30 Days of Njord: Day 21

Coming back to my “30 Days of Njord” series finally. A commentator on another blog I write for pointed out that he really enjoyed this prayer. Seemed to be a good time to bring it back again 🙂

A Prayer of Thanks for the Vanir

Hail to Njord!
Hail to that gift-giving god
Whose generosity is as boundless as the sea.
God of the coasts and the ocean
A hand to calm the troubled waters.
A peacemaker, an oathkeeper
Hail to Njord!

Hail to Nerthus!
Hail to that hidden goddess
Whose cart and whose cattle
blesses the fields
and helps us all prosper.
Hail the Earth Mother
Hail to Nerthus!

Hail to Freya, lady of love and light
And magic, gold, lust, and death
Hail to Her glowing hall
that welcomes half of the slain—
a well-deserved reward for a life well wrought.
Hail to the Vanadis!

Hail to Freyr, lord of peace and prosperity
Who thaws the land, makes it fertile and lush
Hail to the god who followed his heart
He gave up his weapon and chose love, not war.
Hail to the noble sacrificial king.
Hail to Ingvi-Freyr!

Hail to these gods of pleasure and plenty
Of peace, prosperity, and wisdom!
Hail to all their spouses and children!
Hail to their laughter, hail to their strength
Hail to the joy and hope that they bring us!
Hail to the connections they nurture between us!
Hail to the generous Vanir!

–C. Freyasdaughter, 2016

Devotional Poem for Freya, by Sarenth Odinsson

(It has been far too long since I’ve posted any poetry for Freya. It is high time for some poetry. Here’s a lovely repeat, by Sarenth Odinsson)

Devotional Poem for Freya

I hear Your Whisper
In the moments between time
Where my heart has beaten and presses
The blood running hot
I hear You in the darkness
Alone
In my thoughts
Your words caress my mind
Gentle
Firm
Searing
When I put my fingers to keys
I feel your hand
Caressing
Urging
Your whisper in my heart
“Write without shame”
So I will write
Of your glory
Your luscious curves
Your eyes that stab the heart
Your iron will set in soft flesh
Your firm hands that hold lover or spear with grace
Your heart that gives solace and joy
Your soul that enflames the tinder of so many dried hearts
How could I praise you higher
Than by saying I have come to love myself
Through Your hands, Your fire, Your love?
That by your patience and demands
I have seen the face of love? Looked upon its glorious face?
That I know the difference between love and lust
That both have their holy place in my life
That I have discernment to tell one from other?
That you have kindled true love in my Being
That I might give it to another
That I may give it wholly
Expecting nothing, but truly open
To its warm return?

–Sarenth Odinsson

90 Days of Odin, Day 6: Master of the Tree, by Galina Krasskova

Master of the Tree

He comes with the storm
It devours, searing away
All that would shield
All that would protect
From His fury.
There is nowhere to hide.
He is ecstasy, inspiration,
And terror.
We are the wine
Upon which He feasts.
We are the meat
He savors between His teeth.
Who can hide from such a fate?
Who can run from such a Hunger?

Hail to the Master of the Tree
Its greatest of sacrifices.

© Galina Krasskova

Sometimes the Gods are Sick of Speaking Sweetly

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.

–Hafiz, Sufi poet (translation by Daniel Ladinsky)

I feel sometimes like I am a pickaxe of the Gods. I have been out and about and doing the Gods’ work (either consciously or unconsciously) long enough to know that I have two main uses to which They like to put me. Two main patterns have emerged, regardless of group or situation or locale. If I come cannonballing into your life–sailing with seemingly no effort over barriers you’ve long held , slipping into places no one has been to in decades–know that it can go one of two ways. Either I am a gift of supreme love, or I am a wrecking ball. And, a lot of the times, I don’t know which one it is until after the Rubicon has been crossed.

If I am a gift of love, you will receive from me complete acceptance. Understanding. Support. Lack of any criticism or judgement. I hold space for you as you cry, but I never tell you where to go or what to do next. I act as the voice of a God, and as His or Her witness. I verify that you are indeed human; are accepted and loved; have a valid voice, message, and place in this world; and, above all, are not crazy.

If I am a wrecking ball–honestly, I do the same thing. I just do it with a reeeally big flashlight at my side and with a lot less patience. (Lokeans, I know you feel me here.) This approach is sometimes needful and necessary. It is the fire the kills the undergrowth but leaves the strongest trees still standing, and makes the now-cleared earth ripe for new growth. And it sucks, and is painful for all concerned, and is not necessarily beneficial in the long run.

But I do it, because sometimes, the Gods are sick of speaking sweetly.

Vanadis, by Heather Freysdottir

Snagged from Heather’s blog.

Vanadis

I am the Witch and the Warrior.
I am the Mother of the Matronae.
I am Love and Lust, but
I am more than your fantasies.

My hall is home to your mothers, sisters, friends.
My beauty is renowned throughout the Nine Worlds
My wrath is to be feared.
I was not given jewels, for I am the Jewel.

I have made my own way.
I am owned by no Man or Woman save for Myself.
Would you know Me?
Would you step into the fire of the Jewel?

Then know Yourself. For I would have
You know Yourself in all Your beauty and Your passions.
That You may rule them instead of them ruling you.
I want you to seethe and see Yourself.

Come to Me in love and trust.
Come to Me in anger and rage.
Come to Me as you are, as you may be,
as You will be, because
I am the Queen of Wild Things, and
I would not see you be tame.

–by Heather Freysdottir

“I am Freya”, by Thenea

(As channeled by my dear friend Thenea, here.) This whole poem: Yes, and yes, and yes.

I am Freya

I am War. I am Love.

To me, all is beauty: I behold the terrible majesty of all creation.

I am all beauty: The majesty of the world returns my adoration

I stand before you without judgment.

Holy is the blood of death – beautiful in its completeness

Holy is the blood of birth – beautiful in its potential

Mine is the dance of battle, danced to the beat of harsh-clanging metal

Mine is the dance of sex, danced out rhythmic and sweet, to a song voiced by lovers.

This is who I am.

I am all love, and love all.

Doubt not that I love you, also

The meager of heart have naught but hollow threats to defend their place

The frightened and childish shall storm up and take their baubles home when challenged.

But I am no frail and bitter tyrant, hoarding power without purpose;

I am no voiceless coward who stands before iniquity in silence.

I am Life. I am Death. I am the magic between.

I am Freya