Happy mothers day to the moms, soon to be moms and trying to be moms in my life. To those of us with terrible moms we choose to be estranged from: at least our dads are cool.
A Mother’s Day Prayer
For those whose earthly mothers are lacking
Hail Angrboda, Mother of Monsters:
May I have the will to keep on my road, even when lost.
Hail Sigyn, Mother of Grief:
May my sorrows be bearable, even when sharp
Hail Freya, Mother of Treasure:
May I remember my value, even when knocked down.
Hail Frigga, Mother of Light:
May I remember that even when in darkness, light comes from me.
Hail Rind, Mother of Vengeance:
May what comes forth from me be my revenge, a life well lived.
Hail Jarnsaxa, Mother of Strength:
May I always be strong enough to always do better than my past.
Hail Hela, Mother of Death:
Take what sorrows I cannot bear any longer and lay them at the feet of my ancestral mothers, so they may know I tried.
This work by Úlfdís is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
Ages ago, Odin set out to wander the Nine Worlds,
in search of knowledge, and he’s never stopped.
He hung from the Great Tree for Nine Nights,
to obtain the Runes.
When wise Mimir was beheaded,
Odin took the head, worked spells over it,
and kept it for counsel.
To He Who Guards the Well,
His eye he sacrificed to see all.
From the embrace of the daughter of Suttung,
he won back the stolen blood of Kvasir,
the gift of poets, of inspiration.
Against Vafthrdnir he wagered his life
that He knew, and Vafthrdnir is no more.
From her mound, Heith he raised
the wand wielding witch,
Volva brought forth to prophecy,
of the end, and the creation.
Queer things did Freya teach him,
when willingly He wove that wyrd,
seething and shaking in spā.
With Frigga he share his high seat,
and the fates of all men she leaves unspoken.
He who is frenzy wanders to this day,
Gangleri on the road, ever searching for more to know.
Gnosis, Wisdom, Knowledge by Úlfdís is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
By Maris Pái
The first lesson, She said, is to look at the path before you:
None of this eyes-downcasted fear. No more stomach-clenched dread
Of all the things you don’t and can’t know. Because, Little One,
all the things you don’t and can’t know are legion and I will not
have one of my own flinching at shadows. Look at your path
and do not cower. Square your shoulders and
lift your chin. Have you not realized your own strength by now?
There are as many paths to the Tree as there are stars in the sky:
it matters less which you choose than that you have chosen
and been chosen and that you continue to choose
to put one foot in front of the other and walk the road ahead of you.
Sometimes you will walk on razor-blades, each step an agonized trudge,
and sometimes you will run, eager to reach that which lies ahead, or
eager again to flee that which came before. The dragons you do not slay
may chase you down later and find you unguarded: Better to face them
the first time and not be tripped up later and find that the smoke ahead
is not a friendly bonfire or hearth but new immolation.
I am in the staff by your side and your backbone and your feet
and I am the falcon soaring high above, leading you to the rising sun
and dazzling your eyes when what your focus should be is the journey
and not the potholes.
The First Lesson: Maris Pái
HUGINN v1.2 Midsummer 2011; “The Work”