#vrinda

[krishna-art]

Srimati Tulasi Maharani 🌺

“I offer my repeated obeisances unto Vrinda, Srimati Tulasi Devi, who is very dear to Lord Keshava. O goddess, you bestow devotional service to Vishnu and you possess the highest truth.”~Pranam mantra

[sambhavami]

Women in Mahabharata - Vrinda

She is the presiding deity of the forests of Vrindavana.

In folklore, she appears a dear friend and confidante of both Radha and Krishna. She helps them evade Radha's family and meet in secret.

Sometimes, she is aligned with Tulasi, and hence also associated with the asura Shankhachooda (as per Devi Bhagavatam, but her story is placed after Krishna's time).

[yes-i-exist-shutup]

/genq.. have you ever thought about seeing a psychologist...?

I swear if this person starts harassing me from separate blogs despite me blocking them I’ll be pulling teeth and they won’t be mine

[ghilliedubh]

Vrinda: The Ivy Queen

Exploring the connections between the Norse goddess Rindr/Vrinda and ivy folklore

I am writing this with my mind swathed in a dark emerald green. Last Yule night I drew the rune Gebo, the Ivy card from my Ogham deck and the Queen of Swords. This painted an interesting picture in my head, of a green lady wandering amongst ivy-clad ruins. I dived into ivy folklore and mythology, researching who this might be. I visited Hebe, the Maenads and the various Green Ladies of Britain, but one particular solemn figure was sitting and waiting for me.

Very little is known of the Goddess Rindr and her name’s origin is obscure, but it is thought to be connected to a Gotlandic word for ivy, rind. A variation of her name, Vrindr, Wrinda or Vrinda (the name I prefer), can possibly be found in the Ostergotland place name Vrinnevi, the meaning of which would in that case be Vrindar-Vé (Vrindr’s Shrine). Oscar Lundberg proposed that she was therefore a fertility goddess represented by ivy or perhaps even made of it. The theory of her being connected to Vrinnevi has been debated, and some argue that the place name simply means “Ivy forest”. Even so, the similarity between the name Rindr and the word rind is hard to ignore and I strongly feel that she is represented by ivy as Lundberg suggests. Previously I had only known her as some kind of winter goddess and as the unwilling bearer of Óðinn’s son, Váli. This connection to the ivy plant opened up a whole new dimension of her.

I want to start by criticizing Patricia Telesco’s interpretation of Vrinda being a goddess of accepting uncomfortable changes. That just as winter yields to spring, so does Vrinda yield to the advances of Óðinn and become warm and fertile. Whether or not Vrinda’s myth is a metaphor for the changing of seasons, I find it appalling that someone would look at a story about sexual assault and draw from it the lesson that one should not fight “positive change”. Change can be good, but that attitude in this context is disgusting and disrespectful to all that have had to go through such a horrible experience. Now, moving on…

First there is the madness. The maenads were wild, ecstatic worshipers of Dionysus who wore ivy. Often willing participants of the frenzy, but sometimes forced. In Gesta Danorum the tale is told of how Óðinn, when thrice rejected by Vrinda, uses magic to drive her mad and then ill. Disguised as a medicine woman called Wecha, Óðinn tells her father that he can cure her but it would cause a violent reaction. Vrinda is tied to her bed and Óðinn proceeds to commit one of his ugliest crimes. I connect these two instances of forced madness with certain properties of the ivy; ingesting the leaves can cause delirium, convulsions and even hallucinations. Surprisingly, wearing crowns of ivy was believed to prevent drunkenness. To me, all of the above makes Vrinda a goddess of madness, but as a sufferer. We who may have bouts of bad mental health may find comfort in her.

Next I want to talk about the Green Ladies of Britain, specifically the melancholy yet usually benevolent ghosts that haunt castles. The Green Ladies are dead but are still kind, often protecting living residents of their haunts. The Green Lady of Huntingtower Castle in Perthshire (known as Lady Greensleeves) is said to have healed a young boy who lived in a house on the estate. Ivy was also seen as a protective plant in Britain.This protective element also be a domain of Vrinda, John McKinnell writes about a kenning for a warrior in the saga of Guðmundur Arason, serkja Rindar Sannr. Sannr is a name of Óðinn meaning “truth”, Rindar serkur would be “Rindur’s serk”. According to McKinnell this hints that she may have been able to enchant clothing to work as a protective charm. But back to the Green Ladies. Most of them are thought to be the ghosts of particular women of noble lineage that lived in the castles and were usually killed in horrible ways. The Green Lady of Caerphilly Castle is the ghost of Alice de la Marche of France who died of shock when she learned of her husband’s men killing her lover. I mention her specifically because of her ability to blend into the ivy that grows on the castle walls. The ivy in this story feels like a very appropriate symbol and I feel it could be extended to the rest of the Green Ladies. Ivy clings to ruins, it clings to trees long after they die. I want to quote the first stanza of Henry Kendall’s The Ivy on the Wall:

The verdant ivy clings around

Yon moss be-mantled wall,

As if it sought to hide the stones,

That crumbling soon must fall:

That relic of a bygone age

Now tottering to decay,

Has but one friend—the ivy—left.

The rest have passed away.

I believe this sentiment lives with Vrinda. In this aspect, she is a goddess of mourning and trauma, of yearning for the irretrievable past. But at the same time she is a goddess of protection and overcoming hardships and devastation. As ivy holds together and decorates the weathered stones of an old castle, so too can Vrinda help hold together our broken hearts and shattered selves.

Then there is winter. I have read many articles and blogs online written by pagans associating Vrinda with winter and almost nothing else. I never actually saw mentioned any concrete reason for it, but now that I have become aware of her ivy realm it has become obvious. Most people are familiar with the carol The Holly and the Ivy. Both plants are evergreen and are part of a family of yule plants alongside mistletoe and yew. Ivy and Holly historically represented the feminine vs masculine, in parts of England there are still dances between the Holly boy and the Ivy girl. It was supposedly custom once for men and women to light-heartedly taunt each other through song. Sadly it seems mostly the songs praising Holly have been preserved, an example is the following verse:

Nay, Ivy, nay; it shall not be i-wys ;

Let Holly hafe the maystery, as the manner is.

Holly stond in the Halle fayre to behold;

Ivy stond without the dore; she is full sore acold.

Holly and his merry men they dancyn and they sing.

Ivy and hur maidens they wepyn and they wryng.

(Ballad from the time of Henry VI)

In a more positive light, holly and ivy feature in a poem by Henry VIII called Green Groweth the Holly. Here ivy's steadfast color throughout winter symbolizes fidelity. It is a charming poem if a bit ironic, since Henry himself wasn’t exactly a paragon of fidelity. I’ll let you read the third and fourth verse:

As the holly groweth green

With ivy all alone

When flowers cannot be seen

And greenwood leaves be gone,

Now unto my lady

Promise to her I make,

From all other only

To her I me betake.

It is not strange that Henry made this connection. In the language of flowers ivy represents fidelity, wedded love and friendship. Ancient Greek brides would carry ivy as a symbol of undying love and sprigs of it are often found in wedding bouquets today. I think ivy being an evergreen as well as it’s ability to cling tightly are good reasons for it being a symbol for faithful love. We also see generosity and kindness as ivy provides berries for birds in winter. These aspects all together give me the feeling that, yes, Vrinda is a winter goddess. However, I feel she is more a goddess of persevering winter, rather than a goddess of the frost and cold itself. She stays living, green and fruitful when other plants lie dead. Her love persists through hardships. Winter or summer, it holds on.

Just before I conclude I’d like to touch upon animal associations. There is not a lot to work with, but the color and winding tendencies of ivy invoke the spirit of a serpent. Perhaps an adder, with its ivy-like pattern and ability to hibernate. The adder, like the ivy, is also toxic. The maenads wore serpents as well as ivy so it's not entirely far-fetched to see snakes as a favorite of Vrinda, but I’m not sure how well it fits. Perhaps the wren, a bird often seen darting through ivy bushes and has connections to winter. The word “wren” is of obscure origin but the words wren, rind (the Gotland word for ivy) and rindill (the Icelandic word for wren) sound curiously similar to Wrinda and Rindur.

Then there are owls. In Britain ivy has a special relationship with the tawny owl, which is sometimes even called an ivy-owl. Most people are familiar with owls being traditionally associated with death, but it may surprise some that ivy is so as well. This seems contradictory to it’s tolerance of winter, the death of the year, but this association likely stems again from fidelity as well as ivy’s tendency to grow over tombstones. Ivy was also a frequent motif on headstones and there it likely represents immortality and eternal life. Both snakes and owls are carved on headstones too. Ivy was also used to foretell death.

This association with death ties well in with the aforementioned Green Ladies. Owls and ivy are paired together in the idiom “like an owl in an ivy-bush”, which is used to describe a person with a vacant stare (usually due to drunkenness) or in some cases those with a frightened and dishevelled appearance. I almost forgot to mention that tawny owls usually mate for life, fidelity again. Finally, the carol I mentioned earlier has a couple of verses mentioning owls:

Ivy hath berries black as any sloe;

There come the owl and eat him as she go

…

Good ivy, what birds hast thou?

None but the owlet that cries how, how.

That brings us to the end. It’s quite bold of me, I know, to just give Vrinda all these associations purely based on ivy folklore and mythology. However, I feel so uncomfortable just leaving her bound to that one, grisly story of her impregnation. It’s unfair. I really do feel she may have shown herself to me that Yule night, or at least an aspect of herself, and I’d rather she lived in my mind as a lush and complex entity. Maybe I am getting lost in a thick forest of wishful thinking but maybe, like the Green Lady of Caerphilly Castle, she has indeed been hiding in the ivy.

Vrinda the broken, Vrinda the crazed,

Vrinda the wanderer of ruins and graves.

Vrinda the devoted, Vrinda the evergeen.

Vrinda the beautiful, unwavering Ivy Queen

Hrafnsunna Ross

Sources and further reading:

On English ivy folklore and mythology:

http://khkeeler.blogspot.com/2021/10/plant-story-folklore-of-english-ivy.html

https://interestingliterature.com/2021/05/ivy-symbolism-in-literature-religion-mythology-analysis-meaning/

https://from-bedroom-to-study.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-hedonistic-history-of-interesting.html?m=1&fbclid=IwAR3kerXYa_Nud94rzbCuhPlv-qH8Dah2R2jibqFLPYV4d8GmGTP87GJgVBQ

https://books.google.is/books?id=eOvyDwAAQBAJ&pg=PA118&lpg=PA118&dq=ivy+drunkenness+folklore&source=bl&ots=n3L6TNUO9e&sig=ACfU3U1PGGIezufv-sZbxklBhjBdNuqwKw&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjDi6SxgYT1AhWTEMAKHcEyBN4Q6AF6BAg0EAM#v=onepage&q=iv

y%20drunkenness%20folklore&f=false

https://speakingofwitchwands.net/2017/11/16/the-magick-of-ivy/

https://www.woodland-ways.co.uk/blog/hedgerow-medicines/ivy/

Properties of English ivy:

https://plants.ces.ncsu.edu/plants/hedera-helix/

On Maenads:

https://www.thecollector.com/maenads-women-bacchus/ On Green Ladies: https://www.spookyisles.com/scottish-green-lady-stories/

Wedding flower customs:

https://www.theknot.com/content/wedding-flowers-customs-traditions

Wren:

https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=rindill

https://www.bardsinthewoods.com/2012/12/the-wren-wren.html

Tawny Owl:

https://www.peakdistrictonline.co.uk/birds-of-prey-the-tawny-owl/

Evidence pointing to Rindr being a worker of protective magic:

https://secureservercdn.net/198.71.233.138/16i.962.myftpupload.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/John_McKinnell_Meeting_the_Other_in_Norse_Myth_ab-ok.cc.pdf

https://norse.ulver.com/src/biskup/gudmunda/index.html

Gesta Danorum book 3, where the story of her assault is written:

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1150/1150-h/1150-h.htm

Possible etymology of her name:

https://books.google.is/books?id=DtcMCAAAQBAJ&pg=PA160&lpg=PA160&dq=scandinavia+ivy+goddess&source=bl&ots=GMILPvloOP&sig=ACfU3U3EX9SDhIxFUwiTT_sNHFbMbxOlng&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjv-_fXvYP1AhUwQEEAHdY1D9cQ6AF6BAgfEAM#v=onepage&q=scandinavia%20ivy%20goddess&f=false

Headstone symbolism:

https://headstonesymbols.co.uk/

[askullandbones]

smoochin

gross :)

[originals here]

[skullreblogstrash]

What would Goop's parents think of him now? (As a fully grown goop)

“We’re proud of him,” Vrinda says, looking to Treb for agreement as he nods along. “I don’t think he believes it, but he’s a great father. We couldn’t ask for better grandchildren, and I know that’s in large part of the effort he put in raising them... even if being a dad wasn’t something I think he ever wanted to be.”

‘I’m sad that he had to go through what he went through to be where he is now.’ Treb signs after a moment. ‘I know there’s no undoing the past, and looking back doesn’t fix things, but I still wish we could have been there to help somehow, or things had turned out differently.’

‘But he’s still our son, no matter what. We’ll always love him.’

[avani008]

An Alphabet of Legendary Ladies - त for तुलसी/Tulsi, for @chaanv and @medhasree!

Take the leaf, my child, and taste it on your tongue. Sweet at first, but then bitter: such was Vrinda of old, before her vows were betrayed, before her prayers turned to dust in her mouth. The Lord Himself is stone at her command, and she the living leaf that wraps around it; such shall be her legacy.

[askmicrowaveayem]

Boink! The Gaster Brothers Pt. 32

[Previous]

[Archive] [Cast]

A quick, painless death was the biggest reward either of them could gift to a human. All of them heard the blast, but it was really only Treb who jumped a little at the sound.

He tried not to think about it as he walked into their bedroom and smiled, the lights of his son’s eyes meeting him for the first time in over a year.

--

Rage left the body in the field.

It wouldn’t be easy to find out there, anyway.

He walked back to the house, for the first time letting himself slump down.

He was battered from his journey. His clothing was still burnt and torn, his arm still bandaged and a new long scrape across his skull--nothing that had broken his skull, but enough to show that he hadn’t… been quite as good as he usually was about keeping his distance.

He’d had to drag a human here on his own, guide him with his own hands, and even if he couldn’t feel anymore, it had taken its toll on him.

He stumbled back into the house, closing the door behind him and shuffling back towards his brother’s room.

--

Treb was hugging his son when Rage walked in, Vrinda turning to him and quickly marching over, a hand going to his back to guide him towards it as well.

“In bed this instant.” She ordered, “I don’t want to see you moving at all for the rest of the day. Do you need anything healed?”

--

Rage shook his head. “I’m fine.”

He took a seat by his brother’s bedside, slumping down next to him.

Letting out a long, strained breath.

--

“... Alright.” Vrinda sighed, “Get some rest. I’ll bring you dinner once it’s finished.”

She turned to leave, but paused and turned back to reach out and pull Rage’s head into her chest, hugging him and pressing her teeth into one of the better parts of his skull.

She said nothing. Just held him.

--

He hesitated, almost confused by the gesture for a moment, before returning it as best he could. Wrapping his battered metal arm around her. Leaning in close.

It felt like a very long time since he’d been given an affectionate touch. One not out of fear or desperation or anger.

He relaxed in her hold.

--

She would hold him long this time, perhaps longer than she ever had before. The previous times had been quick, not wanting to linger and know she didn’t want to let go because she knew they would be leaving.

But this time they were staying, at least for awhile.

Vrinda sighed after a moment and pulled away, her hands cradling Rage’s face. “Relax now. You’re home.”

--

Rage’s face hardened again, even as she held it.

“But he’s not better.”

He sat up more straight. Shoulders set once more.

Right back on guard.

--

“He will get better now. Please try to rest, even just a little.” Vrinda pleaded before her hands left Rage’s face and she turned to leave, to put a little more effort into dinner than usual for the sake of both of her boys.

Treb followed her, but signed ‘It’s good to have you both back home.’ first.

--

Rage didn’t respond to either.

He just sat by his brother, reaching out to hold his hand, and stared forward at the wall.

He’d keep him safe.

--

Dings reached out and took his brother’s hand, managing to squeeze it a little tighter than before.

He didn’t argue about getting his brother to relax. He didn’t mind. He had done the exact same thing after rescuing him from the prison, barely slept or ate and abused his own health for the sake of his brother.

He rolled over in the bed, moved as close to Rage as he could and grasped his metal hand in both of his like it was the most comforting thing he could ever imagine. His eyes closed and his breathing leveled, the third fixing onto his brother, weak and dim but unwilling to look at anything else.

--

Rage stayed still. Let Dings hold his hand. Let him stare. Even if he wasn’t anything good to look at right now. Even if he showed so much evidence of the last month--he hoped it wasn’t a reminder.

He stared at the wall.

“So,” Rage said, “There’s a story I heard. About a musician, whose lover was killed and he traveled hell to drag them back to life.”

--

Dings smiled slowly, his eyes remaining closed. “Is this as… true as all your other stories…?” He asked tiredly.

--

“This one’s a myth,” Rage said, slowly trying to move the rusted thumb of his hand over the back of his brother’s hand. “There’s always something sort of true in those. But I didn’t add any of the lies.”

--

“I know.” He said, smirking a little.

It was like he was a kid again. The time when his head had been hit by that rock Rage had comforted him in a similar way, but even back then hadn’t been this bad. He hurt all over and still was incredibly low on energy. What he did have was being used to keep his eyes going, much too frightened after getting them back to turn it off again.

But now the collar was off and he could heal. He could recover. It wasn’t like someone was strangling him constantly and sucking out his life each time he fell asleep.

--

Rage smiled back a little, even if his brother wasn’t quite looking.

“...the musician lived in a large city hundreds of years ago, and his music was known all around the world..”

He told him the story, trying to ease him to sleep.

--

It wouldn’t take much at all. Only a few lines in and his brother was as asleep as he could manage with his third eye, the little white dot staying fixed on his brother as he spoke even as it dimmed and occasionally flickered out completely before reappearing again.

He wouldn’t let go of his brother’s hand.

--

Rage told about half the story, just to make sure his brother was more deeply asleep. If he were still conscious enough to hear, then he could perhaps dream about how things might turn out, with the musician trapped deep underground, searching for his love.

He didn’t leave. Didn’t move.

Didn’t let go of his hand.

He wouldn’t until he was better.

…

It would be a long, long wait.

--

Weeks. It would take weeks to regain what Dings had lost. It probably would have taken longer had Vrinda not taken so much effort into making the most HP rich foods she knew about. Maybe that meant eating a lot of the same thing over and over, but it certainly got the job done.

She did insist that Rage sleep too, and he would have to eventually, put in the same bed with his brother as they tried to recover together. With good food and Vrinda doing what she could to heal them, they would both fully recover.

Rage’s arm would be scarred and cracked and Dings would still have the human insignia carved into his sternum, but they would be healthy. They could walk again.

They did their best to keep the fact that their children were back from the rest of the town. As much as they loved them, they weren’t unaware of their reputation. They didn’t want people reporting them before they could run. That meant staying inside a lot. It meant not getting a proper healer, but they would be safe.

Dings could get up and walk again. He sat outside against the house enjoying the air where no one could really see them.

They were both in a sorry state even fully recovered.

“All my armor is gone. Your arms are gone. The one you have is rusted to hell… Fuck. How much money do we even have? If you brought any with you?”

--

Rage didn’t care so much.

He shrugged off Dings’ questions. He groaned and stretched out on the fields. He curled against his brother’s legs in the sun.

…

Most of his injuries had healed long before Vrinda got her hands on him.

Now, he was missing about half of his lower ribcage. Half his shoulder had dissolved. He’d lost several teeth, but those at least could grow back somewhat with time.

Once they were out of the danger zone, he whined for hot potatoes and sausage, and vegetable stew, even if they weren’t as good for HP as fresh pounded pasta and eggs. In the night he stole some ice from the ice pit and a gallon of cream from the neighbors and between that and their own eggs and crushed seeds he pounded out a tiny secret vat of ice cream with his own squeaky-ass arm because he wanted to.

“Mmmmnn I don’t remember,” he said, eyes still shut as he listened to Dings talk, sprawled out over his little brother’s lap in the late afternoon. “Maybe there’s some in that human’s toolkit.”

--

Dings sighed and dropped worrying about everything then. There was no point in trying to force Rage to talk about something he clearly didn’t want to, or that he was just too tired to think about. He didn’t blame him honestly, he was still pretty tired too.

…

Maybe they were going to stay this time? Maybe they could just… settle down with their parents again?

--

Honestly…?

Rage was kinda thinkin about it.

Like.

….

Why the fuck not?

It’s not like anyone knew they were here. It wasn’t like before when they’d wandered into town unaware and ended up running into Vrinda in public. They couldn’t explain that one away. They weren’t hiding themselves back then.

But he’d dragged Dings here off the main roads, and gone straight to the house instead of through town, and no one knew jack shit about where they were anymore.

The last time the Gaster Brothers had been seen was battered, dusting, dragging each other from town to town, stealing horses, threatening locksmiths, and….

Then they were gone.

So.

Why the fuck did they have to leave again?

To run away?

Run away from people who no longer even knew where to find them?

…

He’d rather stay here and drink his mom’s tea.

--

Yeah.

They lived far enough away from town that they could hide. Maybe he could make Rage some basic arms here on the farm. Just something to work with. He didn’t need to fight at home. Their parents could go get them the things he needed from town.

He looked out at the backyard they had raced their parents across what felt like years ago. Time just sort of blurred together now. The time he had been blind was the worst of all. Not being able to see how many days were passing.

He stared out at the yard for awhile, then looked up at the afternoon sky. It was sunny with perfect clouds scattered along a pretty blue.

…

After while he asked, “Do you wanna stay this time?”

--

“...yeah,” Rage said, quietly.

The wind rustled the trees and fall was coming, and Dings never should have left home in the first place.

It was time to fix that kind of mistake.

--

Again he didn’t say anything for a few moments. When he did his voice was quiet too. It was like after this last encounter they had both just… had enough of the lifestyle they had been forced into.

They were tired.

“... We should tell mom ‘n dad.”

--

…

Rage nodded a little.

He was very tired. His body felt heavy. But it was comfortable to lie here, on the grass.

“At dinner,” he said. “Don't gotta do it right now.”

--

“Yeah.”

He would look for one of his dad’s sharp knives later to get the insignia off his sternum too. Later.

Right now Dings just slipped down a little more so he was lying in the grass beside his brother rather than sitting up. An arm wrapped around him covered in knicks and runes, loosely holding him as he let his eyes sag partially closed.

They could just nap. Nap without the thought of being snuck up on.

--

Yeah.

For now, that sounded really nice.

…

They would tell Treb and Vrinda over dinner. Casual and quick, and assuming their presence in the house was fine, even though they knew it would be hard for their parents to hide them too much from others come social events. But they would make it work.

Treb was old and tired and would need help with heavier chores anyway. Handling their animals and grinding down the grain.

Vrinda’s back looked like it was starting to hunch from standing over her house chores for so long; decades of sewing and cooking and hoeing the garden.

Even if they ended up outside mostly at night, then there were things to do here.

There were reasons to stay.

A good reason to do anything felt like more than Rage’d had in a long time.

He wondered if Grillby would be proud of him.