Mimir’s Vígríðr
Mimir’s Vígríðr
The heart is a fertile valley
Besieged by the enemies of Frith.
Oft’ the mind lays war-torn and
Broken on these battlefields of desire.
Each day we walk out our door
Our Hamr must gear for war.
Shall it fall to the death knells of fate
Or slowly fade from a thousand blows of woe?
Blighted trolls wait in the deep forest
Woven from the threads of Nastrondr
Like the mass of writhing snakes at the base of Yggdrasil
There are too many foes to count.
But the heart is a fertile valley
Highly sought by the cold cruel beings of the realms:
Where each of us must wage our war
To survive or fall into desolate ruin.
There are trolls who come up in the minds of men:
Like snakes, they lash out and seek to pollute our thoughts;
For the Mind is where all Sagas are wrought
And each of us, the narrator therein.
There are sirens that seek our fath in self
And the feed off us while we stumble into cages.
There are beings of despair who feed off hope
Slowing our feet in the swamps of doubt.
There are blights that come from malice:
Their fateful weavings become like diseased trees
Leaving seeds of selfishness and greed
That grow like weeds and choke the minds of men.
There are dark elves of betrayal
Who sing sweet songs in the woods
And in one last trusting moment
Abandon us on the road to Hel.
There are vicious trolls of vexation
Who clamor and shout in the mountains
And all that live in their shadow
Forget how to play, dance, and sing.
There are small winged trolls of worry
Who sing the night songs of anxiety.
They kill with a thousand stings
And weary a mind as it stumbles towards its doom.
There are bog trolls, descended from foul spirits
Who hold malice under their masks of joy.
They cause the mind to become confused
And eventually distrust all intentions of others.
There are small shaking wyrms of doubt
That whisper of danger everywhere:
So the mind begins to transform
Into the hord-craving armored Wyrm.
There are lich’s of the underworld
Who would seduce you away from your soul.
They scream “I told you so” when we fall
And begin to erode the mind’s trust in its own heart.
There are worms of greed that come in the rain seasons
Whispering their worrisome songs in the fertile fields:
“Share not”, “Trust not”, “Give not”
And meanwhile the heart grows apart
Isolated from its tribe and friends.
There are spirits of distraction, nagging the mind:
Restless and always persistent:
They push the us to go too fast or too far
And when we collapse, they heap abuse on our wearied mind.
There are dark weavers of discontent
Who spin narratives of despair
Every time we are wounded
They say this world has no more hope for life.
There are packs of beasts that would prey on the innocent
For they cannot allow joy to live -
And they prey on the young and the helpless minds
While their parents lay immobile to justice and love.
There are beautiful witches who weave with ice
Sweet songs to entice the warrior into winter winds:
They wander searching for such beautiful delight
And freeze to death in the witch’s cold embrace.
There are sirens of the sea that seduce:
With strong swelling tides of feeling -
And the mind wanders into their depths,
Only to drown in the watery deep.
Life will bring all creatures to the doors of our minds
As we wage war for the freedom of our weaving heart -
And some of those we love may fall -
And become the fertile ground for shadows and blight to grow.
But never fear, brave warrior of Mimir’s Vígríðr plain
For you are not alone in this battle
Many such minds wage against the darkness alongside you
As you form a shield wall against despair.
For victory only comes by facing the trenches
And even on the darkest of foul-born nights:
Dagr eventually comes to aid the knights of Frith
As a new age of freedom rises from the minds of men.
- Christina Marvel
