Fro Ing, I praise
thy sacred herb for
ecstatic flight.

To the unknown Garth
I travel within stone columns
of Wyrd’s Well.

From the inner deep
I rise by Thunar’s grace.
Laid bare.

Mimir’s question hangs,
a treacherous gift of the Allfather.
Silence resounds.

The choice is made.
Stripped of all vanity and pride
I open myself.

Geri and Freki howl
as One-Eye’s fire rages
within me.

Valknut branding
sears my heaving chest.
Filled to bursting.

The Well abandoned
to all but the flaming sigil
of mighty Baleygr.

Thus are the servants
Of mighty Odinn claimed.




Who are you?

Who are you
when work is over
and the house is silent?

In the absence of the other
what measure of being draws you
forth to stand amidst the silence of your mind?

Emotions drift like clouds
in the summer sky, clinging as
insubstantial shadows in the sun.

Thoughts rise and fall
dancing in and out of love
to a silent, soulful symphony.

The form and fit of flesh
hangs loose upon the bones
and somewhere still you hide within.

Who are you
watching in the mirror
of curiosity and contemplation?

Stillness answers and
a smile slowly grows as
the mirror nods back in quiet understanding.