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Sacred Ground
I carry my Gods in my blood.
Wherever I step is sacred.
I call to life the divine fire hidden within my veins.
I am the rooted seed of a God in bloom.
Where can I walk, where They are not?
I carry my Gods within me.
My breath is Odin's breath
and only His exhalation connects me to life.
My lungs rise and fall at his whim and I suckle life from his lips
like a babe at its mother's breast.
His arms enfold me. He burns beneath my skin. His caress arouses.
The breath-cord binding us nourishes me. I see His ravens circling.
The pulse of my blood is Loki's heartbeat,
his fingers having stroked this cold flesh to life.
His whispering voice is always with me, teasing me
through the pumping rhythm of my blood.
He held my heart in his hand, willing it to unruly life. What joy it is
to kiss his dancing flame.
With no other God is burning quite as sweet.
My awareness is echoed in Hoenir's eyes,
quiet God, yet immensely wise though little spoken about.
Wit and will, conscious discernment,
these things He whispered to my flesh.
To see, to read, to wisely choose
from amongst the many threads my wanderings weave,
are but few of the gifts given by this God,
wisest of brothers though least understood.
His kiss upon my brow awoke the dragon of my mind.
I shall not forget. My body is holy ground.
Together I was formed, in thought, in fire,
descendant of the earth, of those first misshapen trees
raised to life by the touch of Gods lost in the exuberance
of Their own youth.
I am born of one, many times removed, who suckled at Audhumla's teat,
chilled by the brine of Ymir's flesh.
Ancient, this blood of mine, and young.
I am charged to remember:
Where I walk is sacred ground.
I carry my Gods within my flesh.
© 2005 Galina Krasskova
Image: "Invocation", Lord Frederick Leighton,