Berries and Blood

I try to call Your name, Beloved. There is a name my heart has for You; but it is not yet known to me. It sticks in my throat, stills my tongue when i try to speak it. My mouth cannot yet be made to utter it. So i give You my mouth instead, and hope You taste there the words i would speak, if i myself knew them.

My Beloved’s lips are stained in shades of red: the earthy sting of pomegranate seeds and the warm tang of raspberries, the burn of rich red wine and the fire of red, red blood. That is my Beloved: berries and blood, sharp and sweet and oh—but more than that, forgive me, i cannot say. I haven’t the words.

And i hear in the silent stillness that lingers between Your words that there is a word You have not quite said, a word for what this is, for what w/We are—i to You, and You to me.

You called me ‘friend’ once, and i laughed (Gods know where i get the gall) and said, ‘Friend? Is that all i am?’ And You turned, hawk-sharp eyes and wolf-sweet smile and asked, ‘What would you say you are to Me?’ I fell silent. Understand: not because i have no words, Beloved; but because i am not yet bold enough to utter them.

I stand naked before You because You bid me do so. All my walls You commanded i take down, stone by stone, that You might drape Your coat around my shoulders and have it be all the shield and sanctuary that i have. Glad i now stand, on the far side of fear, clothed in nothing but the promise of You.

I know no word for what You are to me, less what i am to You. And never, ever, could i have the words for what i felt when You came to me and folded Yourself—Your immeasurable Self—in the space between my curled arms and bare body, and i wrapped You in the very cloth that You had first hung over my naked shoulders. How can i be Your shield even as You are my sanctuary? There are moments when i very nearly know, when understanding only just exceeds my grasp. But the moment passes, and i am left without the words. I have no word for this, just as i have no name for You, Beloved. But maybe ‘Beloved’ is enough.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

where flowers grow amidst the ashes

the old gods and the new

Apostate Island

the bar is open

The Art of Enchantment

Dr Sharon Blackie: writer, psychologist, mythologist

Call of the Syren

Re-embodying the Sacred Wild through Goddess-centered Polytheism, Social Justice, and Grief Work

Seo Helrune

Devoted to the Liminal

A heathen conceivably, but not, I hope, an unenlightened one

Darkness Holds The Keys

They paint the world full of shadows and then tell their children to stay close to the light. Their light. Their reasons, their judgments. Because in the darkness, there be dragons. But it isn't true. We can prove that it isn't true. In the dark, there is discovery, there is possibility, there is freedom in the dark once someone has illuminated it.

Of Axe and Plough

Anglo-Saxon Heathenry and Roman Polytheism

weald and wold

a witch, abroad

Coyopa : words by Tom Hirons

lightning in the blood

Tattúínárdǿla saga

Star Wars as an Icelandic saga, and other fun with Old Norse.

The Reluctant Polytheist

Seeking understanding though the chaos

in the flatlands and the city

a spirit worker writes on life, magic, and surviving the plains

Dreaming in Smoke & Fire

Words from a Modern Mystic

"The Lokean"

...Because that's how it appears in search engines. -Ren (Tyrienne)

The Thought Forge

Anthropology, Archaeology, Spirituality, Writing and Other Things

Rebalancing Acts

gebo. and growing grass through the pavement.

A Forest Door

Spirit-Work & Devotional Polytheism

Of Gods and Angels

A Christopagan turned Lokean. The ups and downs of Angels and Polytheism.

Kvasir Amongst the Gods

An eternally small fish. A ponderously big pond.

Pagan Church Lady

How Conveeeeenient!

Mud and Lightning

"To be a catalyst is the ambition most appropriate for those who see the world as being in constant change, and who, without thinking that they can control it, wish to influence its direction." -Theodore Zeldin

Þungt ymur Þorrinn

Devoted to the Liminal

Devoted to the Liminal

The Forest Witch

Polytheist Witch & Tea Brewer

Fire and Ink

The personal journey of a Lokean pagan

Prema Kalidasi

Devoted to the Liminal

Magick From Scratch

Breaking down mystical practice and crafting new ritual tech from primary source texts.

Tales From the Stag King's Wife

Godspousery and Spirit work in the Wildwood

The Lure of Beauty

Is its own form of prayer

Lofn's Bard

A Northern Tradition Pagan Storyteller


A life in threes

Sword, Table, Antlers

Robin of Sherwood and other Hernecore topics.

The Wytch of the North

Spirit Worker, Art Witch, & Cardslinger

Jolene Dawe

Note to Self: Build Up or Fuck Off


the quiet professor

Silver and Gold

Musings of a Vanic Priestess (Freya: The Gold Thread)

EmberVoices: Listening for the Vanir

The Musings of a Vanic Conspirator

%d bloggers like this: