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  • Writer's pictureSara Ault

Sacred Trees, the Roots of Our Folk

Donar's Oak, once mightily grew, in the lands of our ancestors. Chopped down by Boniface, much as the sacred Irminsul, and many a sacred grove across Europe which succumbed as well. Defaced by those bent on destroying the culture and faith of their ancestors and kinsmen, for the empty promises of an alien cult. The blow of the axes upon the trunks, matched only by the blow of axes upon the unwavering necks of those who refused to submit. But much as the Oak once felled, the old ways have sprouted anew from roots which remained untouched, hidden beneath the surface, biding it's time for when the conditions are right. Awaken! Your roots run deep. Our past sprouts anew. That which was, is again. From the mighty fecund Earth we spring, reaching towards the heavens, the children of the Sun rejoice! Wotan has risen, and the memories, once thought lost, are stirred. To be forgotten, or fate is not. The Gods of our Folk have been woken from an eon long slumber and shall not be bidden back to sleep. A flame has been kindled from ashes thought cold. Flames once kindled, need only be fed, and tended. The foundation upon which great things are to be built, was laid long ago. We need only be willing to work for it and remain tru. Let lesser beings wallow in their baseness and be consumed by the status quo as their unbridled egos crash and burn. Nidhoggr is going to become one obese bastard by the looks of things.

Folkbuilder Ryan Harlan

Article originally published in, The Voice; August 2018


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