For Njord

I’m been getting the “I love you and all, but no, really–I love my kin, too, so….” from my dear Lady. Which is true; I sometimes focus on her to the exclusion of her otherwise cool and much adored kin–Freyr and Njord, in particular. Freyr and I have an interesting relationship, in that it’s more of a dance that a relationship as of yet, but I’m sure that will change in time. Njord, though–Njord I love. He is a Daddy and I am a Daddy’s girl, particularly as I’m one of Freya’s. I have never received anything from him but generosity, love, and joy. He’s like the great-grandfather I’ve always wanted but never had.

So, for Njord, I offer an Anchor Steam beer, and this:

Ode to Njord

Hail to the wise, sea-weathered God
The generous and calm Van
Father to Freyr, and Freya, his sister
Peacemaker, oathkeeper
Who brings the fishermen safely home to their kin
with tales and treasure in equal measure.
Hail to the father of the Vans
Husband to Skadi, a huntress bright and sure
And dweller of Nóatún, when not visiting his independent bride.
Perhaps no one would have partnered better with her than him,
(he did raise strong-willed Freya, after all).
Hail to this comely God, of the shining white feet,
and the hearty laugh, and the happy home.
Hail the father of the Vanic twins!
Hail!

–Cara Freyasdaughter

Tired of Speaking Sweetly, by Hafiz

(How much do I love poetry written by mystics?! Let me count the ways…)

Tired of Speaking Sweetly

Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,
Break all our teacup talk of God.

If you had the courage and
Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights,
He would just drag you around the room
By your hair,
Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world
That bring you no joy.

Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly
And wants to rip to shreds
All your erroneous notions of truth

That make you fight within yourself, dear one,
And with others,

Causing the world to weep
On too many fine days.

God wants to manhandle us,
Lock us inside of a tiny room with Himself
And practice His dropkick.

The Beloved sometimes wants
To do us a great favor:

Hold us upside down
And shake all the nonsense out.

But when we hear
He is in such a “playful drunken mood”
Most everyone I know
Quickly packs their bags and hightails it
Out of town.

(translation by Daniel Ladinsky)

–Hafiz, Sufi poet

The Origin of the Love Notes

(revised and updated from my original post in May 2014)

The Love Notes project started out as a marching order from Freya right before PantheaCon of 2014. After the Con, I had a few Notes left over, and couldn’t decide what to do with them, so I started posting them on the blog. After a week or so, they ran out, and at Her encouragement, I decided to check in with Freya each day to see if She had more words to share with others. Here’s the full story of how it went down.

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Fire in Winter

Yes. I love Rhyd’s work, as usual 🙂

Paganarch

You remind me
Of someone I’ve never met.

I know this ache,
what all is taken
from what I feared
would not last a winter

Here’s wood, stacked, next to
words, leaves of books
I’d been saving
for a longer winter, one

where ground and where stone
heave ice-drowned rivers
stagnant glassed ponds
breathing white sun.

You’ve reminded me
Of someone I’ve met

Yet not, yet felt
in aches in hollows
carved by unseen hands
in slumber of winter.

Here’s sap, leaking, from
cone, limb and cock
pitched resin, gathered
for last winter’s hearth.

You are familiar, kin
of Someone I’ve met

and remember, His
ache, hollowed echo
in ice-rimed caverns
where dreams sleep in winter.

You satyr, wooden
You dryad en-fleshed

I’m covered in pitch
Smelling of winter
and sulphur, this match

and what comes after.

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