S. Reicher wrote a poem for Hati Moonchaser, but Mani figures strongly in it. You can read it here: http://www.northernpaganism.org/shrines/fenrir/writing/hati-moonchaser-in-the-new-worlds-order.html Add Comment  Graceful, courtly, and gallant, He comes. He is a dancer, keeping time with a thousand jangling strands of beads. He trips gaily, impeccably, wearing the mask of the fool but His eyes are sardonic to those who know enough to look beneath the gaiety of His expression. He hides His face, fierce, grief-stricken, moaning His anguish in silence. His eyes are dark then, but His people wait and so He dons a placid mask to walk among them. They do not need to see how feral He once was. and sometimes still is. He was a warrior once, the moon. He danced with two gleaming scimitars moving in lethal beauty amongst a thousand tribes the names of which not even He recalls. i have seen Him dancing still and I know He was not always so kind. He moves amongst the Svartalfar and they adore Him. He comes with music and they bring Him camellias and break things for Him. it is their way. Sometimes they get to hear Him laugh. His hands are those of a magus and He orders the heavens keeping untangled the flow of time. We forget of what House He was born. and Who His kinsfolk are. Sometimes He feasts with the wolf that chases Him. other times He laughs and the two take up their game again. it is a diversion. for now, lest eternity become a bore. He has chosen His masks carefully out of a keen sense of duty. But the moon was wanton once. To see this alabaster God cast those masks aside is to see a beauty for which ancient kingdoms bartered themselves into slavery. I will say no more on this thing, nor on the other masks He wears Suffice it to say, were I not already owned, I would be the most desperate supplicant at His feet. Hail the Moon, and every mask He wears, especially when He walks amongst us.  (reposted from my main blog page) Today is Mani's day. Monday actually means "moon-day" and in our tradition the moon belongs to a lovely God named Mani. Monday is His day and a good day to make offerings to Him. I try to do a little something for Him every Monday. Sometimes I forget--i'm human and I make mistakes. My mindfulness occasionally has its lapses--but I do my best to be as consistent as possible. Fortunately, even when I slip up, Monday will always come round again. I like to give Him little things whenever i can. Usually, I make my offerings in the evening, because I like to do so when the moon is visible in the night sky. Sometimes though ,He rides high and proud, winking at us from the lightening hues wrought by His sister's passage and for me, there's a special delight in that and then I will honor Him when I rise, making my offerings with the brightening day. Offerings like this need not be enormous. I usually give Him a glass of either sambuca or, more recently, Smirnoff's marshmallow flavored vodka. He seems to like it. I spend a few moments in prayer and that's that until the next Monday. It's a stabilizing consistency to the crazy roller coaster of my life. Some of you might find it strange that we honor a moon God and not a Goddess (our Sun Deity is a Sun Goddess as well --and Mani's sister-- to complete the juxtaposition) but we are not unique in this: Japanese and Egyptian religions also have moon Gods and if i went looking, I suspect there are a few more as well, but I'm feeling lazy today so I'll leave that research to you, my readers.. One wonders though if all the moon Gods are companions…. When my adopted mom was small she used to call the moon Luna Lunera and would watch as She (my mom of course as a small child thought the moon female) showered the earth with the blessings of her gentle light. She said her father would stand on a balcony of their home while she played in the garden --oh she must have been very small---and throw candies down and she thought they came from the moon. Maybe, in a way, they did. I never thought about it one way or another until I encountered Mani and then I knew what it was to love the moon. He is beautiful and compelling in His ways. Even I am not immune, though it amuses many and probably Mani too should He ever catch wind of it. January's moon is traditionally called "wolf moon" and Mani is chased by a wolf called Hati. Hati keeps Him on course in the meandering road of night. I wonder if there is a connection or if it is more that our ancestors found the wolves in the forests to howl with hunger in the frozen coldness of winter? Today I think I shall give Him flowers, white flowers like the starkness of the moon shining over a field of ice-topped snow. For those of you who love Him too, what offerings do you usually give? Silently You watch lovely in the hall of Night, tempting all the worlds. A Jotun told me tales of You, that long ago Your name was Longing. It is a fable, his heart's wish and yet my lips whisper too: longing. Sing of Mani MP3: http://www.odins-gift.com/mp3/own/singofmani.mp3 Sing of Mani´s lustrous ray, Incandescent light sublime. Nightly lantern, Hati´s prey, Nott´s companion, counting time. Mani, shine throughout the heavens, Mani, shine till Sunna´s rise! Mundilfari´s silent son, Shine until the end of time. Sing of Sunna, golden glory, Fiery goddess of the sky. Radiant splendor and Sköll´s quarry, Dag´s companion, flying high. Sunna, shine throughout the heavens, Sunna, shine till Mani´s rise! Mundilfari´s fairest daughter, Shine until the end of time. © Michaela Macha - This poem is in the Common Domain and may be freely distributed provided it remains unchanged, including copyright notice and this License – (Used with Permission) In Honor of Mani The night sky shines with your loving gleam, Your light flows out like a fluid beam. You give us hope, You give us light, You give us joy throughout the night. We feel You pulling at our pride, The way You tug at our ocean's tides. Though you are not always in our sight, We know You are there, if not so bright. Mani, great Mani, ever present, Shining God of the great grey crescent. With Sunna You dance round and round, You cross our skies without a sound. Sometimes if we are lucky, and really pray, You come and visit us in the day. Shine on great Mani, God of our night, Forever in our hearts, seldom out of sight. - Glenn Bergen ( June, 1993 ) Autumn is in its glory today, parading gaily toward the dark chasm of winter. The smell of the leaves, the whipping winds -- It’s as if the spirits of autumn are partying gaily with the last lazy spirits of summer, the stragglers who hovered past the day of bones to dance this mad waltz with their late blooming kin. Your oracle eye sees it all, Mani. With the grace of darkness, You hover high above, watching with wry indulgence, the mad capers of vaettir below. Let them kick up the leaves, And dance in the wind My eye is on you and the path you blaze in the darkness. by Larisa Hunter Hail Mani, God of the Moon! Forever pursued but never caught, You turn through the night, and ward us as we sleep, Hail Mani God of the Moon September creeps in far beyond the keenness of our senses. At first turgid and heavy, hidden behind the last stubborn agitations of summer, subtly it charms its way beneath the heavy weight of humid hotness, that forced languor seemingly without end. It teases away the heat with the richness of the coming harvest, of colors other than the oppressiveness of endless green, with sweet, cool breezes spiced with the promise of winter. You rise then, bright and full, a gleaming golden pearl suspended in the dripping sweetness of Your own yearning. You shower the world with the blessings of Your presence, all Your playfulness carefully subsumed in the steadiness of mature wisdom. For when the harvest beckons You rise above us Neither old nor young, but ripe with the richness of experience. I would wrap myself about then, in the golden cloak of Your presence, possibly to stave off the winter’s chill, possibly merely to burrow deep into the steadiness of Your ancient arms. In the ever colder nights of autumn’s blessings, sometimes my only prayer is this: that in some lifetime I might be permitted to grow old wrapped in the embrace of the harvest moon. It is not my wyrd; but in the face of such glorious beauty, if beauty be the word for such divine magnificence, such a wish occasionally wends its way upwards in the darkness. Let the moon be my addiction. Let me breath Him in, His essence, in adoration. Let His beauty be the intoxicant shimmering in my veins. Let it be the drug upon which I gnaw so ravenously. Let it be my first and final feast deep in the bowels of my heart. You come with terror tightly reined in, tightly controlled, tightly concealed, yet all together there. Gracious and proud, we bend our knees before you. there is no other choice. Mighty Sinthgunt, weaver of time so like Your Father, Yours is the chaos within the flaming star, Yours the nothingness within the blackest void You have seen time's end and within its cycles maintain order. Suckled in the Void and Audhumla was Your nursemaid. Even Odin's whispered promises held no allure for You. You are pristine in Your power; and I hail You: Mighty Maga. | AuthorThis page is for all those who, like me, love Mani dearly. ArchivesJune 2013 CategoriesAll |
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