Guardians of Worlds

Four guardians sit at the gates of worlds,
Who know far more than they know,
Some sit, some stand, some rest beneath,
Their past are lost in the mist.

There is one who rests in the cold north wind,
Who was once a giantess of renown,
No name we know or when she was born,
But she was ancient ere man was born.

There is one who stands in the wind of the east,
Where the rainbow bridge does rest,
A horn to blow, a sword to swing,
And his parents do no one know.

There is one who stands in the hot south wind,
On the edge of the fiery plains,
Wait he does for the end of time,
When he’ll march with a fire storm.

There is one who sits by a well, in the western wind,
Three daughters he had, three wells once known,
Nine mothers are known but a father has none,
And his sons shall be well known.

Down the Helway some will come,
To call of the cold north wind,
To rise from the grave and tell the old tell,
Of what will someday come.

The shining one at the rainbow bright,
The east wind does stand guard,
Before the bright city a city or brass,
Where they drink and laugh and flirt.

On the southern plains where fire rages,
And all the plains are ablaze,
the hot south with with a sword in hand,
Waits for the sun to set.

Heads will roll and then speak again,
With the voice of the wise west wind,
A sip from the well that will cost you an eye,
On the edge of the cold ice plain.

Four winds are blowing and will come again,
For compass will ever turn,
Their pasts are obscure and their futures ignored,
And few are there left you see.

Four guardians sit at the gates of worlds,
Who know far more than they know,
Some sit, some stand, some rest beneath,
Their past are lost in the mist.

~Muninn’s Kiss, February 21, 2014

Can you feel it shaking?

Can you feel it shaking?  The Foundation.  Can you hear the thunder?

For thus says the Lord of hosts: Once again, in a little while, I will shake the heavens and the earth and the sea and the dry land; and I will shake all nations, so that the treasures of all nations shall come in, and I will fill this house with splendor, says the Lord of hosts. The silver is mine, and the gold is mine, says the Lord of hosts. The latter splendor of this house shall be greater than the former, says the Lord of hosts; and in this place I will give prosperity, says the Lord of hosts.’” ~Haggai 2:6-9 RSV

Do you know what happens to a house when it is shaken, when the very bedrock under it shakes?  What happens to the plaster?  What happens to the walls?

The Dreaming, or I should say the Dreamings, that we live in, those are our house, this house, that reservation set aside, that place we think is all, which we are somewhat safe in, where we won’t be destroyed.

The walls are the Veil, and when the Foundation on which the Dreaming is built shakes, the Veil is rent.

The Veil has held back many things we’ve thirsted for, things we need.  But it has also held back things that thirst for us, the reason the Veil was raised.

Can you feel it shaking?  The Foundation.  Can you hear the thunder?

The Dark One who walks the Desolate Places, she who build the Foundation is also the Keeper of Secrets, among many kennings.  She laid the Foundation, but in it are stored her secrets.  Do you hear them whispering in the dark?  Calling to you?  They awake, as the Foundation shakes.

Can you feel it shaking?  The Foundation.  Can you hear the thunder?

The rolling thunder, the Tongue of Serpents, echoing in the dark, all things lost, all things we hoped we lost.  The Builder of Storms rides, and behind her comes the Wild Hunt.  The Hunt that kills and feeds, that cleanses and make bare, that finds the lost things, and causes other things to be lost.  She rides.  Do you hear her?  Once her storms only came in the winter and spring, but the third Storming has awoken, and with it, the Foundation shakes.

Can you feel it shaking?  The Foundation.  Can you hear the thunder?

And a Wanderer walks, the Tall One, faster than her lightning, more sure than any horse.  There are ways and paths that lead through the Veil, paths and ways that have been closed for a long time, from the Gleam to the Dreaming and back again.  He walks the paths, and builds new ones, as the cracks form.  Do you remember seeing him? Just a moment ago he strolled by, first here, then there.  And the water flows from Dreaming to Dreaming, waterways, paths of water. And water erodes, and tears and rends, and the Veil is ripped.

Can you feel it shaking?  The Foundation.  Can you hear the thunder?

And the Keeper of Treasures and Builder of Pleasures laughs as the house shakes and the Veil rends, and the treasure come, those that will create, those that will destroy, those that will delight, those that bring sorrows.  A box opened, a box that can never be closed.  And he laughs.

Can you feel it shaking?  The Foundation.  Can you hear the thunder?

And lo, the veil of the temple was rent in two from the top to the bottom, and the earth was shaken, and the rocks were rent, and the tombs were opened; and many bodies of the saints fallen asleep arose, and going out of the tombs after his arising, entered into the holy city and appeared unto many. ~Matthew 27:51-53 Darby Translation

Can you feel it shaking?  The Foundation.  Can you hear the thunder?

“Gatekeeper, ho, open thy gate!
Open thy gate that I may enter!
If thou openest not the gate to let me enter,
I will break the door, I will wrench the lock,
I will smash the door-posts, I will force the doors.
I will bring up the dead to eat the living.
And the dead will outnumber the living.”
~Descent of the Goddess Ishtar into the Lower World,
Civilization of Babylonia and Assyria, M. Jastrow, 1915

FFF,

~Muninn’s Kiss

Let Us Give Thanks

On this day that people in the United States celebrate Thanksgiving, it’s a day with a lot of energy, both of thankfulness and of hearth and home, larder and abundance, of friends and family.

It’s a day associated with the harvest, like many other days between the Summer and Winter Solstices, though probably the latest harvest festival of the Gregorian year.  It is a day that’s the height of increase. It’s interesting that this year it falls so close to the New Moon, at a place of decrease, and also that it falls when Mercury is retrograde, a time often associated with things going backwards.  Appropriate since there is a general spiritual climate with the current economy, with the unemployment, with the recent protests, of lack, not abundance.

With the importance of family on this day for most Americans, it begs the question, who are you thankful to?   Is it to the Divine or land spirits, those that bring abundance?   Is it to your living family and friends, those that are part of your life in the now, the present, and all the blessings they give you.  Is it to your ancestors, recent or ancient, blood or spirit, the ones that helped you get where you are today?  I think it’s as important to know who you’re thankful to as what you’re thankful for, for this tells a lot about you.

When you hear the word “ancestor”, what do you think of?  You grandfather that died a year or two ago?  Your father that died?  Those who you’re descended from who made the crossing to the New World?  Someone sitting in a grass hut in pre-history?  Or do you think of the Might Dead, of the dead of your spiritual line, those who mentored you, who mentored them?  Those form part of the current you ride in your journey?  If you believe in reincarnation, do you only think of the ancestors of this life, or of all lives?

Memory is passed in the blood and is stored in the bones.  Not the memories like what I had for dinner last night, but the ancient memories.  Who we really are, where we really came from.  As the baby grows in the mother, their blood mixes.  Her blood flows through her bones, picking up the memories.  Her blood flows down the umbilical cord, mixing with the baby’s, and passes, along with the oxygen and nutrients, the memories in her bones of what came before.  And the baby’s blood circulates through his body and those memories join others in his bones.

And other memories come also, memories from the Neshamah, who has lived many lives before.  She passes these memories along the cord, very much like the physical umbilical cord, that connects her to the newly developing Nefesh.  These memories are carried within her in the Threads of Wyrd, of Fate, that lie at her core.  They are passed down that cord to Nefesh.  And Nefesh is closely tied with the blood and the bones, and takes these memories and stores them in the bones to join the others in the baby’s bones.

These memories are what ties us to both our physical ancestors and our spiritual ancestors.  And the new born baby knows all things that came before, but can’t communicate them, being without words.  But with the coming of words comes restriction of memories, for the memories that he can’t put into words no longer hold meaning and are forgotten.  With language comes ignorance and forgetfulness.  And we spend the rest of our lives re-learning, re-discovering, re-remembering.  But the memories are still in our bones, as they are still in the wind that blows across our skin.  So close, yet so far.  Right there, yet they might as well be in the stars.  And they are.

Magic and the craft is in our blood and our bones, for those who aren’t clayborn.  It’s tied up in those memories.  Call it Witchblood, call it the Witch’s Mark, call it whatever you like, but it’s there, waiting for use to find it.  As it was in our parents, whether physical or spiritual, and in theirs, all the way back.  And where do we go, looking back?  How far and to whom?

There’s a story common in the Craft, and elsewhere, both esoteric and exoteric, both legend and myth,  The story tells of beings descending, seeing the beauty of the Daughters of Man, and having children of them, and teaching them all things, all crafts, all sciences, all arts, all magic.  Some call them Watchers, some call them Guardians, some call the Gods, some call them the Sons of God.  There are different counts of them, seven, eight, twelve, 200, other counts as well.  In many traditions, those with the Witchblood or Mark are those descended from these beings.  The things they taught aren’t just passed down from teacher to student, master to apprentice.  They are in those memories, in our blood and our bones.  If we’re not taught, still we can learn.  If we just listen to our bones, listen to our blood, listen to the wind.

If we are descended, both physically and spiritually from the Watchers, from the Guardians, they aren’t guides or teachers or protectors.  They are our flesh and blood, some of our most ancient ancestors.  They are family.  When we encounter them in the Circle or Compass, or at Dawn or Dusk, yes, they are distant and removed, the ultimate reaches, the stars in the sky.  But they are also family, also our ancestors, the most ancient of the Mighty Dead.  They are distant, but they are also close, in our very blood and bones, just as we were in their loins and seed.  The connection is more than just a teacher and a student, or a protector and witness to our Arte.  They are one with us and us with them.  One blood, one body, one soul.

When we say we’re thankful on this day, yes, let us look to the spirits and the Divine, yes, let us look to our friends and families, yes, let us look to our ancestors.  But let us look to all our ancestors, recent and ancient, physical and spiritual, human and stellar.  We are made of stardust, and we also carry it in our blood and bones, in our Nefesh, our Ruach, and our Neshamah, in the very strands of Wyrd that connect us to the past, the present, the future, all that was, all that is, all that will be, all space, all time, all earths, all heavens, the mundane and the sacred, the human and the divine.

“Let us give thanks…”

FFF,
~Muninn’s Kiss

The Guardian of the Gates

The Guardian of the Gates#1
by Storm Faerywolf, from his site.

The Guardian of the Gates
By Muninn’s Kiss
Inspired by my post here.

A rainbow Bridge, across the sky,
From Asgard to Midgard below.
The Bifröst burns and shines above,
Connecting gods and man.

Da’ath does sit in the midst,
Of the dark, deep, gaping Abyss.
A glimpse of what is far beyond,
A trap to lose your mind.

A Priestess stands in the midst,
Of the circle, compass, round.
She makes a way to the Divine,
And Bridges the widened gap.

A Priest does stand at the fore,
Of the longing, craving crowds.
He raises his hands, the knife comes down,
And a way is born.

A Shaman dances in the midst,
Of his village looking on.
Ecstasy comes and with it gods,
And greater deeds are done.

A Witch is one, the Priest, the Bridge,
The circle and the point.
Human, Divine, Fey, and Witch,
The Guardian of the Gates.