I am for the god to whom I bound myself with blood and ink, metal and fire, and words both said and unsaid. I am for the Sky-treader and the Mother of Sleipnir, for Laufey’s son, for the Father of Monsters, Odin’s blood-brother, first of Angrboda’s consorts, husband of Sigyn. I am even for the Breaker of Worlds, though I know He will crush and devour me, in the end.
I am for the wide open sky and the closeness of an embrace. I am for the deep night of the primeval forest and the serene firmness of the high, walled fortress. I am for the dances that are danced and the songs that are sung. I am for sex and joy and sweetness untainted, for the clever quip and the knowing wink, for slyness and swiftness and the twist of the cutpurse’s knife. I am for my flame-haired Interloper, who turns my perceptions on their ear and turns on His heel to rearrange my life, just when I think all is settled and safe and boring.
I am for the Fool and the Wise One, the Trickster and the suffering God Who Struggles. I am for the Lie-smith who never lies to Himself, the Sly One who is forever caught in traps of His own making. I am for He who flies high and He who waits deep below the surface of the earth, and they are one and the same.
And thus, I am not for your lies. I am not for your politics, your games of who is and isn’t important enough to respect, your arbitrary stepladders of worth, your dreams of renown from the very people you mock and belittle. I am not for your factions and cliques, for your struggles to prove who is best by casting others down. I am not for your cynically manufactured bullshit. I am not for lying to myself that any of that is at all important. I am not for you.
I am for my god, my fulltrui, my Beloved, friend of my body and spirit, heart of my heart, He whose name shapes my world, He whose essence roils in the twisting channels of my veins, He whose blazing might roars in my ears and dazzles my eyes with its awful, wonderful beauty. I am for Him.
I am His, and that is all you need to know about who I am.