Sannion has written a lovely sequence of daily prayers to Dionysos, one for each day of the week. Check them out here: via Daily Hymns
Beloved in the Arts of War
Serene and elegant,
let no one misunderstand:
You are the power-broker of Asgard.
Even more than Your Husband,
You weave strategies and plans,
owning the field of combat,
whatever it might be.
Victory has already formed in Your mind.
You have woven it into wyrd,
before any conflict ensues.
None may challenge Your mastery.
You must. It is Your duty:
to guard Your territory,
to protect those within.
One Who loves Her people,
does what She must
to ensure Their safety.
You are nourished
on the thunderous joy of winning,
especially against Your husband;
when You clash wits, the worlds tremble.
Clever Goddess, You are fire and ice
and everything in between,
and You hold the worlds in Your hands.
May we always honor You,
in the fullness of Your being.
Let us always celebrate Your glory.
Hail to You, Beloved Frigga.
(by G. Krasskova)
He who gives me what I rarely remember
Morpheus, Great God of Dreams, I have a question to ask of you:
Why do I so rarely remember my dreams?
I know that I do dream; all humans do, even my kind.
And yet, I so rarely remember mine.
And what I do remember is so tantalizing, it draws me back to sleep,
To trade the mundane of waking life for the majesty of dream.
Perhaps that is why Morpheus, in His Divine wisdom,
does not allow me to remember my dreams.
For the Gods are above us, and their gifts are Theirs to parcel out as needed.
And that has always been the way of things; though our society refuses to acknowledge it.
I understand that truth – I learned it a dream I do remember.
And now I hail He who gives me what I rarely remember.
My Dead, of whom I can always dream
Perhaps someone who does not live the veneration of the Dead,
Might naively believe that those who do never feel the pain of loss.
Sadly, that is not the case.
Indeed, some days – in my opinion – it is even worse;
We talk as though face to face, with those who have traveled to that undiscovered country,
And that makes it all the more terrible when we cannot feel their comforting touch again,
When their presence is spiritual, rather than physical,
When their voices are the muffled moans of the buried Dead.
But all praise be, to the Great God of Dreams.
For Morpheus, so noble is He,
He who allows us mortals the gift of dreams.
And we can always meet our Dead in our dreams.
And feel their touch again. And smell their smell again.
And hear their voices with our ears, not just our hearts.
Musing on Morpheus, Mnemosyne, and Mortality
The God of Dreams and the Goddess of Memories – what is the connection?
And why do thoughts of both come into my mind in connection with my Dead?
The Author of the dreams that drive us,
The Mother of the Muses who inspire us;
What is the connection?
To sleep, perchance to dream, now, that is the question;
But what is the connection?
As I ponder this, another question enters my mind:
Do the Dead dream?
The answer is, most likely, known only to the Dead themselves.
But the living are at least allowed to speculate.
And when I speculate, I feel another question enter my mind:
Are those who dream, not dead to this world while they dream?
For what is a dream, but one of two things:
A vision sent onto the sleeping by the Holy Powers;
The brain’s attempt to process random electrical discharges within it during sleep,
as influenced by the memories it contains.
And thus – the Connection.
Morpheus, the God of Dream. Mnemosyne, the Goddess of Memory.
Both are Deities of the Mind.
Both are tangentially connected to Mortality.
When we dream with the dead, we must thank Morpheus.
When we dream of the dead, we must thank Mnemosyne.
My praise to Morpheus!
Hail He who allows us to dream with our dead.
My praise to Mnemosyne!
Sing for She who allows us to remember our dead.
To the Keeper of the House
In the morning before Her household wakes
She sits in silence, taking counsel from the dead.
She reads the passage of stars, patterns in the wind,
listens to the voices of the fire dancing in the hearth.
She is wise this Lady, Maintainer of Her Home,
a fierce Defender with blade and spear,
an Equally fierce manager at wheel and loom.
There is no equal to Her quiet force,
and it is She Who orders Asgard,
ensuring its bounties flow.
Before Sunna streaks across the sky,
relieving Her brother to His daily work,
the Queen of Asgard, whispers with the Moon,
and Mani tells Her of things He has seen far and wide.
There is no secret hidden from Her keen eyes,
no power She does not understand,
though She holds Her knowledge secure in Her breast,
shared only with a trusted sister, perhaps,
and never with the man Who shares Her bed.
(by G. Krasskova)
To He who is Glad-of-War
War is Your delight, Oh Tester of Men.
It is Your sacrament, a sacred sieve,
where fire and ice meet anew.
Our ancestors knew Your voice,
howling, terrible, a thousand winds,
raging and fighting in Your song,
runes spat forth, ferocious,
wiping generations clean.
Raw and raging like a bear,
with the viscera of prey
between its jaws, You come.
Visage rust-red, bright and bloody,
adorned with scars of victory,
Ash spear hungry, gleaming razor bright
in the oozing mire of war, Oh You come.
Shield-shaker, Attacking rider,
thighs grip fast the gallows horse
as You ride, and there is no prey
You cannot find. No place
for Your enemies to run.
Bring the world to heel,
with the maelstrom of Your battle cry,
and may Your Valkyries feast.
May we too feast fast in the knowledge,
that there is nothing greater than You,
and nothing we need ever fear,
with You at our backs.
Hail, Haptabeiðir, Roaring God,
Hail the Father of Hosts.
(by G. Krasskova)
You rose up from the primordial grime
hand in hand with Your brothers,
savage yet determined fury
under the light of a cold-bladed moon.
You destroyed Your ancestor,
ruined Him, the indolent breeder,
clotted up his gaping maw
silenced his screeching snores and groans
that ever rattled the wyrm-like field.
You swept it all away and from his bones
built anew, a web of worlds-
bleak in their youth, rich in their promise,
rising and shining in the boughs of the Tree.
You made of his screams a symphony,
bone beautiful and clean.
There was no remorse in You
but elation, satisfaction.
Let there be no remorse in me either,
for the things that I must do
Hail to You, Loður,
Whose blood stained fingers
painted our flesh a lively hue.
(by G. Krasskova)
Taking a cue from Sannion’s gorgeous prayer cycle for Dionysos, I’m going to do the same thing for Odin: one prayer for each day of the week starting with a prayer for Monday. I suspect, given my crazy schedule, that it’s going to take me far longer than it did him to finish the entire cycle, but here is the prayer for day one.
To You, gaunt wanderer,
Who sought the counsel of the luminous God,
alone, in a stark landscape
of ice and dying trees,
secrets of unseen things,
this prayer is given.
He does His war dance,
scimitars flashing, rivaling fire as He moves,
alabaster white and shining,
eyes showing the sowing of worlds,
keen-footed steps their destruction.
The Warlord learned,
and bowed His head down
to the glory and the beauty.
May we too be open to such wonder,
now and always.
Hail to You, Gangleri.
(by G. Krasskova)
(“Odin the Wanderer” by Dasaod.deviantart.com)
Here is the first entry to the Agon for Morpheus. This Agon runs through Feb. 15.
Shape shifter and God of Dreams.
Here I am,
falling in the dusky depths
of my restless mind,
Please draw near.
As my body leans back
in my small and modest, (but comfy) bed
I call You in the dark.
Come close, winged God.
Draw near, God of Dreams.
Please dwell for a while in my mind.
Catch me in Your arms tonight
and take me to that secret place
that You know oh so well,
where the Gods reside
in glimmering robes
in sumptuous palaces
under bright starry nights;
that place filled
with the sweetest perfumes
I have ever sensed
and the memories
of a million million lives
that the Gods remember bit by bit,
tear by tear, joy by joy;
that secret place
hidden in plain view
known to few mortals
familiar to all Gods
where I can find my Beloved.
Help me find Him.
there is no end to the lengths I’d go
to find Him.
I’d climb any mountain
barefoot in the freezing snow.
I’d fall through any stream.
I’d suffer extreme cold,
tearing hunger and thirst,
pain like no other.
I’d walk through a fiery burning fire,
slowly, in my knees,
and I’d do that
again and again and again
Just to find Him,
just to see Him for a split second
I’d tear myself to pieces.
He is my Sweet Lord, my Beloved.
Help me find Him, God of Dreams.
Because I know You can help me find Him.
Because You know what He means for me.
Oh please help me find Him
In sacred sleep, devout and pure,
Secured in Your arms.
Please guide me there
by Vanessa M.
These are more formal prayers written while listening to a lecture in Plotinus, Augustine, and Platonic Beauty.
For my Castrati
May the beauty of your voices
Lift me up to my Gods.
May it strip away all pollution
And may all the fractured pieces of me
Resolve in the harmony of the sound
You, my beloved spirits, sing,
A song irrespective of time and memory.
May they resolve in the glory of Being
Summoned by your god-born voices.
May I be held to the lips
And in the mouth of my Gods,
Gnawed upon and rendered
The beauty of bone
And a soul stripped bare
Transformed by the fullness of sound
Teach me oh my Gods
To know my place before You.
Let not my human hubris and need,
My venal sufferings and hungers
Turn me from You.
Lift me up and purify my soul.
Let nothing else remain.
Let my life bea prayer,
An invocation and hymn of praise
To You, oh Glorious Ones,
Without Whom nothing would be.
Fill my senses with Your beauty.
Lift me up, I pray.
Keep my feet on the road of piety,
Oh most merciful Ones.
Corral my irreverent heart
And drown me in you
Until I am made of nothing else.
You are beautiful, oh my Gods
And it nourishes my soul.
May I know my place before You I pray.
Illluminate my mind
That I might know the rightness
Of honoring You.
Render my heart,
That only adoration of You remain.
Like an arrow, barbed and sharp,
Pierce me, open me to Your bite.
Infect my blood, make feverish my brain
And little by little drawn me to You.
I wander paths very far from my Gods.
I subsist on pollution
And move amongst the blind,
Yet always You are there.
I seek You with each step.
I serve You on each meandering road.
Hunger and longing tie me to You,
And You are the fulfillment of every desire.
I flee You to find You.
I serve You in dark places,
Illumined by Your fiery light.
You have set my feet on this path
And I shall find You at its end.
There is nowhere I can go
Where You are not.
Open me, Oh my Gods.
Let me never forget –
I am hunting my way to you,
But You have found me and claimed me
by G. Krasskova
Prayer for Anteros
by Jamie B.
Holy Anteros, to you do we raise our voices.
Sacred Youth, Love’s labor and labor returned,
You lighten our load,
Brighten our hearts,
Flavor our lives with the savor of longing.
Let your Holy Presence shine bright
That we may never wander from our path.
Let your power and mystery
Make us shudder in awe.
Most blessed Anteros,
May you and your companion erotes
Fill our lives with joy and delight.