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To act how those around you hope,
That you would never wish to go,
Not to actions of horror or terror,
But to let go of the social etiquette barrier,
For inside us all is that wild human,
Standing out with heart beating,
Laughing at the world we are so tied to,
Dancing with ideas outside of truth,

For I wish to have that same effect,
That in Norse myth the great lady had,
So far beyond control from normal borders,
She changes the minds of those with in top order,
For what was really feared from her voice,
Is that the play of the regular is a choice,
Scared they lashed out at her,

But funny that in modern we hold a time to finally be bold,
Now that speech is free and terror doesn’t hold,
We of the wyrd are holding on to other,
Bringing damning words to single format and structure,

Free radicals dancing to those in our lives,
Bringing perspective to how we pain and strive,
I love this reality even with its flaws,
And by proposing ideas you drop others jaws,
For if we are too stuck to modern frames,
We can become the automaton without brain,
Many could call that a play to nothing,
Circling our minds into a daze of confounding,
Yet laughing you break through with ideas never thought,
And break barriers where others are taught,
Then any interaction of you to the world,
Brings new ideas and creativity even from you being bold,

I like to look different it brings conversation,
I like to say absurdity it makes them question their direction,
And all the while they will sit back thinking poor you,
Yet you have analyzed all of them into your view,
And bonds can be brought through people of huge conflict,
Giving a reason to why our ancestors used psychedelics,
For the witches so bad by Christian time,
Give meaning to the idea of the others outside,
And realize that the world is a game of the nice dressed,
Who really make up a small percent…

Then we are music makers the trumpeters of outside,
The man at the mountaintop with different eyes,
Who sees this world into the next aeon,
Making sure to flavor the time in action,

For they of common always fear what is different,
Why Hecate and the ladies turned into nightmares sent,
Yet they are the truth,
That the ordered model is forcing into the stew,
And that if the people living towards nature borders,
Told the secrets they saw from observing in horror,
Then I understand why they warn of the other,
Because it challenges and complicates the simple cultural smother,
That tells you that there is nothing to be gained,
Sitting in the forest feeling the rain,

That says to worship you must be inside a special construct,
While the real prophets have always sat on mountain tops,
Laid down in glens and sat under trees,
The visions of triple death begin to conceive,
The true knee to bend and give respect to as you knelt,
For the triple death that Gullveig felt,
Echoes initiation and trial by fire,
A feeling I hope we try to aspire,
For no pulpit gives you the image of what is around you,
I think that is why in the constructs of man we are consumed,
A thought so stifling it could bring doom,
You combat by intoxication sitting in the mountain dew,

For no matter how they try to slay,
A superior power to society Gullveig did play,
And if the little we know of Eleusis’s rites,
Showed that insight is from the outside,
Remembering when we were as creature of the woods,
Remembering we were a creature of the plains,
Then this retrofit of cities is still foreign to our brains,
For change takes millennia,
And we are closer to Egypt’s glory then all the time it took to create cities,
Then call back to the wild with a beautiful heart,
Knowing that man is an integral part,

I love this world even to death,
Which I sit taking into each dance,
Three different rites to bring you to mind,
Where the Volva makes fun of Odin’s pride,
Three different trials of three different plants,
The effects bring a clarity that few have,
And realize that the impact you make,
Is not just to other humans but what you strip and take,
I sit back inhaling as the world dances in front of me,
And my mind drifts to different reality,
Let the glory from the wicked come three fold,
For otherwise life seems trivial not bold,
Let tragedy give context and fear bring insight,
I wish to sing with the birds,
I wish to dance in the woods,
I wish to greet the world,
And give praise to life,
Like Sigurd I taste the dragon’s heart,
Like Fionn I taste the salmon’s fat,
And realize like Gullveig’s heart they bring knowledge of the end,
But at what cost do you gain this primal part,
And notice that the volva in the Voluspa is sought,
Far away from the others where Odin seeks her out,
With knowledge of all with thumb in mouth,
Other people become hard to sit and stare without,
Feeling the pain of repetition in your brain…

Watching knowing they will make the same mistakes…
If wisdom is crying out to riders going full speed at the cliff,
A distance between the sage and fellows blindly ridding to the rift,
Yet the sitter outside is never allowed back in,
And like Gullveig they are often persecuted,
A problem that leads the society to end,
For the outsider is the source for the info within,
And when killing or ridicule of them leads to a blindness within,
To problems that the common way blankets within,
Then without the catalysts how do we change what can be within,
I choose to be on the ride to within,
Like the boar bring me inside my mind that sits within,
And when sitting with peers the time to release what is within,
I’ll wear on my sleeve and make them see what is within,
Or else we will all only stare at what is outside,
A material plane built to please man but not see natures side,
Never reaching to the world in the wild that birthed God,
Leaves men stumbling to the temples where he died by fraud,
Sending donations to actors not mental giants of idealist beauty displayed even under trial,
With no context we burn the world down and smile…

So come from the ash like a brand new babe,
When you are burned three times still walk out un-phased,
Stand in the group inspiring them to change their view,
And lash back at the fraud others point to as truth,
For as Diogenes may have pointed out to Alexander,
From bones no one distinguishes any man after he is laid into wonder,
And only a man who is himself and even in wish only wants to be himself than any other life,
Truly knows himself even in strife…



Sean Stutzman