S. Reicher wrote a poem for Hati Moonchaser, but Mani figures strongly in it. You can read it here:
Graceful, courtly, and gallant,
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,
moaning His anguish
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
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
the flow of time.
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
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,
Let His beauty be the intoxicant
shimmering in my veins.
Let it be the drug upon which I gnaw
Let it be my first and final feast
deep in the bowels of my heart.
You come with terror
tightly reined in,
yet all together there.
Gracious and proud,
we bend our knees before you.
there is no other choice.
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
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: