The Story of ᚺᛖᛁᛞ

A poem (among many) I wrote over a  decade ago describing one of my first experiences into existence (as a projection from what I now identify as the collective Divine Folksoul to which I belong):

Divisions of the Night

first rhythms ever plunge, eternal hosts driven into life
drawing through a field of topographic brilliance
where judgment lovingly flows, churning out whole stones
resting against asymmetries trying, like diamonds in chaos
proto-perception foams, over annihilating operations
and from it, dark bursts of lucidity finely entwine
coarse grains of almost something, almost yet sufficient
the silent rush of yet nothing slides, wildly as percolating pivots
diligently thread through it, casting clarity
upon myriads, hard pauses startle into vision
projecting arrays without mass, strings of confluency
impressing discovery, a shadowy tail-end lingers
between depths of opposite observation
iterating embraces of many meanings like quasi-quanta
gathering functions about the head and, and
spinning spectra, pushing forward, yearning toward home
not knowing, yet only knowing
as some featureless reach edging edges stretches out
the magnetic sweet dance
where divisions collapse like crystal caves
softly sprinkling the belly of the night divine
with bytes of thoughtbare kisses
extending the glorious field of apprehension

Interestingly, my preincarnate memories (some of which I have written about on this blog over the years) are significant to my Sacred Name ᚺᛖᛁᛞ (Heid) as revealed to me by my Patroness, Frau Holle, and discussed by Kate Gerrard in Seidr, the Gate is Open:

(In Voluspa) the name is translated as 'bright one' and within the stanza, Heid, the prophetess is telling her story. She starts her tale before this point "as far back as it is possible to go" with the story of creation. This allows us to understand that she has access to information that forms the very existence of the universe and is beyond the capabilities of her mortal life to be in memory of. Another theory, of course, is that the prophetess is older than time and is therefore seen by Odin and by mankind as immortal, ever present and ever knowing.

As the Ancestors are timeless and immortal, so too is the immortal Heid an active remembering extension of the Ancestors into mortal Being.

ᚺᛖᛁᛞ in the Anglo-Saxon Rune Poem:

ᚺ

Hail is the whitest of grain;
it is whirled from the vault of heaven
and is tossed about by gusts of wind
and then it melts into water.

 ᛖ

The horse is a joy to princes in the presence of warriors.
A steed in the pride of its hoofs,when rich men on horseback bandy words about it;
and it is ever a source of comfort to the restless.

ᛁ

Ice is very cold and immeasurably slippery;
it glistens as clear as glass and most like to gems;
it is a floor wrought by the frost, fair to look upon.

 ᛞ

Day, the glorious light of the Creator, is sent by the Lord (Divine Ancestor);
it is beloved of men, a source of hope and happiness to rich and poor,
and of service to all.

ᚺᛖᛁᛞ