pagan

The well worn path

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What shall I be in the aventine days
Between tread and light
Drunk on powers leavings
Sip wine of pleasures keeping
Lost to decadence turning

But wake
Wake wanderer, your journey begins in ends
Wake wanderer, the path of blood opens
It sings down the skein of mortal years
Waking become a vessel

Stand
And stand
between
Neither darkness nor light
But shadow drawing strength from the juxtaposition

Wake and bound to service
Wake to a world
Found forgotten, echos all that remain
But
In fury
Wake anew

My paganism

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You know, I write very personal things but I keep part of my life hidden. Even here, where I write about anything that pops into my head.

No more. I am a pagan. I serve the Lords of Air, more specifically the Lord of Night, Lord of Winter, Lord of Storm. Warleader of the lords of air. I am a priest and a shaman(an intercessor between physical reality and spiritual realms.) I am keenly aware of how insane that sounds. That doesn’t make it any less true.

I’ve seen things, done things, experienced things that defy normal explanation. At least to my standards. Of course if you hold beliefs contrary, nothing will be enough.
I don’t proselytize. I don’t seek to convert.
And I am not likely to be persuaded my beliefs are false. It’s a big part of my life that even people very close to me don’t get to see. I, pretty much, only share with fellow believers or magic practitioners. Yes, I practice magic. More esoteric hermetic than anything else but yeah, it’s there. If anyone wants to know more ask in the comments and I’ll expound.

elder dreams

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in silence bound
in seeking sought
where others bind
i was bought
when hearts collide and justice founds
my hopes do bide, in collision
sound siren call
revision

in loves sweet sigh
in voices raised
where heavens call
undertree did dance
and palm to palm
and join to join
praised by kine
in moments ere the fall

they seek, they fine,
the burn is seasons rime and dragging feet do come to call and hopes are risen
ere the fall

but drink my wine and drink my blood
and we shall step above the sea to feast and dance our revelry
you seek a fight, we seek to feast and in the middle there’ rise a beast
in death we feast and seek the battle draught
in life we love and lust
break bread with us, break meek

but I am bound as ever was and in the silence weep

Solstice

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The darkness begins to fade and with it the fury of winter begins. In sorrow, as it’s lover grows more and more distant until spent and broken spring slinks it’s smarmy way onto the stage. Small moment it basks in flourish then flits away as a child before the full scorn of summer’s matron. This scowling form berate it’s winsome child while in the wings dear autumn waits to step and change the world from unrepentant same to multicolor, this chill of winter’s Herald. Sung voice and winds awakening. Heralds storms destructive desire and winter gains love and strength as Night again swings about in the heart of Winter’s embrace.

A common prayer for the dying

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A common prayer for the dying-translated
(typically spoken on a battlefield or medical tent/area though sometimes an individual will be singled out)

All warriors are welcome (warrior is defined as those with the will to fight, whether the means be physical or mental is irrelevant)
All who sacrifice (to safeguard others, not said but understood) are welcome
All will workers are welcome

In the final moments, as the life fades, choose. Stand with us. Stand Between.

That which is sacred

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I’m a dark dream.
I shine in spectrums felt more than seen. Sing with voice deep,
full of pain and promise.
Dance with abandon,
scream to the stars
and drink deeply from the hallows of the world.
I stand sentinel over the broken.
I am the solace of winter silence.
The fury of the storm.
I am the hush of sun’s slow dying.
I send you He Who Walks Between, He Who Watches.
I send you the dream of darkness turning.
The softness of storms ending.
The rush of Springs beginning.
Know this and know you are home

The blade is quenched

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When only silence reigns
And blade long slept tend
When time passes bitter
And those long dead rise bidden
Does blade and purpose mend

Silence is the edge
Swept clear of tired path
When winter cuts
And storm does wake

So is purpose borne
So is life rebought
In form, for power
Wrought

Pushed aside young light
For you have called
And I have come

Paen

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I dance a paen to life’s dawns turning.
To storm and wind
To rain and night

I dance a paen to the ever changing wheel
To stillness and cacophony
To roil and smoke

I dance a paen to the flashing blade
To blood and bone
To razor and gasp

I dance

I dance

In stillness, in pain, in fury, in hopelessness

I dance at the turning of the world