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104 lines
3.1 KiB
HTML
104 lines
3.1 KiB
HTML
<title>Fehu</title>
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<p><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Runic_letter_fehu.svg"><img src="../img/runes/fehu.svg" alt="Fehu rune" title="Fehu rune"></a></p>
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<h1>Fehu</h1>
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<p>Traditional meaning: cattle, wealth</p>
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<p>Meanings when upright:</p>
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<ul>
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<li>creative fire</li>
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<li>synergy</li>
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<li>networking and creative connections</li>
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<li>self-knowledge</li>
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<li>good luck / hope</li>
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<li>fortunate outcome</li>
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</ul>
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<p>Meanings when inverted:</p>
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<ul>
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<li>something is blocking luck</li>
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<li>hoarding one's wealth wrongly</li>
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</ul>
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<p>Fehu can be useful for:</p>
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<ul>
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<li>lightening depression</li>
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<li>easing conflicts</li>
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<li>inspiration</li>
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<li>strengthening psychic powers</li>
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<li>promotion of personal evolution</li>
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</ul>
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<hr>
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<p>Anglo-Saxon rune poem:</p>
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<blockquote>Feoh byþ frofur fira gehwylcum;<br/>sceal Ðeah manna gehwylc miclun hyt dælan<br/>gif he wile for drihtne domes hleotan.</blockquote>
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<blockquote>Wealth is a comfort to all men;<br/>yet must every man bestow it freely,<br/>if he wish to gain honour in the sight of the Lord.</blockquote>
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<p>Norwegian rune poem:</p>
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<blockquote>Fé vældr frænda róge;<br/>føðesk ulfr í skóge.</blockquote>
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<blockquote>Wealth is a source of discord among kinsmen;<br/>the wolf lives in the forest.</blockquote>
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<p>A modern poem:</p>
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<blockquote>
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<p>"You know exactly what kind of future I want,"<br/>
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you replied<br/>
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one night<br/>
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when anxiety did haunt<br/>
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my skin, my ligaments, my every bone,<br/>
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wondering when comes my time to return home.</p>
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<p>Let the seals<br/>
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be broken; let the truth<br/>
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be revealed!<br/>
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It's been a long time since I let myself feel<br/>
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anything other than monotony, playing the marathon<br/>
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runner in sight of the finish line,<br/>
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the last of the homework<br/>
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or typing 'til midnight.</p>
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<p>This draconic blood I could never still,<br/>
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but still I managed to amass myself a hill<br/>
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of words not spoken, not written down,<br/>
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enough to bury me or in them myself drown.<br/>
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For, I must admit, I was planning<br/>
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on being at least somewhat dead by now<br/>
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with no need for verse or musical tone,<br/>
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just coma's deep sleep 'til you come<br/>
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and finally bring me home.</p>
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<p>"You know what kind of future I desire,"<br/>
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you affirm<br/>
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as I burn<br/>
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on my own funeral pyre<br/>
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over and over again every day,<br/>
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impatient for egress together to Sablade.</p>
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<p>All the writing guides I've ever read say<br/>
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that it's kind of like learning to ride a bike.<br/>
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You never really forget, but sometimes<br/>
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you have to get off and go for a hike<br/>
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dragging the damn thing alongside<br/>
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you until the road is flat and smooth again.</p>
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<p>And sometimes a friend<br/>
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lends<br/>
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you a hand.</p>
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<p>I turn my head to the sunsetting sky<br/>
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bleeding purple and blue and discarded peach rinds.<br/>
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Half-delirious, you're not far behind<br/>
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me<br/>
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as I hold up my hand to catch the waking breeze.<br/>
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A head on my shoulder, a hand on my belt.<br/>
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"Do you hear the leaves rustling? <strong>It's our wealth.</strong>"</p>
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</blockquote>
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