Friday, September 21, 2007

Of Freyr and Freya

Of Freyr it may be said if you were to take all the life within you and concentrate it, it would be as one cell in his pinky finger. And were you to behold all the cornfields of Nebraska, as an ocean of grain undulating in a vast prairie, that would merely be as a hair upon his head. And were you to take the lust of all animals in heat, that would be as one seed in his great, potent sac, or one sparkle in his scintillating eyes.

Clothed in foliage, sprouting from the green swathes, when cut down rising again like vines from his very corpse, resurrecting again and again, green and lusty, full of life and splendor, never brooking a being to be bound, his legs plaited with blue iris hose growing petal by petal up his thighs, and red vermilion as the velvet of a freshly-antlered buck across his shoulders, wrapped in mantles of ivy, he walks sowing seeds, whistling a tune, a great flute in the pockets against his loins whose call none may resist, and which turns all into dancing children. He makes all the women happy, dancing with the cows as he passes by, and brings men together in joy to feast, laugh, and be merry. Lord of Festivals, surrounded forever by the theatre of mummers, he loves always to play.

And if you could take the love you have felt for your greatest beloved, it would be as one pistil or petal on the great rose of Freyr’s heart. The devotion and joy you have felt, intoxicated in the beloved’s embrace, dancing in the writhing undulation of flesh’s waves, is nothing to the undying love Freyr has for the freedom of all beings, and it is said that he has given his life many times that we might be free, and might love, for when we love, it is as a gift to him that warms his heart.

The love, life, and lust of Freyr are so magical, that were you to take all the wizards in the world and put them together in one room, they would be just one sparkle in his eye, or one peal of laughter on his ever-laughing lips, so that all he has to do is touch one, and all mirth and growth are restored as instantly, magic returns to flush and bloom the being. So when he touches corn or cabbage, the whole field writhes in rapture, as his green thumb coaxes to climax.

Thus it is said to behold Freyr is to behold a being more magical than all the lust, life, and love within you has ever imagined, and even looking upon you with his elvish smile it is as if all chains and weights are loosened, and one desires to rise erect to one’s full height and stature, unbounded by giants or fears, and share in his great laughter.

And Lady Freya, her bursting bosom barely draped over with the furs of wild cats, her hair braided as corn dollies or wild as the night – when she looks upon any, she transfixes with beauty, beauty emerging from within to without as a great unfolding, and all are under her spell. For her magic speaks love and hormones and blood rushing in the heat of eternal estrus. Even the elf-maidens beautiful beyond compare cannot hold a candle to this feral maiden, free, beholden to none, Lady of the Forests and Animals. It is said she taught the world first to kiss, and lips are her domain. The Arts of Love are her great Mysteries, so if you were to take the art of all the greatest lovers in the world, she would laugh, and that would be as the first letter of the first word of the prologue of her great lessons of love. Were she to smile upon you, a kiss would last a thousand years, and an orgasm an ocean one could sail for centuries, gliding above the undulating waves as a swan on a lake. Of wooings and rhythms she knows beyond all, and it is said none, even Gullveig, can resist her enticements.

Over her great cauldron in the midst of the woods, upon a platform built as a throne for her to drum upon, she and her wild women dance beyond the bounds of this world, and bring the Land of Summer’s great gifts of love to all beings. Indeed, she teaches the arts of coming to revel, to dance the dance of creation and love, and all who come to her sabbats move in the skins of sundry beasts and butterflies. Ah, when she bats her lashes it is as if a thousand many-coloured butterflies flapped their wings in the wind, and ever are her lips full and wet, as dew upon lush rose petals. Take Helen, take Kriemhild, take all the beauties of the world, and they inspire the lust and awe of one of her gold-ringed toes. She has but to breathe upon lovers and all that has waned returns to enchantment, like soft sea-creatures wrapped in multi-tentacled bliss.

Proud and free, she gives as she wills, and strong is her countenance upon women inspired to be equally free. She touches a womb and it heals, the belly growing big, or if she wills, it empties and gives forth husks, all to honor the freedom of life’s joy and dance. For her the animals run through the forest, and in Vanaheim ever she tended the boars and the horses.

Nay, one can never exhaust her praise, for it is said leods of love devoted to her endless maiden escapades will never end so long as the world fruits and lusts with longing for love.

But we have said nothing of either of them if we fail to call them Lord and Lady of Harvests, for truly the Fruit of Harvest is theirs. All that fruits and gives forth seed are as a gift from their bosom and loins, and the Fullness of the Gathering is theirs. She, lusty with her wicker cornucopia giving forth all breastlike and vulvic fruits, he showering grain from all phallic stalks, the joy and merriment of the feasts brought in from the fields are theirs, and in their presence, one is immersed in the rich abundance of endless fields of wild grain, the sun full upon the ripened stalks, and one knows the sun as one of their kin. For truly they are the blessed Children of the Lands of Summer and Desire, birthed when the lapping waves of Njord’s great seas caressed and seduced the soft folds of Nerthus’ shores.

Vanaheim is as a vast land of Satyrs and Fauns, Maenads and Maidens, great mischief-makers, smilers, and lovers in all animal forms. Ever are they playing in great kiss-in-the-rings, and one says it is as ever the first of May there. Indeed it is said by some when lovers go naked into the forests on the first of May to retrieve the green bowers and bring back the Maypole, one has passed into the Lands of Summer and Desire, and one may meet in this meeting of worlds many a lusty satyr and many a wild maenad. And on earth, one green man of the woods of Vanaheim would seem as the greatest god of growth and greenery, and yet such a servant would pale before the might of Freyr. On earth, one lady of the woods, plush and naked and full of wild sirenings that urge the loins forward would seem as a great goddess of love, and yet such a servant would dwindle before the beauty and voluptuousness of Freya. In Freyr’s presence all become lusty bucks, horny and ripe with hormones’ scents, and in Freya’s presence all become nymphomaenads whose curves and soft places make men’s lips and loins rise as flowers sprout from their naked feet with the sounds of rushing moans of rapture.

But it is also seen as the Isle of Riches, whose beaches are shored with sands of gold, its rivers flush to the brim with fish and salmon, its shores full of the gifts travelers from the waves of Njord have brought back a’viking, full of exotic women, golden-skinned boys, spices, scents, like an eternal Orient in the far West, giving salt and spice to the world, perfumes and mascaras, rich draperies, flowerings, and endless surprises. But beyond all these riches is simply the wealth of feeling in love forever, which the Vanir share in endless permutations and combinations, and one has never known a land so tantric and wanton, so full of games and perilous adventures. It is said swans surround the great port of Noatun, whose peace, wealth, and grace know no bounds. These swans were gifts from Haenir, who fostered Njord and Heimdall when Lodur fell into shadow. From him these lords of wild love learned great arts of peace and holiness to keep their lusts lawful and fruitful for the world, for it is said the conflict wrought by the Vanir in time’s beginning was so great that were they to return to warring, the world would be rended by their unfrith. And so Hoenir taught Njord the wondrous arts of calming the seas he so easily stirred with waves and frothings, and Njord and his land became known as great masters of peace.


Blogger SnowGoose said...

Beautiful: that sums up exactly how I feel about Freyr Ing.

3:39 AM  
Blogger SiegfriedGoodfellow said...

Thanks! I'm glad you liked it! It'd be great to get an artist with the skills of those painters who do the Hare Krishna illustrations to render this idea in a kind of cosmic-style painting : a large picture of Freyr, with meadows and rows of crops reflected in his limbs, etc.

4:17 AM  

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