There is a word hidden within the folds of a blanket, a blanket that shelters the naked dreamer as he sleeps. It is a word that is not a word, a spectre dwelling in the tunes sung by lamenting poets lost in the dreamscape of desperate wanderers. I too hear it as I lie awake, naked in half-sleep. The phantom whispers to me, revealing all about itself a man could ever wish to know, but it does not speak our language. It never will. What a blessing is being one of the accursed! How fortunate we are, the condemned wanderer-poets aimlessly adrift and carried by currents we do not understand. Any claim of confident navigation across these depths is nothing but the endearing optimism of those not yet disillusioned.
Dreamscape wanderers, half-sleeping, naked poets, yes that is what we are when we in delirium try in vain to define the word that is not a word. Perhaps it is with childish folly we create a female embodiment of it and call it our muse, a lonely man’s faltering attempts at flirtation with something already defined – but it is as it is with the feminine, boundless, limitless, and should not be confined by being defined. True beauty is without form, ethereal, male and female at the same time and yet neither.
We all long to understand the word, the word that at long last I’ve finally understood and not merely heard. But who would listen to a naked man?
Music that inspires, more so than the usual visions. Music that demands to be put into words.
Posted in WiP: Valkyrja
Tagged Death, fantasy, heathen, identity, inspiration, norse, Oden, Odin, pagan, past, scandinavia, soul, spirituality, Swedish, tervor morris, thoughts, tiral, Viking, vikings, war, war is coming, writing
Most of the people I encounter are just that, people. Some, however, I find myself connected with in ways I can’t really explain. Past lives, I’ve entertained the thought often enough. I’d like to believe that’s what it is. What incarnation of myself and them have come across each other before? How else could I explain that kind of immediate intimacy, not just a feeling but a strong connection. Such was the case when I met my girlfriend. I guess I’ve come to expect, or even demand, that kind of intimacy in my romantic partner.
Sure, albeit intimate, it is not always intimacy in the romantic sense. That does not, on the other hand, exclude the possibility of it having been the case in the past. Most of the time the word I can use that best describes all of it would be recognition. There is a sort of familiarity, the kind that needn’t be put into words for both parts to understand. I have at least a handful of individuals that I am connected to in this manner, very close friends sometimes even bordering on non-biological siblings.
It should also be said that the individuals with whom this have happened, have all been similarly aligned. It makes me wonder. If I tried to attune myself further, would it happen more frequently? These chance encounters, do not feel very random at all. What I’m most curious about isn’t really frequency, I want details.
But you know, even I think that might be asking a little too much.
Posted in Thought Rants and More
Tagged beauty, change, heathen, identity, life, love, meaning, memories, Mystery, pagan, relationships, romance, searching, soul, soul-searching, spirituality, thoughts
We used to gaze up after dark, looking at the sky.
They were up there, the spirits, and our ancestors.
We looked to them for advice, sought their help during the hunt.
When they roared in fury and struck down at the ground, they gave us fire.
We learned to be fearful of their anger, for although it kept us warm…
It could also devour us.
She came to us one night, visiting Shaman in his dream.
Spirit called herself Fire, and thus we honored her as such.
She told Shaman how she had been brought down to us, by her brother,
Fire would invite us to dance.
In her warmth I saw, for the first time, what was to come.
I offered her a piece of me.
After accepting my tribute, those of me that would come after would always know.
Fire and blood would call to blood.
Fire still speaks to the one who came after.
And through her, so do I.
Posted in Thought Rants and More
Tagged ancient, Dream, identity, old, old soul, pagan, past, past life, poem, poetry, regression, searching, soul, soul-searching, spiritual, spirituality, Stone age, upper paleolithic
There are those who believe that their suffering is unique.
They seem to be under the notion that they’re not the only ones with demons.
In some ways that’s exactly what life is.
For all the misery these fiends put us through their cruelty is not without merit.
In the absence of an understanding of pain, an appreciation of what it means to suffer, joy sours into mundane boredom.
But that does not mean that we should condone demonic haunting.
Once the lesson is learned we owe it to ourselves to exorcise them.
When the time comes for new lessons to be learned, it would get crowded.
Kill your demons, But
indiscriminate murder is counterproductive.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged conquer, conquer your fears, demon, demons, depression, developing, evolving, growth, happiness, Happy, haunted, life, poem, poetry
How long has it been since decades became centuries?
How long have I not gazed skyward seeking solace among clouds and stars?
There was a time when looking at the moon did not grate at my heart.
I remember what life was like before loneliness seeped into my very bones.
Lifetimes come and gone just like the phases of the moon.
This old soul of mine is tired.
Half-memories plague me like haunting ghosts.
I am caught in the limbo between remembrance and oblivion.
Help me remember…
Posted in Poetry
Tagged forget, memories, old, old soul, past life, poem, poetry, remeber, soul, spiritual, spirituality