The Eddas The Keys To The Mysteries Of The North

Book: The Eddas The Keys To The Mysteries Of The North by James Allen Chisholm

This is a practical manual of self-transformation. It takes the form of a working edition of the mythological poems of the ancient Norse Poetic Edda for modern “pagans” who practice the magic and religion of the North. The poems of the Poetic Edda form the most complete and authentic body of surviving pre-Christian Germanic religious and magical lore. The mythological poems of the Elder Edda hold the keys to the Understanding and practice of the pre-Christian religion of the Germanic peoples. This book enables the reader to fathom the
mysteries of the Eddic poems so that the elder Troth of the Gods of Europe may again be rightly hailed in holy groves, and the Hidden Wisdom of the rune-masters rediscovered. This book is especially practical for those who wish follow the authentic pre-Christian religion and magic of the English and other Teutonic folk.

A new translation of the mythological poems of the Edda is the main component of this work. The religious content is revealed with accuracy and clarity. Earlier renditions have been artful paraphrases by scholars who valued the poems as literary monuments, but disregarded the religious and mythic content as the nonsensical but amusing folklore of a more primitive world. None of them ever imagined that their audiences would include practitioners of the Eddic religion. The inaccuracies of such translations have led many modern pagans astray. This is the truest translation for purposes of understanding the religious content of the Poetic Edda.

For the rune-magicians, poetry was a powerful form of magic. The Eddas hold the wisdom of the Erulian Rune-Magicians, and many of these poems may be fathomed to incredible depths and heights, by those who know how to ask. This book is about asking. These poems provide sufficient material for an accurate reconstruction and revivification of the Odian religious and magical philosophies. These poems hold spells, invocations, and lore from which rituals, sacred dramas, and initiatory rites can be reconstructed or authentically created, as well as the keys to understanding the soul and the nine worlds of Yggdrasil - the world tree of the ancient North. Many of the keys are provided also for unlocking the secrets of mysteries of the cults of Thor, Tyr and the Vanir, though much of this lore is filtered through an Odian lens.

The Eddic poems are spells, in which the mysteries of the old lore are encoded by word, rhythm, alliteration, idea, and rune. The words of a given stanza are not juxtaposed merely because the resulting rhythms and word plays are pleasing, but because of there are deep magical resonances among such words. The impact of these magical stanzas perhaps may not be registered consciously, but the magic of Eddic lines reaches far below the shallow waters of mundane conscious understanding into the depths of the collective unconscious, into the realms where our souls mingle with the realms of the Gods. The power of the Eddic verses can be used for invocations and magical operations. It is the task of the modern elders (priests) and vitkis (magicians) to gain a conscious knowledge of the meanings and powers of these combinations of word, meter and rune. The stanzas of the Eddic poems hold the secrets of our Gods. It is the task of this book to provide the modern seeker with the keys to understanding deeper levels of meaning and to encode these into modern English for fashioning invocations to the Gods and for shaping powerful poetic staves in magic.

Download James Allen Chisholm's eBook: The Eddas The Keys To The Mysteries Of The North

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The Priestess Of Panormita

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Hear me, Lord of the Stars!
For thee I have worshipped ever
With stains and sorrows and scars,
With joyful, joyful endeavour.
Hear me, O lily-white goat!
O crisp as a thicket of thorns,
With a collar of gold for Thy throat,
A scarlet bow for Thy horns!

Here, in the dusty air,
I build Thee a shrine of yew.
All green is the garland I wear,
But I feed it with blood for dew!
After the orange bars
That ribbed the green west dying
Are dead, O Lord of the Stars,
I come to Thee, come to Thee crying.

The ambrosial moon that arose
With breasts slow heaving in splendour
Drops wine from her infinte snows,
Ineffably, utterly, tender.
O moon! ambrosial moon!
Arise on my desert of sorrow,
That the magical eyes of me swoon
With the lust of rain to-morrow!

Ages and ages ago
I stood on the bank of a river,
Holy and holy and holy, I know,
For ever and ever and ever!
A priest in the mystical shrine,
I muttered a redeless rune,
Till the waters were redder than wine
In the blush of the harlot moon.

I and my brother priests
Worshipped a wonderful woman
With a body lithe as a beast's,
Subtly, horribly human.
Deep in the pit of her eyes
I saw the image of death,
And I drew the water of sighs
From the well of her lullaby breath.

She sitteth veiled forever,
Brooding over the waste.
She hath stirred or spoken never.
She is fiercely, manly chaste!
What madness make me awake
From the silence of utmost eld
The grey cold slime of the snake
That her poisonous body held?

By night I ravished a maid
From her father's camp to the cave.
I bared the beautiful blade;
I dipped her thrice i'the wave;
I slit her throat as a lamb's,
That the fount of blood leapt high
With my clamorous dithyrambs,
Like a stain on the shield of the sky.

With blood and censer and song
I rent the mysterious veil;
My eyes gaze long and long
On the deep of that blissful bale.
My cold grey kisses awake
From the silence of utmost eld
The grey cold slime of the snake
That her beautirul body held.

But--God! I was not content
With the blasphemous secret of years;
The veil is hardly rent
While the eyes rain stones for tears
So I clung to the lips and laughed
As the storms of death abated,
The storms of the grievous graft
By the swing of her soul unsated.

Wherefore reborn as I am
By a stream profane and foul,
In the reign of a Tortured Lamb,
In the realm of a sexless Owl,
I am set apart from the rest
By meed of the mystic rune
That reeds in peril and pest
The ambrosial moon--the moon!

For under the tawny star
That shines in the Bull above
I can rein the riotous car
Of galloping, galloping Love;
And straight to the steady ray
Of the Lion-hearted Lord I career,
Pointing my flaming way
With the spasm of night for a spear!

O moon! O secret sweet!
Chalcedony clouds of caresses
About the flame of our feet,
The night of our terrible tresses!
Is it a wonder, then,
If the people are mad with blindness,
And nothing is stranger to men
Than silence, and wisdom, and kindness?

Nay! let him fashion an arrow
Whose heart is sober and stout!
Let him pierce his God to the marrow!
Let the soul of his God flow out!
Whether a snake or a sun
In his horoscope Heaven hath cast,
It is nothing; every one
Shall win to the moon at last.

The mage has wrought by his art
A billion shapes in the sun.
Look through to the heart of his heart,
And the many are shapes of one!
An end to the art of the mage,
And the cold grey blank of the prison!
An end to the adamant age!
The ambosial moon is arisen.

I have bought a lily-white goat
For the price of a crown of thorns,
A collar of gold for its throat,
A scarlet bow for its horns;
I have bought a lark in the lift
For the price of a butt of sherry:
With these, and God for a gift,
It needs no wine to be merry!

I have bought for a wafer of bread
A garden of poppies and clover;
For a water bitter and dead,
A foam of fire flowing over.
From the Lamb and his prison fare
And the Owl's blind stupor, arise!
Be ye wise, and strong, and fair,
And the nectar afloat in your eyes!

Arise, O ambrosial moon,
By the strong immemorial spell,
By the subtle, veridical rune
That is mighty in heaven and hell!
Drip thy mystical dews
On the tongues of the tender fauns,
In the shade of initiate yews,
Remote from the desert dawns!

Satyrs and Fauns, I call.
Bring your beauty to man!
I am the mate for ye all;
I am the passionate Pan.
Come, O come to the dance,
Leaping with wonderful whips,
Life on the stroke of a glance,
Death in the stroke of the lips!

I am hidden beyond,
Shed in a secret sinew,
Smitten through by the fond
Folly of wisdom in you!
Come, while the moon (the moon!)
Sheds her ambrosial splendour,
Reels in the redeless rune
Ineffably, utterly, tender!

Hark! the appealing cry
Of deadly hurt in the hollow:--
Hyacinth! Hyacinth! Ay!
Smitten to death by Apollo.
Swift, O maiden moon,
Send thy ray-dews after;
Turn the dolorous tune
To soft ambiguous laughter!

Mourn, O Maenads, mourn!
Surely your comfort is over:
All we laugh at you lorn.
Ours are the poppies and clover!
O that mouth and eyes,
Mischievous, male, alluring!
O that twitch of the thighs,
Dorian past enduring!

Where is wisdom now?
Where the sage and his doubt?
Surely the sweat of the brow
Hath driven the demon out.
Surely the scented sleep
That crowns the equal war
Is wiser than only to weep--
To weep for evermore!

Now, at the crown of the year,
The decadent days of October,
I come to thee, God, without fear;
Pious, chaste, and sober.
I solemnly sacrifice
This first-fruit flower of wine
For a vehicle of thy vice,
As I am Thine to be mine.

For five in the year gone by
I pray Thee give to me one;
A lover stronger than I,
A moon to swallow the sun!
May he be like a lily-white goat,
Crisp as a thicket of thorns,
With a collar of gold for his throat,
A scarlet bow for his horns!

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Pan To Artemis

Uncharmable charmer
Of Bacchus and Mars,
In the sounding, rebounding
Abyss of the stars!
O virgin in armor,
Thine arrows unsling
In the brilliant resilient
First rays of the spring!

By the force of the fashion
Of love, when I broke
Through the shroud, through the cloud,
Through the storm, through the smoke,
To the mountain of passion
Volcanic that woke--
By the rage of the mage
I invoke, I invoke!

By the midnight of madness,
The lone-lying sea,
The swoon of the moon,
Your swoon into me;
The sentinel sadness
Of cliff-clinging pine,
That night of delight
You were mine, you were mine!

You were mine, O my saint,
My maiden, my mate,
By the might of the right
Of the night of our fate.
Though I fall, though I faint,
Though I char, though I choke,
By the hour of our power
I invoke, I invoke!
By the mystical union
Of fairy and faun,
Unspoken, unbroken--
The dusk to the dawn!--
A secret communion,
Unmeasured, unsung,
The listless, resistless,
Tumultuous tongue!--

O virgin in armor
Thine arrows unsling,
In the brilliant resilient
First rays of the spring!
No Godhead could charm her,
But manhood awoke--
O fiery Valkyrie,
I invoke, I invoke!

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The Firing Line

There's a firing line that crosses our heart
So, How close to this line do we need to get
Before it's crossed over and we begin to sweat
Please, Just tell me my spot on the wall
Where should I stand / How should I fall
If I'm up there, Who's got the gun
When do they load
Take aim & let go.
It's really not fair Someone's standing in my spot
That great Little spot that I Thought just for me
Why won't he listen so I can be FREE
It's a simple request that he needs to hear
"Move over now buddy" My time is real near
You see I want to go for my Line Has Been Crossed
The older you get the thicker your lines
Yet, The Love you can feel is much more intense
Everyone should take chances with their own Firing Line
It's a part of your body a part of your mind
Don't worry now for your spot will be there
The question for you is, "When To Prepare."

(c. Roy Rindom, June 6, 1994)

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Song For Hecate

O Lady of the darkest soul of night
Mother of Midnight, Ancient Shadow Queen
Bringer of Visions, give to me the sight
To see the sacred in all living things.
And in cold death, still beauty may I see
When You take back into Yourself
the beauty that was me.
O great Hecate, beneath Your waning moon
I stand dark-hooded on the shadowed road
and face three choices, though all roads lead to You
All stories end at last, untold and told.
O Crone of Wisdom, give to me the sight
To see the dance within all things
of darkness and of light.
O Ancient Lady, Mistress of the Night
You of three faces, Maiden, Mother, Crone
Protector of Witches, dancing with delight
On Your brown Earth, together or alone.
Dark Mother Goddess, give to me the sight
In death, in life, may I behold
Your Mystery dark and bright.

~Rhiannon Asher

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For Dedication Of Items

Pass item to be consecrated through the incense and say:

I dedicate this _________ for positive means. All negativity is removed from it in any time and space.

Repeat this process through the three remaining elements.

Now lay item down on top of pentacle. Place your palms about 1" over them, then form a triangular opening with your hands. Imagine a silver orb in the opening of your hands. Let it glow brighter and brighter. Raise the energy from your body and gently push it out between your hands and into the silver orb. With your mind, lower the orb onto the item and let it be encompassed. When the energy dissipates, say:

By the Will of the Lord and Lady I have dedicated this _________.
May their blessings shine upon and through it always.
By the free will of all
And with harm to none
As I will
So shall it be done.

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A Charm For Beltaine

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Bright Fire kindled, Blazing!
Seed Springing; Love Flowing
Luck Bringing; Wight Knowing;
I keep the Feast of Bealtaine!
Mound Mother, Mead Woman, you I call
Green and Gold Goddess
Womb of All Kindreds, Lover of Heroes
Take now my offering, here at my Fire
Son of the Mother, you I call
Wonder Child; Sweet Enchanter
Harper and Singer and Heir of the Chieftain
Take now my offering here at my Fire
Beautiful Kindreds, this is your honoring
Clooties I tie in salute to your power
To bless the blossom on the branch
I tie this clout for the Kings in the Hall
I tie this clout for the Queens in the Hall
I tie this clout for all the beings of this Land
Be with me Nature Spirits, Noble People
And grant your blessing to my year.

So, all you Powers, I give you welcome at my Fire. Let your light be reflected in my spirit, let your ale flow in my veins. I raise this glass to you, and drink to your divine power. Let me know the health, wealth and wisdom of the Gods and Spirits on this holy feast of Bealtaine! So be it!

"It is best to find a flowering tree on which to tie the three clouties. The clouties can be as slight as three threads, though strips of cloth are better. These should be in three colors as you prefer. The offerings to the Deities can be oil or incense as usual."

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Eclipse

by emerald groves, and silver streams
a secret glade that holds all dreams
shadowy pathways and beams of light
flow on winds from greatest height
a mist from the ocean swirls around
twisting writhing, with gracious sound
a figure emerges, blessing the eye,
stands in the center and looks to the sky

gowned in white, with hair of gold,
knowing to be one for all to behold,
silver wings fold round from behind,
and a crimson thread round her fingers twined
find her through singing, meditation or prayer,
she's crafter of water, fire, earth air

and happiest she is, when joining her there,
Our lord who beams, with sunlight so fair,

No one forgets, the day that they wed,
Moon and sun meet, an eclipse is spread

By emerald groves and silver streams,
A secret glade that holds all dreams
Shadowy pathways and beams of light,
Flow on winds from greatest height.

~Cerridwen (Sara) Contributed to Lady of the Earth by the Author

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Myths Of Northern Lands

Book review: Myths Of Northern Lands by Helene Adeline Guerber

The aim of this handbook of Northern mythology is to familiarize the English student of letters with the religion of his heathen ancestors, and to set forth, as clearly as possible, the various myths which have exercised an influence over our customs, arts, and literature.

As Norwegians, Danes, Swedes, Icelanders, Germans, English, and French all came originally from the same stock and worshiped the same gods, so these tales formed the basis not only of their religious belief, but also of their first attempts at poetry. They are the classics of the North, and deserve as much attention at our hands as the more graceful and idyllic mythology of the South.

The most distinctive traits of the Northern mythology are a peculiar grim humor which is found in the religion of no other race, and a dark thread of tragedy which runs throughout the whole woof. These two characteristics, touching both extremes of the scale, have colored Northern thought, and have left their indelible imprint upon all our writings even to this day. The mythology of Greece and Rome, growing as spontaneous and luxuriant as the tropical vegetation, came to its full fruition and began to decay before the introduction of Christianity. But Northern mythology, of slower growth, was arrested in mid-career before it had attained its complete development.

A glossary, and complete index have been added to adapt this book for general use in libraries and public schools. Author and publishers sincerely trust that little work will be as kindly received and as well appreciated as has been the case with its predecessor, “Myths of Greece and Rome,” the first volume of this series.

Download Helene Adeline Guerber's eBook: Myths Of Northern Lands
Keywords: magic and witchcraft  deities  kathryn paulsen  magick   asgard tales northern  

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A Charm To Get A Lover

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"Ok, so every sorcerer needs a couple of love charms. Of course anyone who's been in the biz a while knows how difficult and confused love matters become and, like the weather, how it is often best to simply let things go the way that nature carries them. However sometimes one needs a little boost, a little taste of love, perhaps of the more carnal sort (though good conversation enhances good carnality, for some...)."

"But, 'tis spring, and this simple charm is for when you're just looking to get laid. The rather vulgar language of the charm is the traditional part, going back a long way into english-language magical history. I set it inside some nice rhymes, for modern edification. Like any bit of magic, use it wisely and watch that any results truly resemble what you're actually after - this whole matter is just full of surprises! "I give these charms as though for straight men and women - gay folks should feel free to adapt them as they may prefer..."

TO ATTRACT A LOVER

Take the blossom of a flower in your left hand. Bring the Underworld Power into your left hand and let it fill with your broad desires for a lover to please you (preferably "not" of a specific targeted person...). Bring the Fire into your right hand and fill it with all that you can offer a lover in pleasure. Bring your hands together and mix the powers, envisioning the sigil in the mixed Powers. As you speak the charm three times, bring your hands together and rub and crush the blossom in your palms. Mingle the fire and water with the herb, as you say:

"(for men:)"

Bee to blossom, she to me
Love I call for love's own sake
Power of land and Sky and Sea
By your might this charm I make.
I the dog, she the bitch
I the helve, she the axe
I the cock, she the hen
By the light of moon and sun,
By the Well and by the Fire
Chant the spell and be it done
This, this that I desire.

"(For women:)"

Bee to blossom, he to me
Love I call for love's own sake
Power of land and Sky and Sea
By your might this charm I make.
I the bitch, he the dog
I the axe, he the helve
I the hen, he the cock,
By the light of moon and sun,
By the Well and by the Fire
Chant the spell and be it done
This, this that I desire.

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Labels: tantra calendar  saxon epic  wicked trajectory myth  treasury stories lore  raven wiccan poster  study mythology magick  blessing earth planting  holly fairy  thelema magick  crystal vision  enochian magik  easy ways to astral project  

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The Star In The West A Critical Essay On The Works Of Aleister Crowley

Book: The Star In The West A Critical Essay On The Works Of Aleister Crowley by John Frederick Charles Fuller

The Star in the West: a Critical Essay upon the Works of aleister crowley by Captain (as he then was) J. F. C. Fuller can now be read online. This is a lengthy study of Crowley's early poetry and philosophy (as expressed in the writings collected in his 1905-7 Collected Works). Some might question the "critical" part; even AC was occasionally embarassed by the excesses of Fuller's praise, as witnessed by his ca. 1910 poem "The Convert (a hundred years hence)"

Download John Frederick Charles Fuller's eBook: The Star In The West A Critical Essay On The Works Of Aleister Crowley

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