Freyja – Our Lady of the Runny Mascara

Freyja, Freyja, Freyja

The last two weeks I have been soaked in you.  I have languished in your light, in your warmth, in your passion, in your love, your sex, your heat, in your ecstasy, in your trance, in your dreams, in your seidh, in your magick, in your world, in your arms, in your heart.

Years ago you told me stop lying to myself and be who I knew myself to be, and it’s been a long journey, and you didn’t come to claim me until I was well past the point of no return.  Years ago you told me that you weren’t ready to inhabit me, and yet over the last couple of weeks I’ve accepted your sacrifices on your behalf, tears on Your altar of my lips, sex on Your altar of my body, love on Your altar of my heart, vision on Your altar of my soul.

Years ago you told me to accept and find my beauty, and only lately have I begun to feel it bloom like a heat beneath my skin.  You’ve been patient and indulgent with my own self-image issues, but I can feel that patience wearing thin.  Thank you for holding out as long as you could; I’m starting to understand.

Tears and sweat and sex and laughter and life and the breathing moist Earth and the warm, welcoming sky.  Crying, screaming in the heights, passing close, wild raptors dip and plunge, keening with our pain.  Oh, the Tears, lady.  The Tears always come when you are near.  I’ve felt like a wet rag on account of the Tears lately, but I know that you love them.  Each burns through me, working its alchemy on my soul, changing me as it passes, leaving a jewel behind in the world.  I try to cry freely and unfettered for you, at whatever emotion brings them.  We’re so used to tears being a thing of sorrow in our culture, but you’ve been teaching me how tears are the drool of passion, the wetness of head, the flame of transformation, the jewels of the world.  Every passion at its height is accompanied by them, and to you I dedicate them.  I call you Our Lady of the Runny Mascara because eyes are never dry around you.

Some of those tears are pain, Lady, and you know it.  Some are brought about by things you had your hand in, Lady, and you know it.  Some of those were offered unwillingly (or at least unwittingly), Lady, and you know it.  You know it well.

Thank you for them.  Thank you for your kind cruelty.  I trusted you through the pain, through the red haze of anger, through the agonizing self-realizations, through the absolute madness.  Through the tears I offered you I was transformed and will never be the same again, may each be a shining jewel in your hoard.

Giver, what you have given and keep giving to me overwhelms, it overflows, it is a river in which I cannot stand but must lie back.  When I do, when I let go, the sun above in the form of your smile warms me, and the waters in the form of your hands carry me where I need to go.  You bring me to shining valleys and lost groves, to hidden gatherings and boisterous throngs.  You give me experiences, ones that make me feel, blood and bone and heart and head.  The more I let go in your stream and learn to swim rather than struggle the greater the gifts I find you leaving in my path, Oh Giver.  I am grateful for your generosity.

Warm and soaked I lie panting beneath your heat, tears and drool spilling from me in my abandon, having passed satiety long before and traveled to the realms of indulgence.  I give you those indulgences, Lady.  I don’t need the excess, but you can handle it and I’ve seen how it makes you smile.

Thank you, Lady.  Thank you for the heat, the heath, the heather, the blood, the tears, the tearing, the screaming, the sobbing, the wracking passion that commands me at the height of my greatest offerings to you.  Tonight I do not thank you for the little light and warmth you have given me to warm my heart on the cold days; I thank you for that every day.  Tonight I thank you for the goldenred, throbbing Life that pulses through me so much more strongly than before I knew that I was yours.

Thank you, desiring and desired, beloved and loving, Beautiful Bearer of Brisingamen, Wand-Wise Witch-Woman, amber haired, fire-hearted, jewel-lipped.  Thank you for the terror and the beauty, for the love and joy and sorrow.  Thank you for making me feel in ways that I’ve never felt before and thank you for the pain that comes of stretching myself in ways I never thought possible.  That pain also belongs to you, Lady.  I offer it to you.

Thank you, Lady.  Because of you I will never be the same.  Hail Freyja!

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