A Prayer to Týr and Forseti

Týr and Forseti, holy Lords of Justice!
Look down on what has happened in this nation
See the tears from mother’s eyes
Hear the screams from open mouths

See injustice heaped on injustice
Borne generation after generation
Indignity heaped upon indignity
Murder on murder

The ears of the authorities are shut -open them!
The eyes of the authorities are shut -open them!
The hands of the authorities are shut -open them!
The hearts of the authorities are shut -open them!

May every injustice be known
May every injustice be reckoned
May every injustice be paid for
May every injustice be set right

Týr, one-handed God Who sacrificed
Recognize the sacrifices
Of body, heart, reputation, and soul
Who risk themselves against wolves

Forseti, Lord of lawspeakers
Foremost of mediators,
Let justice be served in letter and life
Protection and power for the people

Holy Gods hear this prayer
Be swift and bless the nation
That justice is restored
That right relationship is reborn

Connecting With Christian Ancestors

My thanks to Sannion who prompted this post with his own.

I have been working with my Ancestors pretty closely going on about four years now.  In that time a pair of ancient Ancestors, one a Disir, a powerful female Ancestors, and the other a Vater (German word meaning ‘father’ which I use in place of ‘alfar’ which can also mean ‘elf’) have come forward to guide me in my Work.  In the last two years my Catholic Ancestors have raised Their Voices and let Themselves be known much stronger than previous.  It seems now, in addition to speaking for my long-Dead Ancestors, that I must speak for and with the Catholic ones as well.

When They first began contacting me, it was a cacophony of voices, questions like “Why did you stop going to church?  Do you not like Fr. ___ anymore?” and “You can still pray with us, yes? (or ja?, dependent on the Ancestor)?” and many others.  Their Catholic identity was so strong and intrinsic to Their Being that They carried it over with some part of Them into Death.  If Their Catholicism is as deep, powerful, and purposeful a presence in Their life as Paganism is in mine, that it lasts well after They have crossed over, who am I to argue with Their spirits?

Part of engaging with the Ancestors is to encounter Them on Their own terms, regardless of how comfortable They make us,  but I take that only to a point.  That point for me is an abusive Ancestor who has been abusive towards myself and/or others that has refuted any attempts at reconciliation.  I do not have Ancestors who abused me while They lived, and for that, I am deeply grateful.  The point of working with our Ancestors is not to tear open old wounds unnecessarily, but where we can, to give comfort, healing, and connection to Them and to ourselves, the Worlds we live in, and the places They once lived.   In the case of an abusive Ancestor I advise contacting an older and/or closer Ancestor to you than that person.

I was deeply uncomfortable, especially at first, with the offerings my Catholic Ancestors wanted me to make.  They wanted me to go to church, to sing Them Catholic songs I had learned as a child, to read to Them from the Bible.  As with a lot of my Work I came to understand that really my comfort is secondary to doing what is right for my Ancestors.  For my Ancestors who still identify as Catholic, there is a profound peace, purpose, and love They find in the liturgy They have me read, in the songs I sing, in the love I show to Them by doing this.

There are certain things I will not do, such as attend church services where I directly participate in the Mass, i.e. taking Communion.  I would be lying to myself, my Ancestors, my Catholic Ancestors especially, and to Their God.  I would also be taking into my body the Body and Blood of Christ, and that I cannot do, for many theological reasons, chief among them being that I am Odin’s and so, I cannot proclaim the Catholic Mystery of Faith.  While I may go to a Mass for a family member, such as a funeral or a wedding, I cannot be part of it as my Catholic relatives will be.

What I do, instead, is do as my Ancestors have asked in concession.  I carry in my pocket a green Gideon New Testament with Psalms and Proverbs.  I may pray to the Ancestors out of it, sing from it, or, as They have had me do more recently, listen to Them with it.  I shut my eyes, letting the pages flow along my fingers until I hit a page and feel or ‘hear’ stop.  When this happens I let my fingers flow along the page until I feel or ‘hear’ stop again, and look at what the message from Them is.  It is especially helpful because it is a way my Catholic Ancestors feel comfortable with it, and it gives us a common connection.  I happen to find great beauty in the Psalms, especially 23.

I have also placed my First Communion rosary on the Ancestor Altar for Them, and a red Gideon New Testament like the one above, and keep it as I would anything else on the Ancestor Altar.  While I do not pray the rosary, given the Nicene Creed is part of it, it is there as a reminder, and a way of connection many of my Dead.  I need not pray the rosary to feel its influence in my life, particularly my Ancestors’ skull prayer beads, which brings me great comfort and connection.

The Catholic prayers I once prayed and sang, the many days I spent at prayer in church have had good effect on how I pray to my own Gods.  The process of learning to sing, clearly and in more-than-ordinary language, lends itself to the altered states of consciousness, the mindfulness I hope to achieve with Them.  I learned “Adeste Fideles”, otherwise known as “O Come All Ye Faithful” in first grade, and loved the Latin language.  I was required to know what I was singing, and why I was singing it.  To know not just the words that the Latin translated into, but what they meant to those I was singing them to, and for me, given I was singing solo.  Rote prayer has a power with me because it is what I grew on.  Intellectual investigation of the source materials for my religion, and constantly questioning was appreciated by my priests, and it is one of many things I carried with me into my Paganism.  An appreciation of spiritual gifts and mystic experiences was given to me at a young age, where I had an experience kneeling before the Tabernacle during one of my Confirmation classes.  I prayed for two hours, and experienced Christ in a deeply personal way, His Voice, His touch.  It is from these deep wells of learning, from then and more recently, that much of my devotional Work is culled from.

Working with my Catholic Ancestors is rebuilding a bridge between us I had long thought burnt to ash.  When I became a Pagan I spoke with Yahweh, explaining that my choice to follow the Goddess, then Brighid, was not to hurt Him or betray Him, but a following of my heart for what called me, and I recognized that the Voice was not His.  I thought in this I would have to cut most,  if not all ties to my Catholic family, Ancestors included.  I am deeply happy to be shown that is not the case.

The impassable wall that I feared I had built between myself and my family seems to be much less a solid wall than one with many gates, some shut to me, and others wide open.  Ancestor Work is one of those wide open gates, and there are Ancestors freely coming to many of my rituals, Catholic Ancestors and otherwise.  Sometimes we must be the ones to raise that gate and acknowledge our Ancestors.  Sometimes They will come to us and invite us to meet between, acknowledging us on our path, still extending love, and connecting with us.  It is, as with all things, Gebo.

Odin Project: Day 20

Gangleri sought Völvas’ ways | and to Folkvangr came,

seeking the wisdom of Gefn;

She pierced Him through | and taught Him well,

In woman’s dress He learned

 

Well-wrought the lessons | at Skjálf’s feet

By fire and distaff spun,

Prophecy and power | came to Grimnir’s call

Who learned Hörn’s ways

 

Sviðurr He left | Freya’s golden hall,

ranging wide in Ve and stride;

Doors closed were open | ways unseen shown bright,

No thing held from Odin’s path

Opening the Ways

His staff gently opens the mouth

The soul is slow, at first

Fearing

Organs lying safe in care

Sons of Horus sealed tight

Guarding

The corpse lies freshly wrapped

The spells like warm blankets

Comforting

Painstaking work culminating

A home rises in the Duat

Waiting

The servants appear, ever-faithful

Beloved ones ready

Walking

The Hall yawns open

Anubis stands, His hand upon it

Welcoming

The soul who had been so great

Shivers at first

Hesitating

Yinepu says nothing

The soul and his people enter

Passing

He goes before them, braziers alight

Incense to the Gods, sweet and holy

Rising

Wings splayed, She awaits them

Constant force of all in life

Watching

The scales in perfect balance

She invites Him to take a feather

Preparing

He takes up the heart, gentle

Her Feather softly down

Judging

The heart waits; no worry

The feather presses

Balancing

The Way is Open in the Hall

The Doors groan with weight

Waiting

Small steps forward

The New Life beckons eager

Embracing

Open

You read the words of others

Sitting as noises clamor about

Trying to hear

The noise is a wall

Climb over it

Bore through it,

Wriggle like a snake

Don’t stop, don’t erase,

Keep writing, keep one finger

before the other

chaining thought and word

message and the slurry of thoughts

to distilled concoction

No control groups

No testing,

Save the first taste

Of words

Stop reviewing, stop revising

no revising only words

propelling one another forward

like a relay race

each space

each beat

each syll-a-ble

passing the baton

to the next runner

Eeking out the meaning from

the noise within

the noise without

the spaces between

where you hear the Gods

the Ancestors

the spirits

Your own heart, too

The breath rise up

to cool your thoughts

steady your own words

ready for the tapping

that will summon their means to meaning

and expose your soul.

Oedhrir’s Gift

Kvasir flows through me

Welcoming my words

Lines of type scrawl across a sea of white

My mind is open like

A broken egg

White spilling all over

Frothing

It swims it swims

Drowning in the Oedhrir

Slammed into conscious thought

Reeling with inspiration

Slopping from sluggish thought

To brimming words

The draught drained

I come

I write

Emptied