“Every ritual repetition of the cosmogony is preceded by a symbolic retrogression to chaos. In order to be created anew, the old world must first be annihilated.”
-- Mircea Eliade
“In ancient times, anterior to our history, the temples of the spirit were also outwardly visible; today, because our life has become so unspiritual, they are not to be found in the world visible to external sight; yet they are present spiritually everywhere, and all who seek may find them.”
-- Rudolf Steiner
To the Ones of the myriad Ways and Paths!
To the Ones who call the Weaver of Winds!
To the Ones who call The Ever-Bright and The Gleamer!
To the Ones who summon the Hope of Rain and the Hawk of the Wind!
To the Ones of the Roaring Wender!
To the Ones who call the Hush of Winds!
To the Ones of the Deep, Eel-Home, the Smooth-lying Wave!
To the Ones who summon the Wild, Swift Biter!
To the Ones of The Wand and the Mane of the Fields!
To the Ones who drift through the Unsorrowing, Weaver of Dreams!
To the Ones who call forth the Growth of the Slender Stem!
And to the Ones who raise the Foaming Horn!
Wæs þu hæl! Wæs þu hæl! Wæs þu hæl!
I will sing of the first axe clamor, spear tempest, edge thunder,
The first time swords met their shame,
When first an ocean of wounds was poured upon the Earth,
When the flowers were wet with corpse dew,
When mixed wolf's wine and eagle's sea,
And heavily ran rivers of sorrow.
The Rulers of Earth met with the Children of the Roarer,
To make the iron song, the prayer of sword, the chanting of steel,
For the sake of the Bright Seer, Wolf Tamer, Golden in her Strength,
Whom the Mad One pierced with reeds of hate, blood wheat, corpse twigs,
And Thrice Burned and Thrice Risen was she,
And thereafter her eyes could see wide as the gore-gull flies,
And thereafter her hands could make the signs to bind,
And she danced the circle to call forth the spirits,
And spun charms whereupon she thrice tapped the wand upon her cheek.
In revenge rose wolf-feeders and sword-trees,
The war shirt was worn, sword-wetters, spear-reddeners,
And the Bale-Worker threw his dire blood staff into the thick of the battle wall,
But still the Wise Powers broke through the lines of the Battle Glad,
And as the Boar-Borne strode irresistible across the fields of war,
The Sons of Wolf-Hater, The One of Gaping Frenzy,
Fell in their uncounted thousands.
In the end, victory came to the Wanes,
And assembly was made,
And bowls and horns were passed from one to the other,
So it was decided that the folk would be as one.
From Vanaheim, the land of the wise and far-seeing Wanes-folk,
Was sent Njörðr,
Lord of Noatun,
King of Wagons, God of Chariots, Lord of Many Horgr, Prince of the Groves,
He whose coming is welcomed with song and merriment,
And all things of iron, scabbard-thorns, wound-wolves, reeds of hate, are locked away,
And the flames of battle are put aside,
And no man will leave for war while He is among them.
When the fields have been blessed by His hand,
His dread wagon is taken to the deep water in the heart of the grove
And there is bathed and anointed by slaves,
Who thereafter are offered to Him and drowned in the cold, dark tarn.
Shrouded in horror is the grove,
For it is known that to look upon it means death.
Wind King, God of Fish-Hall, Ymir's Blood,
Who, unlucky in love, was made to endure the howling of the evening-prowler,
Who hated the mountains so loved by His wild queen,
And She, in Her turn, could not abide shrieking of the sea birds,
And the crags of the sea.
So did the Three Who Weave decree that they should live apart.
When He went to live amongst the Battle Gods in Bright Halled Asgard,
He was accompanied by the children He bore to His own sister,
For among the Wise Ones are such unions permissible according to the law.
His son Ingƿine, the Sacred King,
Bloody Hoof Rider,
Wielder of the Sword of Light,
Who went east over the sea,
The One Who Grows,
Who built the temple at Uppsala,
Blessed of the Gleam of Elfland,
The Wheel of Heaven,
The Cinder of the Sky.
King of the Fruitful Season, He brings forth the weeping clouds,
And gentle winds, which bless the seafarer and the plowman.
Master of horse and golden boar,
The Exalted One,
The Solar Phallus,
Who brings fire and strength to the virility of the golden tree.
So renowned and loved was He,
That when the Father of Hell mocked Him
For lying with His own sister, fairest of the fair,
The Lord of the Thing Himself spoke on behalf
Of the Golden One.
He, who went to the high place of the Resounder,
And looked out upon all the nine worlds
From the place of silver and gold,
And in the north did He see a fire burning against the sky,
And He beheld the Maiden of the Shining Arms,
Who dwelt in the hall of wild dogs,
The most radiant of her people.
So He sent his page, Bright, to convey His love
To the Glittering Maiden.
Bright requested the Sword of the Gods from his Master,
To offer as a bride-gift,
And thereafter, He was without His battle-thorn,
Which, in the hand of the wise,
Sought the heart blood of His enemy.
But so battle-bold was the Flickering Flame,
That He threw down the giant war chief Beli
With nothing but the antlers of a hart.
Oh but when the Black One rides forth
With the whole host and might
Of the Southlands,
Bearing aloft the Scathe of Twigs,
The World-Wreckers will shatter the sky,
And rend the rainbow bridge,
And the Bright God will Himself be thrown down,
And the Troll-Wives fled from the broken world.
To Asgard, too, came Freyja,
Lady of the Field of the Holy Host,
Lady of the Glorious Dead,
Lady of the Feathered Cloak,
Lady of Cats,
Lady of Lust,
Goddess of Rye,
The Bringer of Joy,
The Weeping Goddess, whose tears are of red gold,
Flaxen Haired and Fair,
Sea-Sweller, Shaker, White Sow.
Most Beloved of all the Gods,
When She came from Vanaland, the Ring Giver
Did make Her high priestess of sacrifices,
And e’en after the twilight of the Gods had fallen,
And all the Aesir and Vanir slain,
She alone survived and preserved the sacrifices and the rites.
She alone chose when to open the door to Her bower,
And lay with whom she may.
Who first carried the distaff to Asgard,
And taught the goddesses the power of soothsaying.
She showed them how to wield the phallus
And make the trembling circle dance
To bind enemies to their will,
Spin flax and wool,
To wear the soft haired girdle
And calf-skin shoes.
The Lady showed them how to call the spirits forth and invite them in,
To yawn and bring the mist into the mouth,
To ask the dead what will come,
To see that which lies hidden,
To hex and doom.
And well is it known that when Midgard is swallowed with forest-sorrow,
When the willow’s dog barks,
And the red hall-wolf howls,
And tormentors and deceivers walk the earth,
And the waters are choked with roaring seas of corpses,
The wise ones will leave this wretched, scorched land,
And abandon it to wolf and serpent.
But in time they will return
And a cool, soft rain will fall once again
O’er the poisoned earth.
Ramon Elani is an acausal, anti-modern, heathen poet and author. He holds a PhD in literature and philosophy. He lives with his family among mountains and rivers in Western New England. He follows the way of wyrd.