My name is Cyndre.


This spelling of my name reminds me of cinder, the aftermath of some great, roaring fire. And certainly I like bright, brilliant things like fire and sunlight, so maybe it’s a good comparison. Like a moth, flying so close the wings burn away, and yet holding so tight, hoping to turn into something better, another metamorphosis into a being more whole, with more strength and surety than the fleeting form of the moth.


     I’d never heard of Heathenry until I met Ceadda. I just knew the worldview I found myself in wasn’t somewhere I wanted to be. I learned things from other cultures (Daoism, Tai-Chi, Shinto), ideas of moving throughout the world. People are still frightening creatures in my mind. Now, I’m learning the roots of the language I speak, and learning that my far distant ancestors had single words for those concepts that took at least a paragraph of modern English to explain. One word for each of these things I’d learned.

Frith. Grith. Inneryard. Outeryard. Gifting cycle (Okay, so that’s two words, but still.)

And these words come from a language that is the great grandfather to my own, lost through the generations and pounded out of most of us by a culture that leaves no time for them.

So it’s not, as some might think, that I’m stepping into this just to follow on the shirttails of the love of my life. (Though having someone to be with while I’m doing this certainly helps.) I’m stepping into this for myself as well, because the world I want to live in reflects many of these ideologies, and because it’s not someone else’s culture. It’s mine. My ancestors believed these things as well. People I can find through bloodlines and old stories. People whose names reflect my own, whose words and language reflect my own.

And I want to reconnect with them.


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