Loki Heard My Name

Loki heard my name, but fears to look me in the eye.
To bluff those surrounded with their own demons leaves only truths to stare back at him

Loki Heard my name, but fears to play with me
To play with those who have been played leaves only truths to stare back at him

Loki heard my name, but fears to flyt with me
To flyt with those who breathes with the fabric of their own soul will return with bare truths

Loki heard my name but dares not turn his back.
To turn away from those stabbed countless times, know what’s needed to do the same.

Loki heard my name, but knew not to tease,
To tease the battle-wounded gives wrath from the valkyrie.

Loki may go to his daughter Hel for a box of my last breath,
Only to find out she keeps it safe from my own incursions to her domain for the same thing.

Hel fears me while holding bandages ready for my coming.
Odin warmly prepares the table
Valkyries ready their steeds,

Loki knows my name but I’m not the one afraid.

Temple of Valhalla’s Ships

Let Odin walk beside me on every road I go. For one eye can guide more than two.

Let Thor protect me from the storms you need help with, to weather the worst.      

Let Tyr give me courage when I have to fight and a shield when I need to defend.

Let Freyja guard and safely keep my soul while I heal from burnt wingtips.

Let Freyr grant me pleasure in my loving and my loving of others

Let Bragi give me eloquence in the words I say and share the spark amongst others.

Let Aedgir keep the oceans calm when I sail uncharted waters 

Let Skadi guide me to see my compass through life when I need direction.

Let Vor reveal everything of worth so I have the knowledge to choose worth over face.

Let Idun remind me to bathe and hydrate, to give me the tools to be strong.

Let Heimdall watch, For every step I take is my own and together with those around me

Let Frigga weave a spell keeping me from harm and learn to live without it.

And finally:
Never let Loki know my name.

(Based and inspired on a poem by John Anthony Fingleton)

Archenar’s Illumination

a poem by myself

There are many days I feel all alone,
no matter how large the hug or forest I am in.

There are many days I don’t know if I’ll see the next,
no matter the help I get with my monsters.

There are many days I believe more in the potential
of others than in my own,
no matter how deep I am grounded within myself..

No matter how bad I get or how lost I feel,
I wish I could promise to hold onto hope.

I want to be greater than what I suffer,
because in the darkness,
there can be… discovery,
there can be… possibility,
there can be… freedom,
once somebody illuminates it.

I still share my darkness and my illuminations through my life,
because that act can unconsciously give others the strength and
inspiration to do the same for those who crave to overcome
their own monsters.

– Poem named after the only star I could see through the window during my first of 5 clinical admissions during this PTSD crisis.
– After reading, if you’d like, listen the song “Dona Nobis Pacem 2” by Max Richter. As I feel it has a strong emotional connection to the spirit of the poem.
– Artwork made by myself, vector art based off photo references of a misty path through a forest in Ireland.

A Letter to 14yr Old Me

 Dear 14yr old Davin,

Your confused about the world, confused about yourself and what it means in relation to the big wide world out there, that’s okay. I’m here for you. I’m here to share some future advice.

You just tried telling your therapist and parents something big about you. You accepted their answer at face value and terrified from what your therapist has said at being labelled as a sexual deviant and have to leave your family forever. Its okay to feel that way right now and you won’t feel like that forever. Growing up for you has been different than it has been for many other kids and that doesn’t mean your broken or can’t be fixed.

It won’t be long until you don’t have your parents controlling you more than you already know. Just try your best to keep out of trouble till you leave home at the earliest possible moment. Its okay, its not as bad as you think, it will take time to learn to be yourself. You may live with your parents for less than 20 years, but you can do so much more with everything you do in the next 20 after that, let alone the rest of your life.

I know you thought you could take this secret of being a girl on the inside to the grave, and that’s okay. But you will learn what you love in life and find the right moment to step out and be yourself, it may take a while, but don’t ever feel anything is too late in the day, the week, the month, the year, the decade, the life, to do.

Over time you will learn new words and emotions, unlock memories and be true to yourself, even though you don’t know who that is yet, just keep trying and its okay to trust your gut.

There is much advice I can give but you already know it, and please don’t scream at that. The answers make sense when you are old enough, and it’s something you learn that you cannot rush and be “more mature” It doesn’t mean you should ignore it either, do your best and you can sleep easier knowing just that in time.

After all advice, instructions and commandments people give, your journey in the future is your choice still and the right people will see that and those are the ones you will grow with.

You will love and be loved, you will be surprised, and you will be prepared and learn how to adapt. 

The best is yet to come, you’ll be okay.

Your Future You

My Gender Journey Personified

 I walk across the room, the floor polished by the heavens starlight itself washing over it every night. Imbued with the shimmer of the air and the glint of hope from distant worlds staring up at us from their own dreams and aspirations.

There are pillars to a ceiling, white gleaming marble with an iridescent shimmer with the flow of energy flowing down around it. Every footstep placed made no echo as if the pillars themselves were reaching out to hug the air to keep all calm, yet not casting a glow around.

The walls were not walls, they were mirrors made of the reflection you see when you look close in one’s eye. An unease to look anywhere but down at your feet as you walk. If you tried to look forward too much, it looked as if it would boil and reach out. Looking up isn’t an option either, the ceiling was made of black cloth that foamed and contorted if you looked at it as if preparing to strike. I would keep looking at my feet. It never seemed like I was moving forward, or backward or left or right, just walking. 

I found an arrow on the ground, The shaft made of ash, The fletching from a hawk and the head of Orichalcum. Picking it up it was almost like it wanted to follow, the slightest push, tug, shake gave it enormous momentum. It was hard to hold, any sudden movements and it would jerk in that direction. Every movement had to be intentional as I walk, wherever I’m walking.

Over time, an indeterminable amount of time I found another. But this time it was the opposite, it didn’t feel heavy, but like it was always moving through jelly. I tried to hold both in the same hand, trying to negate the effects of the other. But my hand would keep bleeding so I would alternate and just walk slower.

Over an even more indeterminable amount of time. My eyes were blurred, tear filled. My hands red, no desire to let go, no reason to keep holding on though. Just a starlight shimmer you feel like if you stare at through the floor long enough you may unlock the heartbeat of the cosmos.

But I tripped. No time to gasp, cry, yell; but only a split moment to just, accept.

So I fell to the floor.

Before my knee hit the floor a hand came out and held my knee, stopping my fall to the floor but into the billowing white fabric encompassing me.In pain inside and out, confused of the suddenity of it all; took their time to adjust to their eyes to look up.

 Two arms, bound in cloth and leather was letting me go kneeling on the ground and stepping back. Her hands were worn, but the touch was fresh. Her gown was there but not there, a tidy form that seemed to wrap itself around here as she sat down. Her clothes had seen battle but were fresh, woven into the patterns of the cosmos as if sewing herself into reality. Her cloak settled behind her, revealing a pair of wings, but not angelic, these were battle worn as if they’d been through a tempest storm and with the same energy of these pillars. Still trying to figure out what I’m seeing, a flash of green and red was a hawk at her side sitting on a pole. The same feathers seen on the arrows. Beside this lady was a shield and a bow, these arrows must belong to her.

So I reached out my hands holding them both together, she seemed a million miles away but cloth enough I can reach out without bending. But my hands were empty. I look up and see she was holding them, her hands were bleeding, I look down and mine were not. So I look at her. 

You could see written on her face, a stoic defender who’s seen the battles of war but with enough warmth coming off her skin that she can put aside what she has to help me. But the eyes, blue, piercing, like my own how I look in the mirror when no one is around. It dawned on me that this was one and the same, dótti, valkyrja. A chooser of the slain, willing to help no matter what, she saw my battle and chose to save me, because we are one and the same.

So I turn around on my seat.

And stare at the fog, at the ready.