Green goblin-fire, the dead wreathed in mist, graves,
grey mottled skin, a silver crown, verdigris on rot –
Hela is the arms all lovers and warriors fall into, death
swift as her father’s tongue, but she is stony, uncanny
though her mouth is dry, and speech like knuckle bones,
at first she is a maiden with wheat hair, then a crone,
then rotting flesh that smells like overripe apples and
eyes the worms have eaten, half-bone, half-decay, full
of life beyond life, true grit, I bury pennies in cigar
boxes and fill them with grave dirt, cast silver coins
at her bare blue feet, wise queen of Helheim, her halls
are full of mead and feast, yew forests for generations
have protected the blessed departed, though Jotun, she
is peace, and beautiful beyond last breath, terrible as
Niflheim, but her heart is warm, and she is a quiet
kindness, a shield maiden of all who precipice exits
so I hail her, and I meet her eyes, I salute her wards,
for someday I too shall break bread with the Pale Queen,
Hail Hela, Hail the Succor of Ancestors, Autumnal One!

My boyfriend and I had a long meeting with Hela yesterday that was quite beautiful.  She is a very firm but kind presence and as I explore my faith more, I would like to forge more connections with the goddesses of my ancestors, particularly Hela, Frigga, Idunna and Sif.  Nerthus is already a big part of my life and Hela possessed much the same mystery as her – the bowels of the earth, misty woods and caverns, and an awe-inspiring energy.  Hail Hela!