Candles. Underrated. Much fire, big worth. Grug.
Brain dump: We can all get along edition. Radical Centrism. The bipolar front! Wow! Localism, Tribalism trump globalism and news cycle ableism! Whoah! IMAGINE.
A paltry attempt at devotional poetry, trying to come more in line with the Anglo-Saxon spirit- reliant as we are on loanwords. In the old tongue, hight or highten was like the German heiße or Norse heiti, or in a way the Danish har. In (at least American) Asatru, heitar of the Gods can be understood as cognomen. This poem is about seeking the masques, cognomen of Oðinn, and finding one's own.
About repression, celebration and expostulation of the Cthonic, and why I think the exclusivism of the Celestial has unbalanced the soul - because centrism is a naturally gravitic medium in our people which suffers when it is not allowed to hold. How the Grotesque might have been a movement of Folksoul to bring us back to centre.
My goal is to make you pause the next time you call something grotesque. I'll probably fail, but I've been chewing on this thought for a few years.
Tastes like cud.
... And peanut butter.
Stewardship. Perfectionism. Autism. And maybe a retard poll.
Don't lie. You just read me for my Polls.
Braindump: variety pack! More brain for your buck! Topics covered: expert worship in America; Hönir, Mimir & Ragnarøk; MLK day and intraracial relations; esoteric Yankee doom parenting. Not covered: Top Ten Reasons Anglos and Germans need to own it, and the hermeneutics of corticolics in Architectposting.
I await your pattern development, Agent Rick.
A string of musings about the cult of Nerþus (the OG Queen of all Englands,) Nature, delineated approaches to gendered spirituality in lore, and the Domestic Temple today.
A poem of Kali, who has been called Devourer of Worlds and is sometimes seen as an entropic, catabolic, force of nature. Here seen as an Etin/Jotunn (Eater), inspired by the book Great Goddess which in passing explores her nature as an unsatisfiable kind of cosmic hunger, an all-consuming fury. She who swallows all in her wake until what is left is her namesake blackness.
I have no pedigree in Vedic Lore, nor am heavily educated it, but appreciate it as a component of the overarching Aryan Mythos and a means of contextualising my own chosen path of Asatru. This is nothing more than a meditation had over my sketchbook, between deadlifts.
Mishmash, splishsplash. Moral musings and nature worship. One feeds the soul, the other makes you grumpy.