Woden: A Devotional Galdr

Writing to the void, I scribe runes upon lintels of doors, my windows covered in occult equations. I seep deep in my blueberry melancholy, wondering, ‘Where are you, hunter of my soul?’. I miss my wandering god, the wild huntsman who used to pursue like the shrieking tempest. I sit in bathroom uhtisetta, zen meditations upon porcelain thrones. Pipes groan and my inner-works respond in kind.

 

Midnight reveries of silent isolation, walking alone amidst crowds, swathed in a nimbus of blue cigarette smoke. I roam and and I seek, smiling at orphans and handing molding bills to beggars who reach out lustily. Coins rattle in a cup and for a moment my god overshadows the reeking piece of human refuse. I hasten to this divine street hobo, then weep in frustration. He has left this grimy man, leaving a confused drunken shell. I pour the last of my change into his cup, and I wonder on.

 

How far must I wander, Vegtam the Wanderer? How long must I hunt, Wise Huntsman? You know I shall trek to the ends of the earth, where the seas fall into the shrieking pits of dreams. . . and I do.  Yet I find only more emptiness and doubt.

 

Anger rises! Neon rage! I scream ink black imprecations into the purple plum midnight cathedral; only the stars respond, winking mockingly. Even your gimlet eye has left the Mimir Well of Sky. Blood pounds tense in my temples, like the blood once flowed in your Temples. Is this what you desire, oh vampiric lecher? Do you long for the days when bulls hung from your holy trees? Must I placate you with sacrifices of goats and men?

 

No. You have lost your taste for such things. You feed upon different things now, most holy Hanged God. Gallows Lord you beckon me within – seek the ingwaz freedom between life and death.

 

I sit by the slurping sea, watching it make shameless love to the shore, lapping at Earth’s intimacies with lustful abandon. My heart beats in my chest like a ticking time bomb, each pulse counting on my mortality. Then, in the white noise pollution of a polluted city I hear my blood speak. I know then that I may search the world and never find him, though I inspect every hollow and untainted grove. For if that which I seek I do not find within, I shall never find it without.

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2 Responses to “Woden: A Devotional Galdr”

  1. I love your style…close to mine whenever I actually get around to writing.
    lovely in it’s perfect tone, imagery and emotion my friend.

  2. nakedwoadwarrior Says:

    Thanks Kass, I appreciate the review 🙂

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