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Thursday, December 20, 2012

A Winter Night's Dream

   
The Season has begun, but I did not want to wait until it was over to post this 'old chestnut' of mine.
                              

                                                             Yule Musings

                                            Yule is over, but not without thought,
                                            Of memories bright and not store bought.
                                        On the First of Twelve, my log burned Red,
                                            Too early I thought, to retire to bed!

                                            A faining I wanted, to honor the Tide,
                                            In my hallowed space, no need to hide.
                                            At this time, honor the Always Past,
                                            Doing in the present, to make it now last.

                                           That Eve's fire burned brighter than ever,
                                             My soul took flight, free of its fetters.
                                        Was it the flame, alcohol, or new herb burning,
                                        That made my soul seek, and wont for yearning?

                                           The snow, I saw, was crisp and bright,
                                         But no cold I felt, on this winter’s Night.
                                        The wind picked up, and howled with rage,
                                             Just like a wolf, bound up in a cage.

                                           In the distance, along with the wind,
                                         I heard voices, calling, we are your kin.
                                       In the lead of this throng, no fat man in red,
                                    But an eight-legged steed and a thin man instead.

                                          His hat was large, and flopped it did,
                                          A patch over one eye, a cover, a lid.
                                  At his side rode two beauties, decked in gold and blue,
                                     The stars reflected on them, with sparkling hue.

                                        As they drew closer, the howling increased,
                                        At the moment, I thought, my life would cease!
                                         The One Eyed Leader, sensing my fear,
                                        Looked at me with longing, making me dear.

                                He spoke to me softly, as the Host howled its might,
                                        To those unaware, to cower in fright.
                                     My name is Wodan, the Tru` Northrn’ King,
                                       It is to my people, real freedom I bring.

                                     He placed his huge hat, up on my head,
                                       Covered me full, but I felt no dread.
                                 I was under the Cloak, how long I’ve no note,
                                   But saw many things, some worthy of rote.

                                   Ancestors many, their struggles I witnessed,
                                  Down a long blood line, survival of the fittest.
                                   So many did come, and presented to me,
                                  I understood, I was them, and were they me.

                                  I saw the triumphs, and trials of the past,
                                   Knowing now secrets, revealed at last.
                              The hat, then removed, returned to owner’s head,
                                An arm now ‘round me, with fullness of stead.

                              The Wheel of the Year turns ‘round and ‘round,
                                   From its’ turning, real Truth can be found.
                                  Wodan spoke as I woke, from my slumber,
                                    I need your help, to put so much asunder.

                                   But how, said I, a poor man at most,
                                 Help you, All-Father, head of Asa Host?
                                  Listen now, and listen well, he replied,
                               Even a poor man has riches, he cannot hide.

                                  Build you a temple, as Fahrenkrog told,
                                 Within your heart, and you will be bold.
                                  It is within your heart that we gods reside,
                                   Brick and mortar, we cannot abide.

                          With this boldness of heart, your courage will flame,
                             Speak one to one, and then none remain the same.
                                  Stand then, with us, your Oldest of Kin,
                                   Bl`ot and Sumbel, let the new light in.

                                 Light the Yule Logs and Bale Fires too,
                              Practice the Old Ways, new life given to you.
                            But remember, my son, your words, and deeds,
                                For Urda’s well threads all, and so the seeds.
                          My mind drifted slowly, back from All-Father’s words,

                               Back to my place, in our strange, weird, world.
                                     In my lap, a bouquet of flowers blue,
                                         To my delight, fresh and new.

                                   Are the gods real, you ask to yourself?
                                  For me you can put that away on a shelf!
                            We honored them once; it’s time to honor again,
                    What are you waiting for, oh northern soul, a ride on Sleipnir?


First appeared in my book, Beneath Valhalla – Opinions of an Iconoclast copyright @2009
                       Re-edited for my blog, copyright @2012 Terry Unger







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