.
The Force that will use those women up until they seek any crevice in this world to avoid seeing into His.
Ho, ho, ho,
Who, Who, Who
But a God who knows the secrets found only in madness would do that? Let’s see which of us will be the last one standing, oh my darlings. Go ahead. Run.
the Architect of Worlds who loves His people and the pristine symmetry of the cosmos and will spit us all on a spear to see that it does not burn.
While we bicker and scramble and piss away our charms where the grass is green and blood runs blackest in the streets, He snakes His way ahead to keep it all from curling back into the Gap.
Devastation. Another poet warned about things like this: “Love comes with a knife, not some shy question” and so it is and so it was and if I’m lucky, so it shall ever be.
He is the frenzy that drives me and His the calloused hands that pick me up when His work drives me to my knees and I kiss the ground in exhaustion. He is the frenzy that inspires me, and with Him at my side I have seen I have seen the birthing of worlds and wonder. He is a monstrous Glory and He is my Salvation.
It is enough that He is.
Someone asked me once
if i could sense by scent
when You are near.
They wanted to know,
what the musk and aroma of a God
I had to stop.
How to put these things into words?
The vocabulary has not been invented yet.
You are so many things:
the smell of a place where many have died
the darkness of mystery – dank and bloodwarm,
the tang of the sky at the peak of a storm
and the howling of its winds if such sound
could carry with it keen-sharp scent.
You are steel in the cold,
the silent winter’s night
when not even the fiercest of beasts
but all watch
with glittering eyes from their lairs:
They too are wary of Your passing.
Yours is the smell of savagery
cunning, and an ecstasy
worlds were born
in the wake of its devastation.
I cannot hold it,
not even to craft a drop of its essence
You are the presence
on the battlefield
a century after the last man fell,
the savor of remembrance
the shattering laughter,
a roar in the void,
and the echo of its silence.
You are fury,
oh that monk was right:
you indeed are fury
the glorious, joyous savagery
at the moment two armies meet in battle
at the moment you penetrate hidden power
at the moment you seize the trail of your prey
at the moment, every moment
when that which is in you bubbles over
and burns into those who raise their lips
in adoration to You
and we drink
You are Master of the Hunt
and we are all Your prey
if we are fool enough
to stumble in the path
of Your desires.
As to scent,
forget what I have written here.
You will know when He comes
how poorly the senses translate
the vast joy-terror of His passing.
You will know
when you too
are marked with His scent.
You will know
when it is far, far too late
(by G. Krasskova)
When they paint their nails
And gush about how sweet He is
And how He looks like that movie star
(you know the one)
how He soothes their egos
what pretty little snowflakes they are
that He stood with His brothers in that gasping gap
and slaughtered his own ancestor,
a sleeping giant who never did harm to anyone
(never did any good either, or so I’m told).
(tumblr makes forgetting easy)
that this is a God who rolled up His sleeves
whet the point of His spear,
took an ax
with forty whacks,
helped hack old Ymir up.
He split that oafish bastard’s skull
And sucked the marrow from His bones
and went about the bloody work
of making the worlds run.
When He was done,
He licked that ancestral blood from his lips
With a hearty smack.
People forget that.
They forget to Whom He is bound–
One –Eye bloods Himself for no one…
Save One as ruthless as He.
But Loki is pretty
And can be tender
And seduction is …
an entertaining pastime.
Gods wear masks.
It’s only when They remove them
That true devotion starts.
In terror and blood
In awe and trembling
Ecstasy is a crawling spider
Pouring wyrd from its ass
With glittering emerald eyes.
Tattered mask held in its claws.
Glamour is a game
Especially for this God
This Poison Eater
And one day
He might just show you
All those things You forgot
While buying tickets
To the next Marvel show
Or Spielberg wonder,
And gushing over
How beautiful He is.
Beauty is as beauty does
And Loki’s beauty
Is like a poisoned ax.
It glitters and cuts
And sears and burns
And through it all
I’d murder my own ancestor
To hear its cadence.
(but you won’t see me posting about it
(by G. Krasskova)
Most Cruel of Fetters
by E. Blakely
I know that I lay upon rough-hewn rocks
Held fast by the most cruel of fetters
In a place where Time is measured by the drop.
The sound – a jarring ‘plink’
Deepening to a ‘plank’
Then a deep-throated ‘plonk’.
Full once more…and She is gone.
The terror returns…
Is She safe?
Will She return?
Will I hear Her shriek and call My Name before Her Step-Daughter comes to claim Her?…To restore Her to Our Youngest?
Does He run into Her arms, tearfully joyous, crying ‘Mommy, Mommy’?
Wolf-Son, if You lurk outside, waiting to greet Your Mother, please greet me as well.
Without the Love-of-My-Life, this torment holds no power over me.
Let it end.
By S. Hintz
Loki, I love your daughter Hela
And it was her association with me
That first piqued your interest
In my humble doings
Flame hair, you watched witness to struggle
I underwent with the shadows
Of Christianity cutting bindings
Long rotted away
Sorting meaning from unmeaning
Seeking truth from lie finally burning
To ashes those things withholding me
From the inner fires
Sated I sought in seeking found
My family of Gods Woden in the wood
Compassion in the heart of the Death Goddess
Wondering I wander
Idea to idea never quite still
Mental restlessness sympathetic to your own
Until Gifu in kindness you gave
Me to meet Sigyn
Sigyn told me of the dance of light
On the waters the dance of shadow
Within the wood until I remembered
To hold my balance
Between extremes light and dark the polarity
Things you learned in the wandering days
With Gangleri in the wood of the world
Brothers galdr kin glad met
Tonight I sit in struggle forming
This poem no poet I yet expression seeking
Gratitude for the Trickster tricking me
Into right relationship
With self in the world I have come to love
Sigyn’s Beloved first loved by Angrboda
In the Ironwood Laufey’s son
Dancer of forms
Wise in experience Nimble of thought
Bringer of troubles remover of obstacles
Once the lesson learned has made person
Loki, I pray to remain ever humbled
By the great truth of the ordeal suffered
You and Sigyn endured worm venom
Stronger together than apart.
Words from my heart
by Potia P.
Loki, you came unlooked for, unasked for into my life.
Bound one, your challenge forced me to face my bindings.
Shifter of forms, you lead me to change.
I honor You!
Burning one, you scare me still!
I don’t know what you see in me,
Why I interest you,
But I know you come calling.
Calling in the darkness
Shining in the silence
Mystery and Mischief
I honor You! I praise you!
I’ve even come to love you.
You, the disreputable friend!
The one that speaks truths no-one else will face
The one bringing joy in the madness
The one whose pain we turn away from
The one who forces us to see
The one who scares us in the night
The one who holds us when we cry
The one who gives us the blade with which to cut our bindings
If we have the courage to turn and take it
If we choose to try.
Uninvited, unexpected, uncomfortable,
Yet welcomed, honored, praised and loved!
by C. Greene
Hail to the terrifying light of truth shining from blood stained teeth,
Hail to the fire that burns away falsity and leaves all clothed in ashes,
Hail to the god who blackens hearts and consumes minds to cinders,
Hail to the feral one whose rage eats civilizations,
Hail to the father of the doomed whose children are lost to carnage and madness,
Hail to the mother who brings forth a better wyrd and breaks in the birthing,
Hail to the son of Laufey, Hail Loki!
by Raven Amber
Most radiant and beautiful flame,
Please hear my prayer and help your devoted moth.
I love You, but not enough.
I give to You, but not enough.
You swim through my veins in my blood –
How is it that I can feel so distant from You?
Skillful thief, help me to pick the locks on the doors that keep me from You.
Cunning One, help me to think of a way through this darkness.
Hearth fire, help me to re-kindle the fire in my devotion and love for You.
Shapeshifter, help me to transform into a better, more loving devotee.
Most strong and courageous God, help me to find the strength and courage to tackle those things that keep me from You.
Patient teacher, Who waited so long for me to figure things out, please remain patient as I try to find my way back to You.
Please do not leave me.
Do not give upon me.
I do not want life if I must live it without You.
Here’s a sneak peak at an excerpt from my forthcoming book on Miasma and Pollution. This is taken from chapter 1.
I’ve had push back from Heathens and other polytheists for using a term that is specific to Greek polytheism but miasma as a word exists in English and it is a perfectly serviceable word to express a concept of spiritual pollution that is common to nearly all polytheisms. If Heathenry did not have a concept of pollution and cleansing, it would be quite unusual amongst the family of Indo-European religious traditions to which it belongs. We know the Norse and Germanic tribes had clear ideas of the holy and where there is a sense of the holy there is likewise a sense of pollution as a matter of course.
Norse words pertaining to holiness and pollution include:
Helgan (f): sanctity,
Helga (v): to appropriate land by performing sacred rites, to hallow to a deity, to proclaim the sanctity of a meeting,
saurr (m): mud, dirt, excrement (defilement?),
saurga (v): to dirty, defile, pollute,
saurgan (f): pollution, defilement,
saur-lifi (n): lewdness, fornication, lechery. Its opposite is Hreinlifi, which means chastity. Hreinn is the opposite of saurr. It means clean, bright, clear, pure, sincere (as a noun the same word means reindeer, interestingly enough).
Hrein-hjartaðr (a) means pure of heart,
Hrein-látr (a): clean, chaste,
Hrein-leikr (m): cleanliness, chastity,
hrein-liga (adv) cleanly, with purity.
We also have Hreinsa (v): to make clean, to cleanse, to purge, to clear and hreinsan (f): cleansing.
Then there is the word vé, which means “holy place,” (shrine) and which is such a powerful and important concept that the three creator Gods (Odin, Hoenir, and Loður) may also be called Odin, Vili, and Vé.
So when Heathens complain that this is not relevant to Heathen practice, I strongly suggest they think again. It’s not just in the lore, but in the very language our ancestors spoke. (Thank you D. Loptson for your help in hunting up these etymologies).
This morning on Facebook, I was in a brief comment thread about the AFA. They made a Mother’s Day post that got some people’s pussy hats in a twist (which of course, now one cannot read because FB has deleted their page). I don’t care about the AFA, but so much time and energy was being expended in whining about their praise of Aryan Mothers, that I interjected essentially asking “why? Why waste all this time bitching about a group that doesn’t care and isn’t going to change and was willing to boot out a major member, an honorable and devout man because he had a transgender child?” Do you think sending memes to them is going to change their minds? None of us hopefully are that deluded.
Someone fired back that many people assume Heathenry, in all its denominations, is racist because of groups like the AFA. So here are my thoughts on that. Firstly, so what? Are we to define ourselves by the uneducated assumptions of outsiders? Secondly, and more importantly (and what I posted on fb):
It all comes down to how much space one wants to give them in our heads/minds and practice. They’re going to be doing their thing, but I’d like to see other branches of Heathenry being organized and louder, if that makes sense. what rituals are you doing? What are you reading? How are you living your faith, etc., writing about that, showing through practice that it’s not a racist religion, because in the end, if they take up too much space in our minds, then all we’re doing is giving them more power. I don’t want my practice to be a response to theirs. I want it to be a response to the Gods and my relationship with them. The AFA is irrelevant to that.
(Not the Aryan mother the AFA was looking for?)
Congratulations to Dr. E. Kelly. Your submission won the agon. I’ll email you shortly to sort out the prizes. 🙂
Everyone who submits receives a prayer card of Nerthus (if you already have Nerthus’ card, you can get a different card ) as a thank you. Please shoot me an email with your mailing address.
And remember, folks, May’s Agon is for Hermes’ Mother Maia. Let’s give Her some prayers and poems — you know She had her hands full with Him! lol.