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Okay, so, despite all the political stuff I natter on about in phases, this is supposed to be a religious blog.
I just happen to get distracted by the shiny. Or the blood. Sometimes.
But even when I do that, I’m still coming at it from a “religious” perspective. Sometimes it doesn’t seem that way, but it is. Because I live by a (sometimes) quiet but heavy faith in my religion
And sometimes I really abuse the word sometimes.
I don’t really separate my religion out from things. It flows through pretty much my entire existence. At work and home I live by “Like for Like” or “treat others how they treat you.” I wear my Mjolnir proudly. Often enough, I can feel the weight of my faith as an immovable mountain. In the RPG that I run for some friends I play a character I made up who is the daughter of Hel, the Norse Goddess of Death. When I write my books lately (none are finished, but working on it) it’s about characters who believe in the Norse Gods in one form or another.
When I look at politics, it’s with the view of my ancestors (at least the best I can). When I get through my day I live as best I can, with as much honor and pride as I can. I celebrate the beautiful as works of art by the Gods and Goddesses. I grow angered at the loss of freedoms and the coverings like veils and hajibs and burkas for spreading shame and hiding the divine works. I see the glory and violence and horror of war and I celebrate when it is waged well, and am wrathful when it is waged poorly.
My faith is solid. It is quiet. It is loud. My footsteps echo with the paths of my ancestors and my gods. It is as solid as the earth and as hold as the blood of my people that flows through my veins. It is my breath, and my life, and my death.
Hail the Gods and Goddesses. Hail the Aesir and the Vanir. Hail my glorious ancestors. Hail my people and our lands. Hail the ancient ways, may they be known and lived till the end of all things.