I asked Loki, in his guise of Lodurr, about the day that the gods made humans. He indulged me, and he told me the following story. Note: This is 100% my own personal gnosis, so please take it as you will. Walking along the coast one day, Odin, Hoenir, and Lodurr came across two pieces […]
via Personal Gnosis: How Humans Came to Be — A Polytheistic Life
An outstanding retelling of the winning of Brisingamen. Hail Vanadis! Hail Freyja!
So It was at the dawn of the world that the first war ended with the victory of the Aesir over the Vanir, and Njord went as hostage unto Asgard as Hoenir went to Vanaheim in return. So it was with the pride of Vanir warriors slain upon the field that Freya the Shining wept bitter tears for the loss of her people. She wept for Njord of the Sea, whose sons save Frey were now dead upon the field, and he away to Asgard as hostage. Where she wept her tears upon the sea, so did they turn to amber. She wept for Nerthus of the Earth, who turned her face from all the worlds now that the strong sons she bore were now wrapped in her embracing earth, not striding boldly upon it. Where her tears fell upon the land, they turned to gold.
Mighty was the magic…
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Who watches the Watchman?
Who keeps her safe at her tower?
Who gives her power upon the hour?
And reason upon the season?
And peace a golden fleece?
The luminaries turn, adrift
we have the dance of clock ticks.
And the Guardian kisses sweet
to the bones of her meat.
Lost days, long nights, heaven rain.
And never a lover without pain.
Lost dice in a subway terminal. Gleaming fire on a blood-boiling moon, Toomer’s tithe, over back alley grit and sweat and spit. Recycling days old poetry in an empty milk carton a wino drinks from stinking to know something of God. You with your body of broken shards of wind chimes razing my flesh in bloody wounds and music oh so sinfully sweet. First you tuck me in, then it’s fathoms down to the depths no man knows, suckling up a sea of white gold and rosy awakenings that would shame Nausicca seeing Odysseus naked, bathing in hoary perfection under Athena’s watchful Aegis. The tide is rushing, this dark holiness is something spiteful and full of the color lost. Blue, deep mahogany blue, like the tears that crumble from your blueberry eyes. I would bake you into a tart and eat your heart with whipped cream and rubies and still, you would say, I have more desert to give, more sweets for you, please swallow me whole, just like I devour you, for the seasons are turning, and I must go to rot. Bury me under that crab apple tree we spent years together under, where I gave you my soul, and I will forget your name in my decay. You, my anam chara, carry on into the darkness and with tooth and nails drag dawn up over Hell, it has been dark for too long. And so ecstasies and poltergeists rattle the Devil’s chains and sex is what we invented yes, full score eons ago when man and woman wanted to fit together. And look at the symphonies we made, a Viennese waltz to the devil’s trill. Full Danse Macabre. And now we are untethered, nothing to ground us to ruin, so like balloons in death we float above, away, avast, sailors on the outer boundaries of space, and it is only by holding you close that I know my union. My ruin. My Savior of blackest wing.
Hail, true Blood, shed
of the Son of God,
who having willfully suffered, was sacrificed
on the cross for the righteous,
whose pierced side
flowed with water and blood:
May it be for us a taste of our rightful damnation
in the trial of undeath.
Oh wise Jesus, Oh powerful Jesus,
Oh Jesus,willful victim of Longinus,
your mercy is my curse.
Sum Sanctus.
Swept out of my body midnight to the capital of the arcane,
global elites dressed in power suits and pencil skirts, all
well-groomed and sitting in council presiding over Illuminati.
Multinational, multiracial, multiplicity. The shadow society is
from all races and religions, and as they tell me how they work
from the symphony’s background to siphon wealth and prosperity to
the upper echelons, orchestrating world events and downfalls of
those fat off the land, rises of those who support advancement of
humanity, they initiate me into their mysteries, I drink the wine of
the cup, the bloody promise, and then their leader, Christopher
Raumbacher, shakes my hands and whispers in my ear of his secretive
investments in industries worldwide and how he pulls the economy like
a yo-yo at his musings, gives laurels to the leaders he favors, string
pulls the wretched overturn of the corrupt, the gray faceless mask behind
all global doings, and suddenly a thunder flash, and their faces are
rendered alien, and they are eyeless without even sockets on their faces,
blind and bombarded, walking about without sight, a hivemind of order over
chaos, and I scream, and the Watchers take me back to my wicked body, and I
wake, and all that is left is the taste of ash in my mouth and knowledge I
am never free.
Rushing tide at the juncture of placental waters,
rocking to sleep in the womb of the night, moon’s
sweet cradle and her son’s starlight tongue, lips
like salt water and pure springs, tangy sweet, at
my mouth, spearing my sex, bringing new ways to
curse God while also screaming His name in ecstasy.
The waves come crashing, pinnacling with foam, and
mermaids become but lost souls on the shores, so
open your depths to me, sweet Stella Maris, and I
will dive for pearls in your bosom, Madre Maria.
Materials required:
Oven
Blender or Food Processor
Ingredients for main course:
1 Spaghetti Squash
1 box of zuchinni noodles
Pasta of your choice
Garlic cloves
Pepper
Salt
Olive oil
Ingredients for sauce:
Olive or vegetable oil
1 box of cherry tomatoes
3 cloves of garlic
1 pear
1 red or white onion
2 ripe avocado
Directions:
Worship the petals of my sex, my fragrant little sister,
rub the goddess marigolds onto my heaving bosom!
Make love to me by living! Speak in delight at my name!
I am Freya Goldenhearted! Witchblood seidhrkona of old!
I taught Odin his tricks, I taught Loki his names, and from
Folkvangr, I can see through the fractals of my swords and
warriors, brave women bold, sweet men soft as Ingvi-Freyr,
to the end of Fimbulwinter, through sheer fire and ice! I will
emerge in Hel’s cold fires, I will walk on alone into Baldur’s
new reign, and Heith is my witch name, Gullveig my shield name!
It was I that spoke the Voluspa, I that told Ottar his deeds, I searched
for Od and wept fragile honey blossoms, I am femininity wild and lustful,
sweet yet somber yet flirtatious as sin, only I know no sin, for I am holy.
So let us make love, little sister, raise your fragrant rose to my chrysanthemum.
Sing ecstasy in my name and dance the dance of volvas, pound your skald staff
into the roots of Yggdrasil and churn the cosmos with my Norns after my direction.
We will hail Yule and the Disir, come the Disablot! My ladies, Hela’s ladies, Frigg’s.
We are the Three, We are Holy. Hela. Freya. Frigg. Crone. Maiden. Mother. We see
all between Asgard, Vanaheim, and Helheim, and every woman has a pinch of us!
Odin gambles all away for glory, but I count my cards, roll my knucklebones, and feast.
Honey on my tongue, pollen in my hair, brass on my brow, beeswax sweet my fire.
Loki speaks too soon, I measure my words, I am the prize of the gods, sought by Giants.
I am mead sweet on the lip. Poetry in my fallen. Valkyries in my wake. Shieldmaiden.
Thor would trade the worlds for a thrash at Jormungandr. I strike only the fatal blow.
I am Death. I am Deliverance. I am Mountain. I am Mystery. I am Falcon. I am Founder.
Know my names well, know your Dead, count the jewels in my hall and laughter wise.
We have pastimes aplenty, and fish from Noatun, and boars from Alfheim, we feast!
Seek out your fortune in my name, my daughters, and remember, I am All that Is.
We Dance the Danse Macabre 