Posted in [witchcraft & wonder]

Living with honor: Asatru

My name is not my own,
I borrow it from my ancestors,
I must return it unstained.
My honor is not my own,
I borrow it from my descendants,
I must give it to them unbroken.
My blood is not my own,
but a gift that I carry,
to generations yet unborn.

I’ve borrowed this quote from an Asatru Alliance Facebook post, and I find it wonderfully inspiring. It reminds me that we need to live with honor, grateful for the gifts we have.

I’ve been looking at Asatru as part of a comparative theology study with my coven. While Pagan, they are very distinct in their practices and views. I love the idea that we are responsible totally for passing the torch without blowing it out, so to speak.

It’s hard to live with honor these days. With instant access to forums like Facebook and Myspace, it’s far to easy to let one’s fingers speak before one’s mind filters the words. For example, what could’ve been a quickly-ended tiff at work on day, thanks to a Facebook wall post, may become a week-long fight between multiple people.

My name is, in my opinion, pretty “unstained”. I don’t have a bad reputation, nor have I ever. My honor is important to me, though I’ve often called it other things. For example, it’s more important to me that I keep my word than appease a friend by giving a promise I can’t keep, just to make them feel better. And I strongly feel that everything I do in this life will reflect how I raise my children, and what they see as right and wrong.

My ethics were built by the fibers of my mother’s life and my father’s presence. My mother didn’t teach right and wrong, nor did she use any face-forward methodology for teaching us children ethical behavior. Yet we learned… to “do unto others”, to pass on good fortune, to show compassion and patience (especially when we feel resistant, since that’s often when they’re most needed). And my father was in and out with the military so much, but he showed us strength. Not in defending our country, or any of that hyper-patriotic nonsense. But in the way he worked his job, enjoyable or not, and provided for us. He made a home, and he wasn’t a terrifying (“wait til your father gets home”) or tyrannical (“you’ll do it because I said so”) presence. Instead, he was Dad. Father figure 1a.

I can only hope that my life, when measured by the afterlife I believe in, comes up to being worth the time I spend on this plane. I want to touch people’s lives in a positive way, to inspire as a Muse would, and to create joy and laughter in my wake.

Author:

bookdragon, poet, witch

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