A poem for my beloved dead titled, “Murmurs”.
A silence that deepens
crumbles down into the ground
where muffled voices lie trapped
sentences cut short, screams echoing in the air
sobs choked back into the silence
An emptiness where voices should be
leaves a taste of expectation
metallic, like singing blood
I am here, I am here, I am here
You cannot silence us all
I’ve been sitting on a request since January of this year (7 months and counting) to include treating my body as a shrine in my path. I’m not new to the idea, and I’ve seen some people who mention this in relation to self care on my tumblr dash before, but I haven’t quite gotten to a full scale implementation. There wasn’t one sole reason for this, tbh, but it’ll help to bring seemingly unrelated debt and requests together I think.
[Text post from tumblr user @dattebayo-basa: my body isn’t a temple, it’s a condemned building covered in prophecies in the form of graffiti. my soul is a shrine made of garbage and neon and i am holy, hallelujah. (Source.)]
Possible names include: Flower, Corn Planting, Milk, and Hare Moon. Mani indicated that He would like me to use “Flower”, though I make no guarantee He’d want someone else to do the same. The following is a piece of sacred fiction.
. . .
“You smell that?”
Hati inhaled and glanced up at Mani, “Flowers?”
“Not just any flowers.”
While he noted that Mani was leaning out of the wain, Hati couldn’t bring himself to get overly concerned. After a few centuries of Mani pushing the limits on how far he could reach out of the wain, it had stopped fully registering on his radar.
“The moonflowers are opening up.”
Hati sniffed the air, a little puzzled, “That’s more than just moonflowers — ”
“They’re opening for the moon, so they are all moonflowers now. I don’t make the rules.”
Hati sighed and continued to keep pace with the wain. They’d hit that point in spring.
Possible names include: Pink, Sprouting Grass, Egg, Fish, Seed, and Planter’s Moon. Mani indicated that He would like me to use “Fish”, though I make no guarantee He’d want someone else to do the same. The following is a piece of sacred fiction.
. . .
The horses were walking their usual path, and everything seemed to be going along rather well for the moon’s path that night. A small projectile flew out of the driver’s seat and sailed past Hati’s nose, and he knew he’d spoken too soon. The projectile dangled below the star path but was connected to something; Hati walked around the edge of the wain.
“Are you sure this is – ?”
Mani yanked on the rod and pulled the projectile into the wain. Attached to it was a small slip of paper. He read it and tossed the projectile back among the stars while thinking, “It’s going to take a little while to get this prayer into motion, but it’s not a no”.
“Just don’t disturb the horses.”
A writing prompt picture (Source.)
“I’m not sorry.” There was a sharp pain somewhere in his chest – “It was an accident. You didn’t mean it -” – but he couldn’t pinpoint it to his heart. He turned back from the door with a childish hope that his mother might still put up a fight and stop him. “You didn’t mean it -” Tears slowly slid down his cheeks, but he knew he wasn’t lying. “I’m not sorry”, a whisper, an ache of dying hope.
Possible names include: Worm, Sap, Chaste, Fish, Crust, Crow, and Lenten Moon. Mani indicated that He would like me to use “Fish”, though I make no guarantee He’d want someone else to do the same. The following is a piece of sacred fiction that I wrote last March but was asked to schedule for this year (2017).
. . .
Mani dropped a few breadcrumbs into the pond water and waited for a moment or two. A flash of red and orange led the way in crowding around the crumbs, and he carefully dropped in pellets as well. He let his fingers trail in the water, and as the fish brushed his fingertips, sections of white appeared on their scales. While Mani spent most of his time steering the moon at night in the company of the stars, he didn’t mind starting out while there was still daylight hours on some days. Sometimes, it could be as relaxing as sitting at the edge of a pond and streaking the koi.
((I bet you thought you saw the last of me ))
I wasn’t really expecting a new Face while I was trying to figure out what to do in the clean up of /A\ leaving, but Odin decided to give it a go. I was prompted to return to weekly prayers post-Burning, but I admittedly didn’t get very far before updates started happening. For Odin, I was directed to Rúnatýr by Sarenth Odinsson to be said on Wednesdays.
Yup, a rune-associated Face turned very briefly towards me. I was initially given the green light on learning a set of runes, but it didn’t take very long in the rounds of updates and conferences to have that revoked. However, my rune tattoo taboo has been altered – spelling out a name (or perhaps a phrase) is permissable, but I can’t do anything ‘magical’.
I really didn’t know this Face before He needed to Leave, and I’m not sure I can say that I really know Odin. He seems to like to figure out a way to come back a lot, but there’s enough of a change from one Face to another that I haven’t indirectly honored Him. He claimed past blood donations, so I no longer have that area of debt (mentioned in relation to previous Faces). Going forward, He’d like to leave a suggestion that if I fall in love with learning about a subject that Someone has requested then I can stave off the cranky, ‘I’m only doing this because You want me to’ trap of requested activity.
I was prompted to return to weekly prayers post-Burning, but I admittedly didn’t get very far before updates started happening. For Frigga, I was directed to Hymn to Frigg by Michaela Macha to be said on an alternating Friday schedule.
I kind of feel like I never really got to know Frigga because I was in different lockdowns, things were updating, or People were Leaving. For the relatively brief time we interacted, I was mainly asked to Adult to the best of my abilities for Her. Striving for independence instead of relying on someone else is the large picture means of indirectly honoring Her, even as we officially part ways going forward.
Possible names include: Cold, Long Nights, Oak, Christmas,and Moon Before Yule. Mani indicated that He would like me to use “Yule”, though I make no guarantee He’d want someone else to do the same. The following is a piece of sacred fiction.
. . .
Mani flicked the reins gently, and the horses slowed down along the star path. He opened his thermos and settled into the reindeer blankets, listening to snippets of celebrations. Hati stretched near his feet and glanced down at the worlds below.
“They really like throwing parties in the winter, don’t they?”
Mani hummed with the faint tune of a carol before replying, “It’s how they keep their lights kindled.”
A passing Snowflake waved at the pair, and Mani waved back. He flicked the reins again, and the horses resumed their normal pace.
Possible names include: Beaver, Snow, Frost, and Frosty Moon. Mani indicated that He would like me to use “Frost”, though I make no guarantee He’d want someone else to do the same. The following is a piece of sacred fiction.
. . .
Mani watched the human through the window. It wasn’t a movie cliche with warm lighting, many family members, and food on the table, but they were okay. His fingers glided over the glass, leaving swirls of frost. The paperwork had gone through, and all the energy cords connecting them had been cut, but that only dulled things down to an ache and a whisper of loss. He knew they would move on faster because human systems were built for that (lifespans barely edged beyond a century), but he didn’t know when this feeling would recede into memory.