Postcards from Hermes

“For in loneliness no one owns you but me…”
He’s not exactly here but He’s not exactly gone either. He quietly whispers of His love, of His Ownership.

I choose to love you in silence…
For in silence I find no rejection,
I choose to love you in loneliness…
For in loneliness no one owns you but me,
I choose to adore you from a distance…
For distance will shield me from pain,
I choose to kiss you in the wind…
For the wind is gentler than my lips,
I choose to hold you in my dreams…
For in my dreams, you have no end…

~ Rumi

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The Weight of The Dead.

 

I adore this necklace. I’ve had it the equal armed cross for a good twenty years. I just had the skulls and such added about a year ago. I’ve been wearing it almost non stop when I leave the house. About half way through the day I find myself thinking, “FUCK this is heavy!”. To which I ALWAYS get His reply, “The Dead are Heavy.”. This last week He has added, “The Dead are Heavy, I need your help.”.

So I do my best to help my Love carry the weight of the world and The Dead.


Fear

Fear

I’m afraid. For the first time in a long time I’m afraid of the world. I was childless and much less connected to the Gods the last time I felt this fear. I think it was actually in the early to mid nineties when my mortal Father was called up from his reserve regiment to be sent to Iraq. I’d never felt so grateful or gushed my love to the Divine like I did when he didn’t pass the medical tests. I currently have some very dear friends and some distant family still in the service, I may need to do a Vigil for them. Compounding the current state of affairs in the world is that I am married, corporeally and non-corporeally, and have a mortal child who will have to grow up in this world. I know living on the western coast of Canada provides me with a certain amount of safety, it doesn’t really help though. I’m afraid for everyone.

Coupled with the unease in my corporeal life, the non-corporeal is a howling, screaming mess, though it seems calm on the surface. Poseidon isn’t here, or rather I should say I’m not with Him. This is Hermes half of the year so I have moved house. I find myself in Hermes home now. The closest Lore that would explain and describe it involve a bit of name changing. Sometimes Poseidon likes to look/act/be called Njord, Hermes begrudgingly admitted His Heimdallr associations. I’ve moved from Noatun to Himinbjörg. Where Noatun was quiet but lived in, Himinbjörg is cold, dark, brooding. Most of the furnishings are covered in sheets, it is in need of a good cleaning. No One has lived here for some time. Not in the Castle proper anyways. His rooms are resplendent; The fabrics are dark but warm colours, browns and golds and reds. I find this extra fascinating because His colours right now are blues and greys. Oh wait, He’s in “war” mode currently He says, the blues are for official duties and more associated with Himself as Hermes. That’s going to be a post in and of itself I think. I realize as I write this that I have a lot to do at my Winter home. There are Beings here that need attending too.

For the first time in a long time He scares me too. Not intentionally, of course, but when you find your Beloved screaming in the Dark in rage and pain and madness. He is so tired already and there is only more coming. I worry for Him. I will be His Light in the Darkness, I will be the Beacon that helps Him find His way home.

He’s Home

He’s Home

Wednesday’s are usually O/our day. He will be no more then a whisper, a shadow for weeks at a time but Hermes always shows up for our weekly date. Last week He was late, this week He showed up early, the Tuesday night instead of the Wednesday morning. I found out my friend had passed away that day, He said it was why He came home early. He’s home now in the sense that He won’t be leaving on any Hunts while I’m conscious. More like His behaviour last year at this time. As I was gushing over Him because He was HERE, I apologized for calling on Him so much recently since this time of year is hard on Him. He smiles, stroking my cheek; His hands are dirty, He still smells of blood and sweat and horses. He whispered softly as He pulled me into His arms.

My love is boundless.

Then He played me this song, while it isn’t “O/our” song, it is still very fitting. Much love to my SisterWife for introducing me to the song in the first place.

Soldier by Gavin DeGraw

Hail Matthew Berube

Found out this evening that a dear friend passed away today. He had been unwell but I thought he was on the mend. No details yet in how he passed. 

Hail Matthew Berube! Good and loyal friend, amazing drummer, icon in my world at least. That which is remembered is never lost. Hail the Beloved Dead!