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Courtesy of Others ~
To Hela, Who Owns My Ass
Sometimes I do not like my Goddess much.
Sometimes, even, my voice is raised
In hatred, in wrath, in despair
And yet, of late, the tiny things come to me,
One at a time, the reasons to be grateful
For serving Her. Of late,
I think on how the sky-Gods, the earth-Gods
Take part in politics between those
Who worship them - either to stir up,
Or to make frith, or to teach lessons,
And drag their reluctant servants
Into the screaming fray. Even Flame-Hair
And some darker others, may ambivalently
Turn their gaze and their workers hence.
Yet Her cold gaze
Is set beyond this; She takes no note of such
Tiny things. Perhaps because so few
Revere Her, the importance of folk is not
Counted by their reverence. She casts Her net
Wide and forward-looking; Her eyes seek
The greater plan, the wider implications.
I ask her of community, and She says:
Community is who comes to you
When you open your door and offer to serve
Any who come. Your people are whoever
It is given to you to aid, regardless
Of whether their necks bear hammers,
Pentacles, crystals, or even crosses.
Build the door and they will come,
And come, and come. Be as limitless
As Death, and beyond. Have no foot wholly
In any place, and many more will
Welcome you. Guard your honor,
Do your work, and care only about that,
But care about that deeply,
With an abiding passion
That burns like hallowed flame.
Yeah, I can do that.
So, Lady. If I must be a pawn
Let it be on a wider stage,
A greater play, with a cast of thousands
And thousands more.
You see, I am finding reasons
To be grateful for my Life
Every difficult day of its telling.
This poem is
Tradition Paganism -
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