Pick up the bones

from the bottom of the ocean:

the whalebone,

the albatross bone,

the bones of sailors,

the bones of your father.

The sea bed shakes with

a rotting carcass.

You can hold the whale bone now:

the teeth, the jaw, the tail;

these are bones of giants,

these are my bones.

You were born of giants.

Some were gods, some were kings,

some were ogres, and some

stoked the fires

on top of mountains,

their volcano rages

boiling through the generations;

lavas flowing down into the sea,

steaming, taking temples in their wake.

They had forgotten the skills of the priestess.

Before they walked the earth,

your ancestors were gentle sea giants.

Your blue whale came from that same line.

Wounded warriors,

choking now on plastic,

haunted hunters now hunted

by industrial factory ships,

harpoons turning water into oceans of blood.

Your fylgja is the spirit of these giants.

Swim with her, as she swims to me.

I sit here on my snow mountain

with my wolves, my furs,

in crystal caves

adorned with the jewels with which

the ice spiders spin your cloak.

The wounded warriors have forgotten

I am a great hunter,

I am their equal,

I taught them how to be hunters so

the old ones could achieve greatness

in the art of war.

Remember where you came from.

Remember who you are.

Remember you were once complete,

as good as any man could be,

as good as any king could be.

You are now the warrior priestess

hold your head high,

no one can touch you

the way they once hurt you,

you have come out of their shadows.

They were only mortal these men,

wounded warriors who forgot

their wisdom,

who forgot how to be noble,

who forgot how to swim with whales

until they swam with whales.

So hold those whale bones,

hold them high,

for they are your greatest teachers.

Algiz. Algiz. Algiz.

SCM 2018

October

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