My polytheisms walk through cool eucalyptus groves, down mud lane, through the ferns, sometimes getting lost, but always striding on, sometimes a hint of panic in the woods. It’s on the mountaintop, in the flashing clouds, in the swirling mist, portals opening and closing. It is not something that can be dredged up and weighed in the lab, it has nothing to do with humanism and limited economies; it is slippery like elvers flashing in dawn light; it raises up stones and leaves flowers drifting in the stream, rushing to the sea. It is attentive to syntax, and fugitive languages of crime and polyglot economies, trades of the night; it serves and celebrates in multiple trackways.
Visit Finnchuill’s Mast to read more about Finnchuill’s polytheism!