My Writings

The Bull

There is no more fear, no more passion. Only ice. Light and gentle, ice from the frozen void of my birth. That same, familiar warmth, the blazing sun of truth, melting the thin layer that used to cover my eyes, as if a spell was suddenly shattered like glass by a war hammer.

Above it all, I stand, dancing with feet, like roots, planted in the ground. The bull in me has risen, the aurochs, horns heavy, unencumbered by them. Ur. Ur byþ anmod ond oferhyrned. For the longest time, I was a skeleton key, but now – the foot to knock down? A door, a gate of destiny.

Great Bull, my star ascends towards your high expression, as warriors dine in the halls of their lord, as kinsmen come together like a bundle of branches. Firm ground beneath my feet, teeth ground down to dust, but a mind still standing.

A breath of air for my burning lungs, flames subdued, now it was me who was set alight, enkindled, the oceans of my world boiling, red, a rite of passage, purification, a troubled revival, and the first opening of the lungs.

I did not cry at birth.


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