Oath's of another time
What else could reality be than to infold on itself if it never existed?
Much of what we are drawn to, enjoy, or do as children is often deeply rooted within us, expressing our ultimate unfolding. A common example might be athletic or artistic pursuits; these can feel great, yet well-defined. If something is not concrete, it does not mean it is absent, but rather, it may be far more symbolic. My childhood memories are rather vague, but what I remember clearly was what brought me joy and meaning: imaginary worlds with the same recurring theme, playing out across different times and spaces. I remember when my younger sister and I sat in our summer cottage, drawing countless pictures for a story, while also playing something that perhaps resembled Xena, for those old enough to remember the show.
How does one comprehend a perception of time that does not unfold linearly, yet leaves such a profound imprint within?
In Women Who Run with the Wolves (Clarissa Pinkola Estés), she writes that many tales are symbolic, archetypal stories playing out within a coherent narrative. Yet these need not be learned; they are rebaptized and born anew in new times, in new ways. We are always creating and being created.
White wide eyes, inward-turned, two swords for physical battle, and blue fire, for the initiated. It may sound purely fanciful, but what was to be revealed before I turned thirty? In one of the greatest epics, The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, the return to a gateway into a landscape that not just anyone can or should step into...
In this landscape, the rules and natural laws by which a human normally abides no longer hold sway, nor does ordinary time. Here we entered, my sister and I, to fight enemies and creatures unknown to the normal world. She would resemble a sidekick, but also an apprentice in our play. Here lies a recurring pattern: stepping into the twofold shadow together with your sidekick. Two swords, two towers, two souls.
The end of ends,
and beginning of beginnings
Will you die,
or make it out alive?
Are you truly good,
or are you truly evil?
Or even worse, lukewarm
Neither fire nor ice
If not,
Then the evil must be conquered in your mind,
and then you’ll fly.
Wings are spread
Fly phoenix, fly
It’s time for a new empire to rise.
And for that you must go
bury your enemies
and let them freeze for eternity
2026.09.05The Song of Odr and Tears of Red Gold
In Norse mythology there are three main god races and among them is the Vanir where Freiya has a prominent role in the last battle, Ragnarök. There she will she claim half of the slain heroes to her hall rather than Odin's Valhalla. Within her chest also lies a bottomless void, something that might resemble a shattered light from a source older than the worlds themselves. Her beloved, Odr, drifted away across endless, shimmering seas and wild horizons, caught in a current that would never bring him back to regular time.
This schism was never part of the map of creation. While he is on his perpetual sea-journeys, he creates a refraction in the time weave. Waiting in her hall, suspended in animation, she weeps when the longing grows too heavy to carry. But her grief is not tears of death, filled with liquid light. When her tears fall down the earth, they harden into red gold, and when they fall into the abyss of the sea, they turn to amber.
She is the watcher while time dissolves. A queen of eternal yearning and bound to a horizon that reaches beyond the known, while some are locked within the cycles of their specific sin-wave realms. The universe tested all spirits to see where they would fit in the larger plan.
Recently, I encountered a man; this encounter reminded me of something I had forgotten and couldn’t even pinpoint what it was, as if something had faded from a time I cannot even consciously remember. When we connected, I was asked to do a reading, something I don't normally do. But I accepted the quest, set my intent loose, and let it be.
Days later, when I sat down, something strange stirred inside me. It was a combination of sadness, meshed with darkness and beauty, with an ancestral frequency, deeply anchored in the bone marrow. I needed to translate these sudden, out-of-nowhere feelings somehow because they felt important. At my piano, the notes formed an intro in pseudo-Latin with an Italian dialect, very strange. The intro expanded into a verse; from the verse came a chorus; and from the chorus emerged a sudden realization: I had actually set this very intent even before I met this person, and from there everything became woven together.
May the memory of the King live on in the Amber Heart, as our blood flows in us, his choirs sing through all the halls and nine realms, so that we know we are still together.
2026.09.02