You, my messenger
~ Shilabhattarika

You, my messenger
are a tender sprig
but I trust you with a secret dispatch.
Go to the wind-tossed forest
where that dark man
awaits me.
Black clouds trouble the heavens,
Spring breezes stir and the heart
also stirs.
But go to him safely.
May the gods keep a close
watch
over your art.

Shailendra Tree of India by J.M. Garg

This poem makes me think of Angrboda.

She does everything
~ Stephanie Bennett-Henry

She does everything with passion stained hands.

Looks at the world with burning, fire-lit eyes,

loves with a splintering chaos, deep in her bones

and smiles with a secret mouthful of mischief.

She feels everything all at once or not at all,

with a soul that runs deeper than any hell,

and more intense than any heaven you know.

The world isn’t ready for the havoc in her blood

and the storm on her skin,

but she doesn’t stop for anyone;

And she walks with thunder in her shoes.

Angrboda from The Giants Tarot. Image by Nicole Cardiff

Bindrune for Strong Foundation for Growth And Achievement of Goal: Erda, Berkana, Stan

If you are new to working with bindrunes, I suggest you read the introductory bindrune post here, then return to this post to read about this specific bindrune.

A tall tree needs deep roots; a tall building needs a strong foundation. This bindrune creates an energetic foundation for you to build on as you move towards your goals, and gives energy to help you stay focused on completing the work and reaching your goals.

Erda (brown): Erda grounds the energy firmly in the earth, in practical matters, in physical activity and positive accomplishment. Related in shape to Othala, it also helps you draw upon your inheritance of strength, will, and luck, and all the other qualities your family background bestows upon you.

Berkana (green): The rune of the birch tree brings in the vitality of spring growth. This rune calls in plentiful physical energy, regeneration, and growth on all levels.

Stan (grey): The rune of the capstone, the final stone placed in an arch or other structure as the symbol of completion. This rune provides encouragement to keep working, keep going, keep focused on the goal.

There are two variations of this bindrune. Sketch out both, and then draw the one that feels right for you.

You could put a drop of rosemary oil for focus, or a drop of your favorite oil on it to reinforce the energy with your personal scent. You can also use a magical oil, such as a hoodoo oil like Star of Success, or other type of specially prepared oil.

Ground your energies, give yourself credit for your progress, and keep your eyes on the capstone. You can do it, one day at a time, one action at a time.

Poem 92
~Gaspara Stampa

As when a mountain oak, struck and beaten
From every side by fierce, contrary winds
(One being stronger now, and then the other),
Thousands of times seems on the point of falling,
Just so my life, my weak and fragile powers
—Beaten by hope at times, at times by fear,
When my two shining lights are far away—
Can’t tell which is the better way to lean.
Sometimes my lover’s letters reassure me,
Then other people’s words make me despair.
He says, “I come,” the others, “He’s not coming.”
May Death, more than her wont, take pity on me
And kindly lift me out of such great pain,
Unless I see my sun before too long.

Tulips
~ Sylvia Plath

The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here.
Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in.
I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly
As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands.
I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.
I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses
And my history to the anesthetist and my body to surgeons.

They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff
Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut.
Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.
The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble,
They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps,
Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another,
So it is impossible to tell how many there are.

My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water
Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently.
They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep.
Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage—
My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox,
My husband and child smiling out of the family photo;
Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.

I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boat
stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.
They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations.
Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolley
I watched my teaset, my bureaus of linen, my books
Sink out of sight, and the water went over my head.
I am a nun now, I have never been so pure.

I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted
To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.
How free it is, you have no idea how free—
The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,
And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.
It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them
Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.

The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.
Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe
Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.
Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.
They are subtle : they seem to float, though they weigh me down,
Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their color,
A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.

Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.
The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me
Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,
And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow
Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,
And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself.
The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.

Before they came the air was calm enough,
Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.
Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise.
Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river
Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.
They concentrate my attention, that was happy
Playing and resting without committing itself.

The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.
The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals;
They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,
And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes
Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.
The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,
And comes from a country far away as health.

Tulips (Image from HDImagesnew.com)