People ask me all the time what type of rituals I do for Him. They're curious, I guess, about the specificities of my practice. The problem is, i don't have any. I rarely approach the Old Man with formalized rituals. In fact, unless I am facilitating a rite for someone else (which happens rarely) I feel somewhat silly being suddenly so formal with the God that knows me more intimately than any Other. I'll catch myself when I start the formal invocations thinking "why the hell am I being so formal?" Of course, that does not mean I am disrespectful. I don't want to give that impression. I hope that my work, my devotional practices, my life are all grounded in respect, love, and piety. I work toward that as a consistent goal. It's just hard to be formal with a God I love so much.
Some of my devotions to Him are almost unconscious. I do a lot of different things on Wednesday but it wasn't until I sat and thought about them as I was writing this, that I realized how instinctual some of them have become. For instance, I tend to wear Woden's colors (blue, black, or grey) on Wednesdays --usually blue. It's a simple thing, a silly thing perhaps, but it calls Him to the forefront of my mind. It helps me feel connected as I go about my day. I often find myself sitting down to meditate on Him before I even realize it's His day. Of course this is not uncommon on other days too. Mostly i just cultivate a sense of His presence on Wednesdays, a sense that the very fabric of the day itself is permeated through and through with the essence of Him.
Of course, there's the regular offering of whiskey or aquavit, sometimes wine and quite often a bit of dark chocolate to go along with it. Often I will invoke Him before dinner and share a meal in His presence. In all ways, large and small, Wednesdays belong to Him. I find ways, even when I'm not thinking about it, to bring my awareness of HIs presence to the fore. Today, I'll be giving Him a glass of a good Spanish rioja, a dark, fiery wine, with a complex rasping after-tone that somehow reminds me of Him and the sardonic glide of HIs presence across the veil of one's consciousness.
For now, praise Him.
Praise the passage of His storm.
Praise that which He tears away,
and that which He brings to fruition.
Praise His hunger.
Praise the terror He evokes.
Praise the ecstasy He may bring,
and the breath of His inspiration.
In all ways that can be spoken,
and even more those ways that can not