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- God of Masks & Many-Formed
O god of masks and many-formed, I would know you anywhere. Salivating, starving, I follow your scent And the feathers that fall from your foreshadowing wings Dripping like dew drops from that comet-stained coat By which to find your flitting facades. O god of masks and many-formed, I am lost without you. Lost in the verses, Lost in the meters, Lost in the streets with a 13th beer Wandering wild, Wandering sick, Inner voice screaming, "Heal Thyself, Witch." Sick with the sorrow Sick with the tears Come down from the mount, God, I know you can hear. O god of masks and many-formed, Fuck you Come home. A Southwestern cowboy poet Loke an moonlighting as a high femme goth. Genderqueer and weird - here's our next performer: KC Wyatt.
i look back on skipping dinner to buy paper and shoplifting cinnamon gum to keep your name in my silent mouth, hungry mouth, hungry but awake and alive and i think my god, we were beautiful then wide eyed with the dawn and running about wherever i pleased and that howling void in my belly was real and physical and now this still hollow with abstinence, but not the same i've got the money and not the paper i've got a week's worth of dinners on ice and too many places to be and no more running about and no need to sneak my gum out under my phone like a shamed dog and no more gum at all, because these days the sugar makes me sick and the whiskey makes me sick and the pills make me sick and the fucking howling makes me sick bring back that other void, i say on my knees, begging, bring back that lightwell, sunlight warm and open and reverberating just to hold that song pouring out of my silent mouth and you and you and you - and you put your hand to my face like a mourner and say i cannot bring back what wasn't mine Author: Rabbit I'm Rabbit, a queer androgyne born and raised in Southern Appalachia, now far travelled. I've been a Lokean for ten years and I am a godspouse-to-be. Mainly free verse, a little prose. Other devotionals and odds and ends can be found on my tumblr
- Why Lokean Poetry?
"In the past 20 years or so there's so many untapped areas of study that aren't getting any attention. In particular a critical period of the development of internet folklore is going virtually undocumented -," - headspace-hotel, via tumblr. Loki worship as a practice is by and large in its infancy - and Lokeanism as a doctrine even moreso. As such, our documentation of it's praxis is scattered like shreds of paper across virtual domains. If you've ever tried searching for a specific resource and found yourself digging through three blogs, four facebook posts, and your google docs just to come up empty, you know how difficult this knowledge is to assemble, despite it's apparent availability. So much for the information age when searching for modern mystic writings feels a lot more like decoding the Discord posts of Nicholas Flamel. Though the gods have been around for since the heat birth of the universe (or longer), the current incarnation of Norse deity worship is a strange and multitudinous beast which reaches widespread corners of the internet, the only place we can all gather to discuss our alchemical findings, so to speak. I recall the parable of the blind men and the elephant. Having never encountered an elephant before, the blind men learn and imagine what an elephant is like by touching it. Each man feels a different part of the elephant's body and when they use their limited experience to describe the elephant to each other, they find vast disparities. How can the same beast which one describes by it's tusks be the same as the one described by its legs? Exploring Loki worship via internet platforms is to be a blind man with an elephant. In a community that is spread by physical distance, internet platform usage, and virtual anonymity, there is but one common thread which binds us together; Loki alone. In that sense, Loki is our elephant. And here we are, blind men, feeling out a god based on intuition, divination, and the ever-shifting mystic landscape that parallels our realities. We are brought together by our love of the god alone, but ah! How do we find each other now? How do we share our experiences? "How do you document real life when real life's getting more like fiction each day?" - Jonathan Larson, RENT (1996) The truth is that nothing the blind men describe about the elephant is untrue. The elephant DOES have long, smooth tusks. It does have leathery, wrinkled legs. It has a back, a tail, a tummy. Our task is not to defend the part of the elephant we've touched as either its or our sole reality, but guide our fellow mystics to the mouth of the elephant, as they guide us to it's soft, warm ears. This is where poetry steps in. Our task is to describe. Not only so that we may learn more about the god, but so that we may learn more about each other. I said the sole thread that links us together is Loki, but that wasn't true, either. By writing, reading, and engaging with poetry, we are connected to the tradition of Norse poetry that binds us to the Skalds, to Odroerir, to the Eddas, and to the oral tradition. This is how we and the people like us described their mythic reality. "Where do we diverge?" is an important question when considering the experiences of other mystics, both ancient and modern, old and new. Likewise, and an even more important question to me, is "Where do we come together?" I have never felt more connected to a community than in reading the work of other Lokeans nor have I felt more inspired to pursue aspects of his personhood than after finding pieces of myself in someone else's poem. Before Lokahjarta, finding the personal writings of other mystics was a matter of going to that individual's blog or website and sifting through what may be hundreds if not thousands of other posts to find what you're looking for. Those of us using tumblr will know that although we have a tagging system, posts get lost - often. As for published books on the topic of Lokean poetry, we have but one, which is wonderful! But not all of us are interested in publishing our work. The vast majority of Lokean writers post on individual blogs on a poem by poem basis. This is where Lokahjarta steps in. The purpose of this website is to document Lokean poetry. It is the heartbeat of our community. "Poem that opened you - The opposite of a wound. Didn't the world Come pouring through?" - Gregory Orr, "Poem that opened you -", How Beautiful the Beloved (Copper Canyon Press, 2009) I remember the poem that opened me. I knew Loki and Odin and the folk of my imagination as purely characters in folklore that I had a "normal" amount of interest in. This poem had nothing to do with them. It was neither about them, nor to them, nor for them. It was not even I poem I read. It was one I heard a girl at my high school recite. She giggled a little when she was done and I understood. In the desert I saw a creature, naked, bestial, Who, squatting upon the ground, Held his heart in his hands, And ate of it. I said, "Is it good, friend?" "It is bitter - bitter," he answered; "But I like it "Because it is bitter, "And because it is my heart." - Stephen Crane, In the Desert Its simplicity struck me; its honesty. I felt it in me as though I had wrote it. It felt true. It felt like it had happened to me. It wasn't until 9 or 10 years later that I shared this poem with the gods - not as characters or figments of imagination, but as living beings just as impacted as words by I am and was. I shared it with Them as though, it too, was a heart. As though it was my heart, as though it was Theirs. This is the power poetry has. This is the power that yours, mine, and all us writers have. The power to pour the world through. We will not let our work be lost to time - it is too important. This is our mission with Lokahjarta - describe to me an elephant.
- scene outside a dive bar
I saw you standing out there, dirt still swirling around your boots, clung to the leather like cinnamon sugar ozone and gasoline mingling the dry air and swimming through the cumulus cotton, wings alight in the dewy moonshine, a vulture, like an angel, overhead I spit out my drink stared you down. Red hands 'round the neck, wrangler - you'll have to go through me. did you think I wouldn't find you? you're not that good at hiding not when I'm the one coyote calling you home, and you know what they say, a phone goes two ways these canyon walls echo and we share a name this dive bar ain't big enough for the two of us have you ever seen two stars collide before? the gravity between them so intense they merge and bend light all around Til there ain't no more of either of them. I saw you standing out there, Well you're a sight to see. I want your stars to run headfirst into me What colors and flashes of light will we make tussling in the moonlit silver sand fluorescent fusions of neon making bifrost rainbows in your rhinestones Red hands tied 'round my back, baby I just wanna wrestle with the angel overhead. A Southwestern cowboy poet Lokean moonlighting as a high femme goth. Genderqueer and weird - here's our next performer: KC Wyatt.
- Author Interview: Rabbit on mythic timing, on joy, on song
An email thread begins. April 24th, 2022 9:22 AM MST KC: It's really can't be overstated how moving that most recent poem you posted is - beautiful. I'm having some weird internet issues :/ What I don't know, at this point, is how long this interview will take me to complete. But I do know there is a sense of completion, a knowledge that when this interview is finished, there will be a chime of "rightness", of being right on time. It hovers over the mystic reality this line of questioning, our call and response, is entering. What I don't know, at this point, is the circular and wonderful turn this interview is going to take. KC: Anyway, here's the first question; How long have you been working with Loki [and Co.]? How does this story begin? April 24th, 2022 3:17 PM Rabbit: I first identified Loki early in the summer of 2012, but in hindsight I think I may have been laughably slow on the uptake. (I have compelling evidence that it was Loki's influence that had my father (derogatory) permanently removed from my family's lives when I was still in my infancy, though Loki has steadfastly refused to confirm or deny this when asked. Typical.) It was two years after my short-lived but psychologically and spiritually disastrous stint in Wicca that I was formally made their acquaintance - I was still a practicing witch, kind of, but feeling desperately adrift without the aid of any of the previous framework I'd had for it either religiously or metaphysically. I'd razed my practice to the ground and started rebuilding the city with no blueprints. It was slow going - two years on and I hadn't figured out any more than whispers. I knew there was a Death Something in my life. At first I thought she was Santísima Muerte because her iconography was what was in my town, but research and direct experience pretty quickly led me to conclude that this was wrong, too. I knew that the Moon still meant Something to me, that that connection was parental and not likely to be severed in this lifetime, but the wound was still raw and I didn't know how to reconcile that with my experiences both within Wicca and my own family. I knew that being in the presence of a large enough body of water made me want to throw myself under the surface to sing and howl and weep with prayer, but not to what. I knew, in a very nebulous way, what the gift of fear was when I was deep in the old growth forest high on the hills surrounding my home, but I was also determined to believe that this was because I liked wolves a normal amount. Loki's presence, by comparison felt...almost domestic. I felt a little bit crazy all over again. People are overcome by all kinds of emotions in the face of the great outdoors, or whatever, but sitting at home alone and suddenly being struck by the live wire of what was unmistakably a god after those two long years of radio silence felt like a whole new level of unbelievability. It was a lot to take. Even so, I was desperate to make up for lost time and threw myself into research and experimentation. I started working with Loki and their family in a brand new Norse pagan practice in June or July, and I've never looked back. We clicked so fast that I made the monumentally stupid decision to swear an Oath to Loki all of a month later. On August 1st, 2012. The following year of my life was to be his - I would throw myself into any Work he set before me in exchange for answers. Answers to what, I couldn't tell you, but I was damn sure going to get them. I wouldn't recommend this approach to religion to anyone, but it is something that I have often referred to as the best mistake I ever made, and to this day I swear new oaths to him every August 1st to pay homage to that first miraculous blunder. May 8th, 2022 11:42 AM MST KC: It's so curious to read your journey and see at just how many points our stories converge in similar ways. Narrative parallels are certainly a theme in your writing; tell me more about your experience with that. May 8th, 2022 3:43 PM Rabbit: I know - I'm always fascinated by your stories for the same reason. You're the best narrative foil a girl* could ask for. There's so much I could say on this I don't hardly know where to begin. My whole life is one long refrain. I think that's true for a lot of us - a lot of us are haunted by the same theme again and again, to varying degrees of awareness. I firmly believe that there's patterns to everything if you can get the parallax just right. At some point between leaving Wicca and joining Norse paganism, I studied Discordianism and chaos magic for a bit, and there's this metaphysical concept within it that objective reality is imperceptible or incomprehensible and what we consider to be material or experiential reality is all a matter of subjective perception. The metaphor used to explain this to me was that objective reality is like a sky full of stars and we're all looking at it through a window. The different grids we draw on the glass divide the sky up in different ways, and group stars together into different constellations. None of the constellations are false, but nothing you could see through a window would be the whole of the sky, either. Discordianism isn't for me, but I'll always be fond of it for giving me the moment of reading that metaphor for the first time. It cracked my head open something fierce. I keep drawing and redrawing those grids to make sense of what part of the web is being bowed to send which notes of wyrd shivering down that long red thread. Which story is resonating again. There's nothing new under the sun. We keep being possessed by the same stories. Part of what drives my interest in folklore and historical ballads is getting to tease out which part of the story has stuck around, and why. It's letting me learn to meet the eternal return with joy more often than with terror. There's a lot of talk in pagan circles about how the gods are Just Like Us, and in a narrative sense I believe that, too. Odinn in the Eddas is an obvious prime example - planning and plotting and terror and rage in the face of the inevitable. Inevitability that's only inevitable because Odinn is who he is and heaves the way he behaves. If he were different - if we were different - the story might turn out differently, but he isn't and it doesn't and we keep telling it anyway. So many of the gods' stories are so painfully human. The gods carry the same refrains that we do. (Did you know that another word for a song's refrain is burden? I didn't until very recently.) Worship, for me, is nothing if not a call and response. I don't know how much of my story I'd be able to tell to any god who hadn't already lived it. All my gods are in some way or another holding up a mirror to me - the mortifying ordeal and all that. What I do know, at this point and as the interviewer, is that although I have more questions for Rabbit, Loki has sat himself down beside me and proceeded to backseat drive. Progression on Lokahjarta has a hit stop-and-go traffic - no; more driving down a backroad with no shoes on, spilling my slushy, and trying to tune the old FM radio via brainwave. Running up that hill is now trudging up a mountain and taking breaks every five minutes to squint at the peak. The message is clear, for all it's apparent lack thereof. The season has not yet come, the wheel not yet turned. It is not yet Time. Until one day in August, it is Time Again. The radio tunes in. Time Again: August 1st, 2022 10:12 AM KC (not putting the pieces together and following the whims of one Mr. Right-on-Time): Hello once again Rabbit my dearest love, I am getting our interview on the site today; I have been waiting for just the Right Time to get it Out and I think it's almost here (almost Time) I don't know why I expected to be able to work on this site outside of mythic timing or on anyone's schedule besides His Own but he has firmly shut down all attempts to tinker with the webpage or any related activities outside his own self governing alarm clock. So, my last question, Where do you see the future of Lokeanism going? What do you think is in store for you and for our community? We've talked about was Was, we talked about What Is, what do you think you're headed toward now? And Rabbit, ever-faithful, knows well how the seasons turn. Rabbit (with plans of zeir own): Welcome back, dear heart. I had assumed as much - death waits for no man and sacred time rushes to meet no poet. These things happen as they must. What a beautiful, difficult question. I think, like a lot of people around our age, I spent a long time assuming I didn't have a future, so I'm still taking baby steps learning to imagine what one of those looks like. On a personal level, I've spent the last few years keeping my head down in this community, not really putting any of myself out into the world or sharing anything of my personal experience with our god. That was the right thing to do at the time, but I've recently been getting dragged out of hibernation by the hair and it's become very clear that right now my only job is to try to do that with a minimum of kicking and screaming. Community lives and dies by the willingness of individuals to share what they've got and put their cards on the table. I think our shared future is one of joyful connection - to Him and to each other. You've said as much yourself, but I think we're arriving at a place of renewed mysticism and ecstasy and mystery. I think we're coming to a time of celebrating and uplifting the things that made us Serially Incapable of Just Being Normal, in the best possible way. Over the last decade I've gotten to see Lokeans go from being fringe weirdos to center-stage weirdos, and that's only going to get bigger and louder and I am so excited to be there for it. August 1st, 2022 7:32 PM MST welcometothewarren.tumblr.com "GUESS WHAT" And as the interviewer, the cataloguer, I feel as though I have borne witness to something incredible. Timing was not so much on my side as it was the driver all along. The chimes of "rightness" sing their soft refrains. And though I had not intentioned to resume our interview on August 1st, 10 years after zeir first oath, nor expected such a joyful surprise, nor initially even planned my questions beforehand (I'm a wild card!) I can only come to one conclusion thus; "I think our shared future is one of joyful connection - to Him and to each other." Thank you Rabbit and congratulations on your godmarriage. This same day, Rabbit shared an incredible music arrangement which could in turns be called a devotional hymn, an ode to traditional folk songs, an endearing poem, and love letter to Loki. I urge everyone to go and check out the original post on zeir blog and view it in it's original formatting and the web of notes, images, and poems (!) created by use of tumblr's tagging system.
- For Loki
My song for you of silver tongue Whose words flay open the nature of our follies And leave them open for the world to see Who speaks daggers on the hypocrisies of those around you Who digs open wounds like a surgeon and let us examine That which we hide from the world May you grant me the same tenacity In calling out the hypocrisies of those around me With the same strength and fearlessness Of a father who has lost his children And wishes to see the truth burn like an open flame Engulfing all that surrounds it until there is nothing But ash to dance in May you teach me not to fear the chains nor the serpent that hangs above me So long as the truth is ripped free from my lips So long sewn shut But no longer afraid to speak And no longer afraid to illuminate cruelty Instead of waiting in complacent silence And may I make you proud as I fight for those monsters like me Who lurk outside in the shadows, not allowed to be touched by the light May these words reach the ears of the unfortunate, the outcast, and the underprivileged And sing to them of hope, and a future burned clean of the injustices of today I sing to you of many names Sky-Treader, Scar-Lip, Vulture's Path World-Breaker, Wolf-Sire, Wild and Wicked one I sing Author Hello! I’m Max, 26, and have been a proud Loki devotee for approximately six years now. I’ve had an oath with him for about five years, and am constantly learning and growing as I work with him and his family. Poetry tends to be my primary devotional act, so I look forward to sharing them with you all.
- Fending With the Chain-Breakers
I felt the chains slither over me Serpents sliding over my solemn skin Waiting to reach my vein And puncture Their venom a familiar burn Nearly soothing in it’s agonizing pain A cold fire Immolating everything it touches In your touch a heaviness like death surrounds me And in the maelstrom, I hear their voices “Will you let this bind you?” “Will you let it break you?” A flash of fur and blood A flash of fire and rage I pull against the chains Struggle in the grasp of the serpent Bite my tongue and fight through the pain I fight I bleed I succeed The snap of chains and the shaking of the earth As I destroy that which binds me Teeth ready to grab my assailant by the throat Taking only a moment to think if their blood should be spilt for mine I clamp down I destroy I sing victory As the serpents fall Another victory from the grasp of defeat A new start to the cycle In the silence I breathe Author Hello! I’m Max, 26, and have been a proud Loki devotee for approximately six years now. I’ve had an oath with him for about five years, and am constantly learning and growing as I work with him and his family. Poetry tends to be my primary devotional act, so I look forward to sharing them with you all.
- Shapeshifter, my Soul
I hold my body tight It’s otherness unknown to my soul I envy the shape shifter A being of pure liminality Whose peace I will never know May you teach me your secrets Like water pushing and pulling Changing and transforming Until I know the peace of my own fluidity And the embrace of the depths below A cooling blanket against the heat of their stares and whispers Fiery one may you burn away my expectations My insecurities of this othered body This othered soul One who follows in your liminal footsteps Never on one side or the other But a shade with a foot on each side Toeing the line like a tightrope walker Sky Treader teach me how to soar To embrace the gifts that you have given to me And use them for the right reasons My cunning, my intellect My Heart May I learn that the keen look in your eye Looks past my physical form And straight into my wild soul Ever shifting like your own Through the grey Author Hello! I’m Max, 26, and have been a proud Loki devotee for approximately six years now. I’ve had an oath with him for about five years, and am constantly learning and growing as I work with him and his family. Poetry tends to be my primary devotional act, so I look forward to sharing them with you all.
- Hymn to You of Nature's Wild
Hail to you sons and daughters Of chilling ice and burning flame Of the cavernous earth and vast sky Of mountain high and ocean deep You outsiders beyond the home and hearth That lie in natures heart and essence Wild and untamed you dance A dance older than most of the realms One that your great ancestor Whose body fed them A memory seeded in the blood that spans and spins Throughout families and tribes of your kind and others Like the roots of the great tree itself Spanning through bloodlines great and small Let your wild howl echo in the night And your joy scream through the day As you Live Love Hunt Survive Fight Create Sing your memories into the very elements we see Teach your lessons in blizzards and wildfire Find your passion in caverns deep and clouds above Hide your secrets in avalanches and tidal waves And let the world remember your greatness You who were here before all And continue to shape our lands As we admire and fear your greatness and wisdom That continues to swirl around us like Snowflakes and Blizzards May your liminality bless us all As we endure your tests And gain your strength Author Hello! I’m Max, 26, and have been a proud Loki devotee for approximately six years now. I’ve had an oath with him for about five years, and am constantly learning and growing as I work with him and his family. Poetry tends to be my primary devotional act, so I look forward to sharing them with you all.
- Finding Home in the Fire
I never knew where home was Why my heart longed to sing in the wilds Until you took my hand And led me into your fire Into the woods Where trees looked like iron A haven for those of wild heart And wild tongue To run free in the ecstasy Form-shifting freedom Soul trembling joy A wholeness that I never knew existed If someone had asked me in that moment where home was I would have pointed them to your cabin in the woods Where the soup burnt my tongue in a lesson on pride And my shifting form felt more solid than ever Wrapped in white furs on the floor Learning of your children by the firelight Not knowing where the path out the door would lead me But knowing I could always return Author Hello! I’m Max, 26, and have been a proud Loki devotee for approximately six years now. I’ve had an oath with him for about five years, and am constantly learning and growing as I work with him and his family. Poetry tends to be my primary devotional act, so I look forward to sharing them with you all.
The well's run dry goddammit I'm hanging over the edge You and I, a couple kids with some tins cans and twine I'm hollering down the dusty soup can, "it's getting dark out. Please come inside." If your pain alone could carve the earth and suffering shake and fault lines cleave Then let my heartbreak echo yonder and shake some avalanche clean To send a flood of permafrost cascading down the desert plain and bring you home to me My voice just echos off the rocks "You cthonic fuck! Answer me!" And I'm pumping the faucet And I'm kicking the bucket I know you can hear me, you prick. I'm headfirst in the tunnel, close enough I could spit But you ain't down there, are you? I could scream and cry all night and I'd never hear a steady drip Well I'll finish my crying when the sun arise, golden and yolky over Western skies I'll wipe the dirt and the tears out my eyes and I'll be sitting up straight but with bleeding pride No permafrost came tumbling, no geysers came bubbling, and the well is still run dry But there are some lessons only thirst can teach Like that crying is a waste of water and time And a cowboy oughtta give up the tin cans and twine Get you a dowsing rod and go out to find Where many waters meet And all the stars Collide. You told me once: What's meant for me will always be mine.
- how did it happen, that the god fell in love?
how did it happen, that the god fell in love? when the earth was all raw and new, he saw His smile. And that was it. His world lit up at Him, this hiccup in the cosmic infrastructure and He had him wandering the streets, slumped against the gallows, lying on the blacktop, lonesome old cowboy. The one man He couldn’t see beyond, Wouldn’t look past His future, his destiny, his desire Could he believe the sound of His laughter could grip him at his Eldritch roots? Could lay him flat with just one look? They say to keep your enemies close but that’s not what the god was doing when he drew in his adversary, held him close, kissed him and became Each Other. They say you keep your enemies close, but that’s not what the god was doing when he huddled with his lover, needfire at the bare bones held him, knowing it was his ending, and mixed their blood and became Him. how the god fell in love was this; easily readily he yielded like it would break him not to how could he do anything else? he saw his smile. and that was it. A Southwestern cowboy loving Lokean moonlighting as a high femme goth. Genderqueer and weird, wed to the god 9 years. - KC Wyatt.