Hrafnafǫðr

He is the storm, and the eye of the storm,
The howling wind, the tension upbuilt.
His too is the calm that comes after the storm,
Mighty Father of battlefield ravens.

Call to Him now, on the howling wind,
Have no fear for your life, but call to Him now.
Listen for Him in the voice of the wind,
Then follow wherever He leads you.

Fly home to Him, on the wings of the storm,
Alight on a branch where He hangs on the Tree.
Rest there a while, in the eye of the storm,
Then fly forth again, to survey all the Worlds.

A Beautiful Morning

Crisp chill in the air
After gentle, soothing rain:
Foretaste of autumn.

Pure Things

Pure things for the pure. How then
Shall we purify ourselves?
By becoming like
Unto the all-pure Gods,
Do we approach Them, reflect
Them back unto Themselves.

Strip away all
That is alien to Them, all
That binds the soul to the depths
Of mighty matter. Instead,
Let the eye of the soul gaze
Upward, homeward, back
To her eternal source.

Then, only then, do we become
Pure. All
Else falls away, impurities refined,
‘Til what remains
Is an offering, pure,
Returned to the Pure.

May I Hymn You Always

Bright and holy Gods,
whose care extends throughout the world,
even to the farthest depths and the smallest things,
who are always and ever all good,
the very source of goodness, for whom all beings long,
whose blessings fountain forth abundantly,
providing all that we need,
who are always and everywhere present,
whenever we turn toward you,

Help me always, in everything, to honor you,
to become ever more fully aware
of your presence, your gifts
which uphold me at every moment.
Help me always, with everything, to turn toward you.

May my every word be a hymn.
May my every deed be a hymn.
May my every thought be a hymn.
May my every breath be a hymn.

May all that I say and think and do, all that I am,
be in keeping with your goodness, your providence, your love.

May I hymn you without ending, every moment of my life.

Lysios

In a dark forest grove
Lit by starlight, flick’ring flame,
Decked with ivy, fragrant flowers,
Your worshippers come, laden down
With their sorrows, their worries.
With the weight of the world.

You, O Lord, lift their burdens.

You show first a glimpse,
Then so much more – rushing,
Swirling, another vision, souls enraptured,
As you draw forth from our lips
Wave upon roaring wave
Of brilliant, rolling laughter.

So hail to you, O Lysios!
Praise, O Lord of Laughter!

Prohairesis

Beneath the plodding of my weary feet
My path seems to forevermore extend
Unceasingly, no respite or retreat,
Without beginning nor with hope of end.
The possibility I might complete
This journey seems far too much to pretend
For one who can’t imagine what he’ll meet
Around the very next upcoming bend.
Yet even if I stop, or turn aside
There’s no foretelling what might come my way:
All that’s my own, within a world so wide,
Is whether I will choose to go or stay.
I place one foot before the other, free
To shape the course of my own destiny.

Athena Moon

Shining bright at dusk
Crescent Moon between tall Pines
Pure yet slender light.
Night of the brow-born virgin:
Athene’s day now begins.

April Snow

Was it only yesterday
I sat for hours
Barefoot in the yard
Sipping iced tea,
Delighting in songbirds,
Basking in warm springtime sun?

Now I sit by the window,
Warm mug held close,
While fresh snow blankets the earth.
The stillness, the softness –
Turn inward, in silence,
As winter returns, one last time.

To Athene the Savior

Let us honor Athene this day
Let us sing to the grey-eyed Goddess:
Wise and cunning savior,
Guide for those who call to you,
Ever near to those who are dear to you
And ever dear to those whom you are near.

For Ourania

Blessed Muse, crowned with stars,
Your soft, gentle touch
Draws me upward, on high.

Wise lady, you see all
The course of the stars,
You mark sacred measures,
You know full well all
They send down here to Earth.

Gentle leader, guide, beloved Goddess,
Pray lead me, guide me,
Illumine my way,
Bring me home.

(April 2020)