nicstoirm:

I ask the De ocus anDe for guidance
to help me be who I long to be.
I ask the De ocus anDe for guidance
From the land to the sky to the sea.

I ask that Brighid will teach me
ways to illuminate my life.
I ask that Brighid will teach me
ways to eliminate my strife.

I ask that Lugh will gift me
with talents that are mine.
I ask that Lugh will gift me
with talents that will shine.

I ask that the Morrigan will show me
paths to own my personal sovereignty.
I ask that the Morrigan will show me
paths to purge my personal poverty.

I ask that Manannan will help me
with the rough waters of the seas.
I ask that Manannan will help me
with seeing the forest for the trees.

I ask the De ocus anDe for guidance

to help me be who I long to be.
I ask the De ocus anDe for guidance
Blessings upon blessings be.

phoenyxoftheashes:

Hail Brighid
Exalted one of the flame
Lady of water and fire
Healer, poet, and smith
Heal me when I’m sick
Let my word be impeccable
Forge me to be strong
I praise you and your name
Hail to you, exalted Lady.

houndofthemorrigan:

Whiteness is a construct based on sociopolitical inequality, not a valid cultural identity for humans or gods and ungods.

If you are fascist, a white supremacist, racist, anti-Semitic, a TERF, anti-feminist, or some other flavor of What the Hell Is Wrong with You, You Asshole (WtHIWwY,YA), then I invite you to unfollow this blog.  If you are any of these or related things and I find out, then I will block you.  No expression of my polytheist devotion, even one as simple and minor as a Tumblr sideblog, is for consumption by a WtHIWwY,YA.  My polytheism is inherently political. 

And for those who try to divorce politics from your religion, be aware that refusing to take a stance is itself a political stance. Neutrality becomes collusion when the well-being of human lives are at stake. (Pun intended, witchy peeps.)  Religion has always carried political capital, whether anyone likes that fact or not.  Any service I provide, any momentary sense of connection to one’s gods this shrine blog offers, will not be abused by the stupidity and bullshit of any
WtHIWwY,YA.

~ @bean-chaointe

atchiu-ruad:

bean-chaointe:

themodernsouthernpolytheist:

nameless-shrine:

brigid, the slam poet, working woman, and community medic. the firebrand who does it all.

the morrígan, watching, waiting. striking down corrupt rulers where they stand. rallying protestors in the streets.

manannán mac lir, wanderer who blesses those kind enough to spare a dollar. who blesses the fringes of society. who keeps us afloat in dark times.

the dagda, ladling soup from a cauldron that never runs dry- giving out water bottles in sweltering summer heat, and warm blankets to fend off winter’s chill.

aengus óg, blessing lovers’ bonds the world over. in brightly lit pride parades and midnight alleyways alike.

the tuatha dé danann have always been hard to grasp: we see them not always in the epics but in the turn of the earth. in land, sea, and sky.

they might not be all-present, but they have always been here.

Flidais, exploring abandoned buildings with trees growing through their roofs, leavin food and blankets for the people livin there and remindin them they are worthy of love.

Áine, makin a circuit and dancin at Beale Street Musicfest, Afropunk, Bonnaroo, Hangout Fest, Voodoo Experience, any Pride she can find, and everywhere in between, handin out flowers and educatin folks on collective liberation and ecological conservation.

Lugh, the new handyman in town who volunteers his time and teaches those he helps how to maintain what he’s repaired or done, from fences to taxes to hangin the neighborhood grandma’s new ceilin fan. He’s not Lugh Ildánach for nothin.

Scáthach, handin out fliers for the new martial arts instructors in town, hostin MMA watch parties, and encouragin folks to learn self-defense. Can’t be caught unprepared against the rising fascist element.

Griánne, scourin the shelves of Michael’s and JoAnn’s, bound and determined to find just the right shades of teal, fuchsia, and green yarn for the baby blanket she’s knittin for the neighbors. The baby needs to stay warm, but she won’t be the one to pin the baby into predestined gender expectations.

Badb Catha, the whistleblower who exposes the lies of those in power and inspires revolution in wounded hearts.

The Morrígan, who stood behind Native shoulders at Standing Rock, who fights for the sovereign rights of indigenous peoples.

Macha, who reminds the world that motherhood doesn’t soften but sharpens, that so-called ‘allyship’ is fucking empty without action to give it meaning.

Macha, who sees the glass ceiling above her and cracks it between her teeth with a slash of a grin.

Nemain, whose news headlines strike fear into the hearts of politicians and crack the foundations of their office.

Maeve, who champions the human right for access to safe abortions, who catches the poisonous words thrown by anti-choicers with shriveled hearts and hurls them back with snarling justice.

Brighid, who watches toxic water run yellow over her hands in Flint and remembers the son she lost in a foreign land for rich men’s senseless war; she won’t let any more children die for someone else’s profit.

The Dagda, who also runs a support group for male rape survivors when he’s not at the soup kitchen, who knows how to reach those who have lost their voice through the language of music.

Ogma, whose decades of experience tempers the idealistic naivete of the young into something passionate but deep that can endure the long, ugly fight ahead of them.

Airmid, who teaches the skills of foraging and wildcrafting and sustainable food co-ops, the dangers of monoculture, Food Not Bombs, the power of ethnobotany in forests ravaged by uncontrolled wildfires.

Ériu, who reminds the diaspora that their ancestors didn’t escape oppression in one land in order to facilitate it in another one.

Aengus Óg, swindling the greedy by giving them exactly what they ask for, who defends people from predatory landlords, banks, and exploitative employers. Let them have the best of everything as they demand and let them choke on it.

Flidais taking in the abandoned, seeing them to a safe place to lay their heads, and strutting, defiantly radiant, in take back the night marches- the night was always hers anyway, and who would deny her? You? Protective and captivating and bold, wine on her lips, a laugh in her throat, and blood under her nails.

Nuada, teaching wisdom to leaders willing to learn, instructing them in how to lead with cunning and integrity, to stand defiant in the face of despotism- and teaching also how to recognize the time to step aside and let the next generation take its turn to shine