I Bow to the Meme

The Gnosis Cafe barista has tagged me for a meme! Thank you, Anne.

Here it is, ancient but always amusing:

1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.

Let's see --

"A lot of my clients are startled to find that their bodies have negative responses to activities they thought they liked. Holly was one of these people. Even though she told me she had a 'great life,' her body's reaction indicated strong dislike for almost everything on her schedule."

From Finding Your Own North Star: Claiming the Life You Were Meant to Live, by Martha Beck. Excellent book. Last time I did this, I believe the volume nearest was War and Peace. Maybe not. Maybe it was one of those giant knitting tomes.

Let's see. My five tags. Carl Andy (Happy Birthday, bro!); Reya; Luna; Beth; Autumn.

Brigid Poetry! Brigid Poetry!

In the tradition started by Reya about three years ago, and continued this year by Oak, we offer poetry to Brigid, who takes time off from the forge in order to read it all. She's drinking stewed tea, I'm pretty sure; if you can feel the enamel come off your teeth while you drink it, it's strong enough. When she's done being in charge of smithcraft and poetry, she takes over healing; that's when she fixes your teeth. Excellent goddess. I'm proud to belong to her.

Here's my offering; I wrote it last winter in honor of Freyja. (Brigid doesn't mind; she's one of those generous sorts of deities.)

The Dead of Valhalla

Listen! We have heard
the bravest of warriors, dead
after battle, line the walls
of Valhalla, renowned on benches,
mead-drunk, rest after work,
the harp song telling how
they were chosen by Odin,
All-Father, Wise One. Unbending,
they were not quick to falter, battle-wolves.
Now they are served by Valkyries.

Yes. But there's more.
They are second-best,
the left-overs. Freyja
chooses first, and if the
wise takes the brave,
whom does love choose?
We have not heard. And what
her dead do in the hall of love
we have not heard.

But the brave
line the walls of Valhalla,
lauded, praised,
wondering what the hell they did wrong.