19:09 Sep 06 2017
Times Read: 329
Passion of Riastrad of Berserker-ganger
Passion sits at the edge of life,
Its fruits do sparkle in dew and light,
Its expression is one not controlled,
To how spirit takes mind and body in bold,
To dreams where the lady of Elfame sits,
Brought on through eyes of those before us fits,
For Odin’s group speaks of rage,
An unspoken lineage of dis brought out from cage,
Where from spirit and ritual ingestion came,
Timing the bounty into the fray,
For this beautiful lady imparts a gift,
The sweet kiss coming from mother Danu’s lips,
The power of the earth being drawn in,
To put Odin’s mind in place of even kin,
And showed warriors gnawing shields and mind gone dim,
To a frenzy a releasing of the animal within,
From Danu’s sons matched to Cu’ Chulainn enraged,
His absorption of earth power changes his skin,
Like the werewolf legends to clans that formed knights,
The fairies bounty brought great strength in fights,
Something that shamans of Siberia say,
A traditional held longer than just some few days,
That only great bird could accomplish his tasks so great,
By eating the gift with which reindeer you race,
For the energy that comes is unbridled emotion,
Even if just human you dance under a wolf skin,
Then what more earthly thing could you go pick,
That could turn you to animal magnitude and cause dreams din,
Something that when seeing pottery of Lambayeque,
You realize was a tradition that stretched oceans,
For is it not interesting that were jaguar face,
Often comes adorned with Muscaria’s on taste,
Showing that lycanthropes have a common skin,
That has red and golden skins,
The Moche have men with them on their face,
Something that echoes the telling of fate,
A trade item sought to be brought in large,
Distributed to the men in charge,
Then we have all lost the gift of the world,
To illusions they say the men of these cultures were sold,
Yet their feats and achievements are something of power,
Showing that inspiration comes on and gives life to dark tower,
A force so strong that they could barely handle mind,
And with Krampus showed it would only allow purity and being kind,
That respect was a bond to anchor the force,
That from Danu’s and Hulda’s bodies gave Odin his choice,
Cu’ Chulainn a incarnation mighty Lugh’s voice,
Shows that Riastrad was an old power form,
That would drive men mad and only the chosen could adore,
For an unparalleled frenzy would overtake minds,
To a point were friends were unrecognizable through time,
And give inspiration to leaders of fianna’s and perchtan’s,
To go putting on the earths shapeshifting gift,
Funny that this in Middle Eastern mind,
Was so precious a gift much harder to find,
That more like the priest of Siberia’s gift,
Used it for festival more than war time lift,
And then when Allegro’s translations brought sight,
The new religion more tied to governing with might,
Rejected the halo’s that from great men of mind,
Had only parallels with raiders and witch queens in find,
And lost that all played sweet with gift,
The power given by the august harvest,
That led men of strength to un-paralleled might,
With historical record and myths of the fights,
That a single berserker held an army at bay,
The same feat held by Cu Chulainn at Cooley cattle raid,
That when under influence the Morgan challenged him,
To prove of earthen power he was worthy to change skin,
An eel the trickster he broke its ribs,
The wolf the distant predator he blinded and cringed,
The mighty Heifer came running down from wolf,
A strength he wrestled and broke the legs thereof,
To each feat and challenge he rose,
And then finally mercy to the old crone he showed,
And as his mind came back to real gaze,
The boy troop on the ground their bodies were laid,
The men of Connacht had killed them in fray,
And a monster of Cu’ Chulainn came to claim:
The first warp-spasm seized Cúchulainn, and made him into a monstrous thing, hideous and shapeless, unheard of. His shanks and his joints, every knuckle and angle and organ from head to foot, shook like a tree in the flood or a reed in the stream. His body made a furious twist inside his skin, so that his feet and shins switched to the rear and his heels and calves switched to the front... On his head the temple-sinews stretched to the nape of his neck, each mighty, immense, measureless knob as big as the head of a month-old child... he sucked one eye so deep into his head that a wild crane couldn't probe it onto his cheek out of the depths of his skull; the other eye fell out along his cheek. His mouth weirdly distorted: his cheek peeled back from his jaws until the gullet appeared, his lungs and his liver flapped in his mouth and throat, his lower jaw struck the upper a lion-killing blow, and fiery flakes large as a ram's fleece reached his mouth from his throat... The hair of his head twisted like the tangle of a red thornbush stuck in a gap; if a royal apple tree with all its kingly fruit were shaken above him, scarce an apple would reach the ground but each would be spiked on a bristle of his hair as it stood up on his scalp with rage.
The body he came to challenge them with,
Was an amalgam of the forces he conquered within,
The imagery of the red gives point to the thing,
That he ingested and took on the mantle of the queen,
The thorn bush metaphor for a single stalk,
While the apples falling on hair give mind stop,
To a thin stalk with red head sitting on top,
And no man could stand in front of riastrad,
Why even to Berserkers a mythical note is attached,
And people who have never tasted the sweet flesh,
Do not know what kind of boundless energy is had,
To dance for hours without fatigue is a point in the trance,
Then into dreams and visions you’re tossed from the dance,
And if you can maintain your composer,
A twilight world of the fair folk shimmers,
For you have ingested their umbrellas and tables,
A sacrifice to which you must make equal,
By giving thanks and gift to the Queen,
Who from earthen power gives men esteem,
A lady I bounced on mountains with in dream,
And told me truth when growing mind needed frame,
A truth now I know is a real call,
Back to archetypes of mind we fall,
For the age of Ragnarok consumes,
And Badb’s warning came true,
Then we are in an age of the rejecter,
Where spirit is few,
And Wisdom wanders,
Then we should take back in the gift,
And heal the wound to world we shift,
To realize a mother and not demon she is,
Something legends of Arthur forget,
As religion was monopolized and industrialized by men,
To forget that their father just like all came from the glen,
As even when nature’s fury consumes,
It is like a stomach motion when eating poor food,
And the heat in the seas brings terror to coasts,
Where mangrove barriers saved earlier hosts,
And then you see that we punish ourselves,
For the world is just living and moving its shell,
Like a gut bacteria we can be formed,
Into the lands champion or more disasters will be born,
The catalyst in our minds makes the beneficial bacterium,
And a little madness for not so long is worth understanding the storm,
And then with modern creative mind we can save,
And hope to deal with powerful plays,
So that horror is not spawned,
But some form of Tesla dreams unbound,
To see maybe a collective of energy,
The galling winds and the storm of the sea,
Might just turn out to be,
A collective point of potential energies…
Sean Stutzman
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