Odin at the Well of Laguz
Odin, Veiled Wanderer, Lord of the hanged star and the whisper beneath thought, come now beside the black waters where the roots of Yggdrasil drink from the womb of eternity.
Laguz rises— a silver serpent of becoming, a chalice overturned from the hidden sea of the soul.
By its current, loosen the iron knots within me. Wash from my spirit the dust of false roads, the salt of ancient grief, the names I wore before I remembered my own.
All-Father, you who drank from Mímir’s depth and purchased wisdom with sight, teach me the language of waters— the oracle spoken in rain, the rune concealed in tears, the secret geometry of tide and blood.
Let Laguz open the moonlit gate of intuition. Let dream become compass, instinct become raven, and silence become the mouth of the gods.
May I move without violence against the sacred current. May I bend without breaking, descend without drowning, and surrender without losing the sovereign flame within.
Odin, Rune-Father, cast your spear across my darkness and mark the river-road before me.
Where the waters deepen, grant me courage.
Where the mists gather, grant me second sight.
Where the current changes, grant me the wisdom to release the shore.
Laguz, flow through me— cleansing, awakening, initiating the buried soul.
Carry me beyond the shallow kingdom of certainty into the luminous abyss where fate dreams itself into form.
By well, by wave, by blood, by moon, by raven-wing above the flood—
Odin, receive my prayer.
Laguz, receive my spirit.
Let the hidden waters rise, and let my soul remember the ancient way home.
