Far Faring, Again...
A journey man, I have become,
Upon Midgard, and far beyond,
By Sitting Out, by writing down,
By Looking In, by thinking up.
I have
eaten, rich words of Lore,
And
drunk my fill, from Wyrd's deep Well,
Been
warmed right good, by Wod's bright flame,
They
sustain Me, my Might, my Maegn.
I lost my Name, as sleep took me,
Across the Gap, twixt Wake and Dream,
We traveled there, Me and Myself,
To gain new Thoughts, to gain new Words.
Through
darkling wood, o'er rough cut stone,
We strode
along, our eyes in gloom,
But
glowing moss, gave bits of light,
So
steps were sure, upon that ground.
The way was straight, almost a road,
Alike, unlike, another path,
We well have walked, beyond Midgard,
To seek Yewdales, and Wise One there.
But this
Land was, not Where we sought,
No
wolvish cries, nor nip in air,
Nor
thickets green, with yew trees leaves
Nor
snow clad peaks, to greet the eye.
Shadowy wings, pale grey and wide,
Soared overhead, against the stars,
Glided, silent, at edge of Sight,
A teasing hint, then gone on Wind.
Was it
a bird, looking for prey,
Nighthawk
seeking, owl hunting,
Or
passing shade, of Helbound wight,
Pausing
a bit, ere moving on?
Is this Helroad, we pause and think,
Or other Road, to other Place,
We must go on, for Voice inside,
Does say to us, discover Me.
We walk
along, the path smooths out,
And
green of grass, does replace stone,
And
trees flesh out, as false dawn glows,
Promise
of day, helps steady heart.
After some time, we find a mere,
In oak girt glade, neath westry moon,
Tis broad and long, and banks are sloped,
A gentle lie, to water's edge.
The
verge seems mowed, not trampled down,
Under
foot are, many bloom worts,
The air
is sweet, with scent of them,
Tis
heady stuff, sets ears abuzz.
A clear, cold pool, like crystal fine,
Its bottom free, of stone and plant,
No fishy shape, swimming about,
To shadow cast, and mar its depth.
No
stream flows in, nor out again,
Yet
surface moves, in rolling swells,
A
spring must feed, the waters here,
Which
go out, an unseen way.
A sign of life, across the lake,
A mannish shape, strides neath the trees,
He o'ertops us, by many ells,
His shoulders broad, as longship's beam.
A few
steps he, does pause from us,
Looks
o'er we two, then waves his hand,
Then I,
alone, stand before him,
All
atremble, despite warm wind.
I think his name, but say it not,
His face is grave, as he does nod,
And says to me, you may know right,
Or other wight, I could be, too.
If for
a drink, you've come to Well,
Then
you must know, a fee I'll take,
You
must have heard, the Elder Tales,
Of
others' ways, to pay the Gild.
If you have come, on other task,
One bound by Word, which tells of Deeds,
This too is good, for all do come,
Into this vale, into this pool.
Gladly
would I, speak long with you,
About
the ebb, and flow of Words,
A river
wrought, by all of Deed,
A
worthy seep, into this Well.
The water's sound, did raise a thirst,
A need I'd had, but not like this,
I felt as though, it had been years,
Since water cool, had passed my lips.
My mind
did whirl, about first thought,
That I
might drink, from this Wellspring,
And be
Full-wise, beyond my years,
Beyond
my Mind, beyond Myself.
I tried to think, what could I give,
To pay the Toll, and gain a draught,
To slake the Need, refresh myself,
To give to him, that I might gain.
I knew
it must, be something which,
Is
truly part, of deeper self,
I must
reach in, and find my core,
Of
Heart, of Mind, of Thought, of Me.
I stood and thought, and thirsted bad,
What could I give, what did I have,
And then it came, a small idea,
A man of words, should give his words.
When
all is said, and all is done,
All
that I do, for Folk and faith,
Is not
for you, nor anyone,
Save
the man that, I have become.
My name and Worth, Life and Orlay,
Is all of Me, and no one else,
For in the end, it comes to this,
I'll be alone, on Helroad walk.
I do
not think, this is selfish,
Increasing
me, in manner right,
This
helps my Folk, my strength is theirs,
And
theirs is mine, while I do live.
I feel sometimes, old beyond years,
Worn down and drained, by burden borne,
But I chose it, and willingly,
Shan't set it down, til breath is gone.
I cried
aloud, as Wind rushed by,
I AM, I
AM, That is the thing,
The
heart of Faith, the heart of Life,
No
other words, are truly Full.
His finger dipped, into the Pool,
And wet my lips, a little bit,
This slaked my thirst, did quell unease,
He smiled, said, t'were wise your thoughts.
It
seems you have, drunk from this Pool,
Or
other Spring, which feeds from This,
Your
self Insight, is goodly mark,
Of
flowing Wyrd, which quickens thought.
For best it is, to know one's self,
To know one's life, and one's own mind,
To be at peace, with one's own heart,
To be whole and, to be, and BE.
For Wit
may come, from inner place,
Or
outer test, of dread ordeal,
But Wit
must come, if one is to,
Become
whole man, and build one's worth.
You have found right, and wholesome words,
To show that you, are part of All,
That Place is known, with Folk, in Faith,
For common Weal, for common Good.
I
thought to speak, give other Words,
He
raised his hand, and stayed my voice,
You've
said enough, for taste you've had,
Beyond
such drop, no man should go.
I found myself, upon the Road,
The dale well hid, behind my back,
I walked along, to cross divide,
From dream to Wake, rejoin Midgard.
My open
eyes, drank morning sun,
And
sight of home, and sleeping wife,
A sense
of weal, came over me,
I
started day, lived more of Life.
A journey man, I have become,
Upon Midgard, and far beyond,
By Sitting Out, by writing down,
By Looking In, by thinking up.
I have
eaten, rich words of Lore,
And
drunk my fill, from Wyrd's deep Well,
Been
warmed right good, by Wod's bright flame,
They
sustain Me, my Might, my Maegn.
