valarltd | Thoughts before travel

Hermes Psychopompous, who guides the souls of the dead to the River Styx,
hear the cry of your devotee as she undertakes such a task.
It may be the River Jordan and not Styx,
but I walk the last mile of the path
with one who has served you and Persephone all unknowing.
Be with us both.
Let our way to the shore be smooth.
May we walk it at the right speed.
Bear me up as I bear her up.
Michael. Azrael. Samael. Await us.
Wrap your handmaid gently in your dark wings and bear her across.
Gentle Jesus, welcome her, who loves and serves you so well.
And beloved Persephone, dry my tears as I watch and cannot follow.

I am the Crone,
the dark mother to whom all return.
The beloved embrace the dying cry for.
I am North.
I am Earth.
Mountains and barren peaks
from which winter sweeps down.
The sharp crags where nothing grows,
the empty fields after the harvest.
I am Winter.
The frost in my hair kin to that in the furrows.
Death is my purview.
I guide the dying.
I comfort the living.
I stand like a mountain between my people and trouble.
I create the place where rebirth can happen.
I am the Crone.