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
In my thoughts
Your words caress my mind
When I put my fingers to keys
I feel your hand
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.


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

For Freyja (#2), by owanderer

For Freyja (#2)

Blessed are the lips of my Lady for She bestows Her kisses on the lonely and lost. Freyja’s golden tears are gifts to the multiverse. Thankful and humbled am I to be in the presence of a woman so generous and great. She has shed tears for me. I offer Her my resilient heart in return so that She may boost Her own strength.

She is the song in my limbs, the joy in my laughter, and the vigor of my grief. Freyja takes the wounds of me and transmutes them to gold. I offer Her my shedded snake scales so that She may remember all of me for always and forever.

May She remain with me for aeons uncounted and into the timelessness.

May we always dance together. Please, dear gods I ask You, may I always dance with Freyja.

O Beloved Goddess, thank You for Your embrace.

–by owanderer

“Tears in the Ocean”, by Michaela Macha

In my ongoing quest to find for more poetry for Freya, I often end up at Michaela’s website, “Odin’s Gift”. She has a huge collection, for most of the Norse deities, and many others. Here is one of her own poems, describing Freya in her search for Odr… (It’s actually a song, apparently; you can hear it here.)

Tears in the Ocean

I hardly noticed when he was going,
I didn´t think to say him goodbye.
I missed my chance on that day, little knowing
He would not return and I´d never know why.

I hid at my home, hid my sorrow and rage,
I buried my grieving ever so deep;
But love freed my feelings and feet from their cage:
I set out to search him, and started to weep.

My tears in the ocean turned amber and gold,
My tears at the Tree were filling the Well;
My tears in the field made the flowers unfold,
My tears at the river were flowing to Hel.

I wandered the wastelands, I searched far and near,
As falcon I flew over mountains and hill,
From daybreak to nightfall and year after year,
And in all my dreams I am searching him still.

My tears in the ocean…

I roamed through the realms of the quick and the dead,
I searched on the other side of the sky;
No place in Nine Worlds where I did not tread,
And wheresoever I went, I did cry.

My tears in the winter turned crystals of ice,
My tears in the night, seven stars for the sea.
My tears fell as diamonds, a find for the wise;
My tears they brought comfort to any but me.

In Midgard I talked to the daughters of men,
To widows and orphans and all who have lost;
In memories, their loved ones were living again,
Their songs were burning like fires in frost.

The wyrd of all worlds and all wights is to perish,
I wept for the fate of each man and each god.
I wept for all we hold dear and we cherish,
But most of all, I wept for my Od.

I forget how he smelled, I forget how he smiled,
But I shall always remember our love.
I seek for his charm in the eyes of our child,
And I hear his voice in the sound of her laugh.

My tears in the ocean…
I seek for his charm in the eyes of our child,
And I hear his voice in the sound of her laugh.

My tears in the ocean…

Because Freyr = subtlety

Because Freyr is the most subtle and nuanced of Gods (coughhackcough), no matter what I do, the prayer for him by Joshua Tenpenny absolutely refuses to become a page that I can link to. Instead, each time I try, it posts itself front and center on my blog. Each. Time. I’ve had to delete it three times now and at this point I just give up. You win, Freyr! Look–another post, just about you. And I’ve read that damn prayer like five times in the last twenty-four hours.

I did say I wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with a god who doesn’t talk back, didn’t I? Hmm. (Sigh. Freya was never this hamfisted with things. Seriously.)

Let’s see, what else can I do that will make Freyr happy. Well, I can print out another pic of him since the last one burned up a few weeks ago (a funny story which will likely not make it to the blog). I’ve already started putting together a page of images of him so I’ll have a companion page to the artwork and poetry/songs pages that Freya now has. Hmm, what else? Offerings. Pick up some pulled pork? Barley beer? Honey? Flavored lube? There are clearly not enough ithyphallic sculptures on my altar; I’ve got to rectify that soon (Ha! I said rectify!)

Wow, now I’m making bad Vanic jokes. Freyr’s definitely in the house.

Here’s to you, Ingvi-Freyr. May your love never cease, your indomitable spirit never flag, and your antler never miss its mark.

golden Freyr, drawing