'Weren't you going to honor the Alcis this morning?' Shit. Sigh. 'I'll do it tomorrow.' I had a moment's respite then, 'Tomorrow needs to be for her. You should do this today.' Errr- I'm truly grumbling now. I really just wanted to sleep. 'Why are you pushing me?' I ask. 'I thought they annoyed you?' A wry grin comes at me, 'They do. But they have been kind and helpful to you. You adore them. You should maintain and cultivate the relationship.'
Clearly I'm not going to sleep anymore anyway so I get up. It is still pitch black outside so I sit and meditate for a time. I have a sense for honoring the Alcis at dawn. There is no rule that says I have to and I haven't always. But I sure like to. It just feels right. So I wile the time away; I get my devotional poetry, set aside the wine and eggs. I collect the candle and the blot bowl and I wait.
I'm in the Pacific Northwest and as is typical of this time of year the early morning sky is charcoal grey. Without an electronic gizmo of some sort it can be difficult to determine the actual time of dawn and I don't want to fire up the computer so I just wait until I sense it is time.
I go out to the little mini grove of pear trees. I give respect and lean down within the space and clear some foliage clutter. It has been windy, I reposition the horse and untangle some of the ribbons from the tree limbs. I then quickly step back. Over time the Alcis have firmly but gently set limits on me. Initially I was allowed to clamber all over Them and their grove. But now I am to behave with more decorum, more respect. I am not their priest. I am the only one here and as such can clean their space but I am to no longer tarry within. It is similar to how one would allow a three year old some liberties but as the child ages they are taught manners.
So I stand outside the grove for a moment. I've placed the blot bowl, the eggs, candle, and wine. I light the candle and just stop a moment. This morning feels like kneeling. Sometimes I stand, sometimes I sit, sometimes I kneel. Kneeling is called for this morning.
I kneel and read my devotion. The sky is still grey, as I read the wind slowly picks up from the east which I am facing. I pour the wine, crack the eggs, and finish my devotion. As I complete the last hail I look up, the skyline has suddenly become belted with the pinks, blues, and purples of dawn.
The wind has risen more; it is now enough that the bamboo wind chimes are vigorously clinking musically. I quiet my mind and hear Their voices through the sound.
'We're glad you are here.'
'Thank you for cleaning the space.'
Teasing, laughing- one has to remember They are youthful Gods.
As usual, they rarely come without rendering some assistance. The past few days have been emotionally rougher than some others.
Another tease and joke about a personal matter. I blush, duck my head, and then one leans down more seriously, 'We watch you. You have it going on!' [huh?] and then a short pause with a more direct look, 'Never give up.'
I realize it is time. I thank them and rise. It is wet out- typical of my region. The frost giants have scattered their remnants of a glittery dew. It is safe to leave the candle for now in the dim dawn's belt. I do so, I can see it from my window flickering in the waning murk providing me a bit more of a connection to Them.
I adore the Alcis.
Alcis, we hail you!
Great are your blessings, graces from Twins side by side.
The dokana is your symbol, a doorway, an entrance and an exit, life and death, beginning and ending. Duality is yours in the hidden grove where priests dressed as women hold up the sacrificed hart and dance to your name.
You box and run, cherished are your athletes.
You ride and hunt, cherished are your horsemen.
You heal and nurture, cherished are your faithful.
Vanir Gods, youthful Gods. You gently lead with your ancient wisdom and for this we honor Thee!
Hail to your cycle, your Jera, your reminder of summer and winter.
The call of the bull elk sounds, we enter Frost-time, be our pillars of support. Let us feel your blessings of the season, let us huddle in your comfort, the knowing of your divine presence.
At Dellingr’s door I lie before you the mead, the egg, the blood of the bull, the harvest of the fields. Accept my offering, my devotion.