ule_beornheard (ule_beornheard) wrote in vanatroth,
ule_beornheard
ule_beornheard
vanatroth

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The Grace of the Heathens




Awake, Frothi, if listen thou wilt


"Our hands shall hold the hard spearshafts,
Weapons gory: Awake, Frothi!
Awake, Frothi, if listen thou wilt
To our olden songs, to our ancient lore."

-The Lay of Grotti



* * *

The World Tree is freshly in bloom, roots strong, leaves green, grown
from darkness and filled with rain and fruit. Its boughs shake with
the song of every season, red to green, barren to thick, cold and
hot, frosty and humid.


The Land is our comforter, the Gods and Goddesses of AllFather's
Family our Kin: The Holy and Pale ones who live in the Howes and
Hills of the World are our companions, and the Woman who keeps the
Fire and teaches secrets to the brave, She is our protector.


Hail the Gods Above and Below. Hail the Spirits of the Ancestors, who
live yet, and who passed on blood and wisdom to We who have come into
these times. Hail to the Three Sisters who spin the threads of Fate,
who come from the skies like swarms of bees, and like thunder
from the Underworld.


Let us always know the mysteries of the Old Ways. Let us all strive
to walk in the footsteps of a sorcerer, in awe of the mystical power
of the Great Hidden One, She whose body and breath we cannot be seperated
from.


Let us all strive to walk in the footsteps of a brave warrior, with
the boldness to act, instead of constantly reacting, and the skill to
control conflict, instead of being caught up in conflict.


Let us all strive to walk as a craftsman or a worker of the land,
with total dedication to whatever task we set our hands and minds to,
and a tireless will.


The Old Ways are a blessing to all who come to them with an open
heart, and with an appreciation of simplicity: In these ways there is
no treason of the spirit, no sin, no heresy, none of those sicknesses
in the mind; only honesty and peace for they who trod the path into
the Ancestral Land.


Let my spirit bellow a song of sorcery amid the flights of a thousand
white moths, and know the sound of Owls wailing in the night. All
shall be well and all is well.



Copyright © 2003 by Ule Beornheard




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