Mannaz; Relationship

I stepped through the Door and over the Threshold into the Otherworld.  I found myself in the hallway of my childhood home.  I was dressed in black, for my brother’s funeral and was standing at the door to what had been his room when we were children.  I knocked on the door and opened it and stepped inside.  It was as I remembered it being when we last both lived there in our late twenties.

I was no longer dressed in black. I was no longer my current age.  He was not in the room but, his dirty work clothes were on the floor and I could smell the cologne he used to wear. 

I left his room and when I closed the door, and was again my current age and wearing my funeral dress.

When I returned to the Threshold and closed the Door behind me, the Mannaz Rune had faded.

Jera; the Harvest

The Door of warm golden wood was carved with Jera, surrounded by a wreath of apples and leaves.  I opened the door and stepped over the threshold and into the Otherworld. 

I looked at my feet but they were hidden beneath the hem of a burgundy silk gown.  The floor was stone, like the Tower itself but covered in soft colorful rugs. 

I looked around and found myself in a large room lit with lanterns and a fire burning in the hearth at one end.  The air smelled of cinnamon and fresh baked bread.

 In the center of the room was a long wooden table dressed in gold and red brocade and filled with an abundance of food.  Platters and bowls and baskets filled with honey glazed ham, fresh bread and hard cheese, apples and peaches and berries, pitchers of cider and wine, and vases of roses and autumn flowers.  

Dancing music filled the room and the sound of laugher and cheerful conversation.  The chairs around the table were filled with the harvest of a life lived well, family of blood and family of choice, lovers and dear friends, and children who have not yet been born.  My heart was filled with love and hope and joy at the sight and sound of these beloved ones.  This is the harvest I hope for.  Beloveds who are happy and well.  Being surrounded by them in celebration of life.  May my Gods grant me this harvest.  So mote it be.

I spent a long time enjoying the company and when I became tired I fell asleep in a soft comfortable chair beside the fire with a babe in my arms.  When I woke I was again in the mundane world.

Berkano; Birch and Beginnings

The Door with Berkano inscribed upon it was covered in white Birch-bark, and when I opened the Door and crossed the threshold into the Otherworld I found myself in a grove of Birch Trees.  My own skin was white and papery like the bark on the trees.  I wandered among them and the conversation was of beginnings, and giving birth. 

I was instructed that my life is about to begin a new book, it is filled with clean white blank pages and my responsibility is to write upon those pages a story of truth, and love, and peace.  I am to create poetry of joy and pleasure and wisdom and healing.  I do not get to decide all of the plot twists, only how I respond to them.  I do not get to know everything about the journey of the story, only how to tell it, and to whom.  It is beginning.  The past exists in other books that I have written, and they inform the story, they are my back-story but, the time has come to start again.

May I tell this story well, and may it create magick that makes my world a better place for small growing things.  So Mote It Be! 

Kenaz; the Light of Knowledge and Truth

As I descended the stairs in the Tower, I noticed the lanterns upon the walls, illuminating the stairs so that I could descend them in safety.  The door was inscribed with Kenaz and a lantern hung above the Rune.  I opened the Door and crossed the threshold into the Otherworld and found myself in a large Library. 

There were books and scrolls everywhere, on shelves against the walls reaching stories upwards towards the ceiling, on tables in the center where someone had been working diligently in study. 

Lamps and lanterns glowed everywhere illuminating the space with warm golden light.

It was beautiful and I was filled with joy and pleasure at the sight and the warm power of the place.  

I wandered, finding a book in my hand and enjoying the firm ornate covering and the crisp clean pages and the words in neat print, then a soft, worn, leather tome with gilded edges on the soft delicate pages, then a plain ragged paperback with handwritten poetry.  

Each was a treasure of great worth to me. 

The words in one book reminded me that knowledge is Power, and that words hold Power. Truth is Power. Stories are a way of using that Power to create a better world, Stories and Poetry are magick, they can inspire and invoke and enchant.  They can change the world. 

My purpose in this world is about communication; poetry, and storytelling, and teaching knowledge, and telling truth.   My purpose is to help others find the candles, and light the lanterns, and teach them where to find the Library, and how to read the words.  

Gebo; the Gift of Joining

I stepped over the threshold into the Otherworld and looked at my feet.  I was standing upon the soft new grass of a warm spring day and my bare feet were almost hidden under the hem of a party dress the color of new willow leaves.  When I lifted my gaze, I found myself on a gentle slope in the morning sun. There were others there, all dressed in brightly colored finery.

A tall pole stood in the center of the meadow, colorful ribbons dancing in the breeze.  And at the other side of the gathering stood two people, their hands joined and, smiles upon their faces.  The two gazed lovingly into one another’s eyes, as if they were oblivious to any but the other, and I felt profoundly blessed to be present, and grateful to witness the gift of their joining.

The assembled celebrated with cheers and laughter, dancing and singing to the music that came from a small group of musicians sitting close to the Maypole. I danced and sang among them for as long as I could and when I felt the time had come for me to go, I offered a blessing upon the couple and took my leave.

Eihwaz; Trees of Life

I opened the door, stepped into the Otherworld, and looked at my feet. They were covered in bark, my legs and arms in soft green moss. My dress was made of leaves of every color. The path beneath me, a carpet of soft brown pine-needles, cushioned my every step in the dim twilight.  The forest was old-growth, the trees ancient.  All was silence and the whispers of stars.

I followed the wide gently sloping path through the woods, noticing Trees of every species I know.  They were each familiar to me.  The willow next to the house I grew up in, the Maple in the yard of my best friend.  The Pine on the hill behind the cottage at the lake. The Paper Birch in the neighbor’s front yard.  The Apple in the Orchard, the Cherry in the cemetery where the soldier and the baby are buried.  The Sycamore next to the stream.  The Oak in the park where I lived the past 20 years.

I followed the path through the woods until I came to a clearing.  At the center stood a Tree so large the branches were too high for me to see.  I stood upon the roots, close enough to place my hand upon the trunk, and I offered energy through my hands, and then I could feel my ancestors sending energy up through my feet to flow through my hands to the tree.

I could feel the strength of the Tree, holding up the universe, lending support and structure to the flow of Life itself.  Providing a channel for the energy to flow to and from the Underworld, the Upperworld, and all the Otherworlds. 

I gave thanks to the Tree and returned the way I had come.

Laguz; the Temple of Sorrows and the Queen of the Abyss

I open the door and step into the Temple of Sorrows.  I know this place and why I am here.  I hear the wailing the moment I cross the threshold.  The sound is everywhere, like a whirlwind moving across the waters, 

The Temple is dark and cavernous.  There is no floor, only dark water rushing continuously in a tempest of sound and yet, I stand ankle deep with nothing solid beneath my bare feet.

I see her standing in the center of the cavern.  Cloaked and hooded in black, bowed, still and silent, surrounded by the keening of sorrow and grief.  The bottom of my black dress sticks to my legs as I walk through the waters to stand before her.  She does not even lift her head to look at me as I push back the hood that hides her face.  I remove the cloak from her bowed shoulders, her dress the same as the one I wear. She bares a symbol in ashes upon her forehead.  It is a symbol tattooed upon my back. 

Finally she looks at me and her face is familiar but unknown to me.  She must have been beautiful once, but there are dark circles under her eyes and her pale skin is dull and ashen and clashes with her long dry hair, a faded shade of what might have been chestnut in the sun.   

Her eyes are the only part of her that looks truly alive. Her eyes are hazel, green and gold with hints of warm brown around the edges. I look into them and I see glimpses of our lives, of hers and of mine and of those lifetimes in between. 

Tears begin to flow down her ashen face.  My cheeks are hot and wet and as we weep together, the keening finally stills as does the water that surrounds us.  I take her into my arms as I would my sister and I feel her heartbreak echo in my own heart. 

As I hold her, I feel a crack in the ceiling of the temple, a rip in the fabric of the stone above our heads and she sighs soft as a whisper, the only sound she has made. I promise her that I will return that I will be with her through every step of this, until she is transformed and we are both free.