To the gods

Do they have wifi in Valinor? Probably not. All the same, I don’t know how else us mere mortals can reach you, Valar and Valier.

Manwë, perhaps you’re good with not being reached, seeing as how we’ve thickened the air with pollution, with profanities, with hateful words said aloud, behind closed doors, through radio waves and email chains. I don’t doubt you’ve seen it all. I’m not sure it has gotten better, or worse, since you last walked among us, Camlost. I hope you know what you’re doing or can at least have mercy upon us, Travelers.

If Manwë has lost hope in us, will you stand near him, Elbereth? Help him see from Oiolossë to our hearts, to the good – little it may be – among us. Hear the cries from east to west, from the hills and the valleys, and from the dark places as we stumble. Guide us, Varda, to look up. Help us escape the light pollution of our cities, our electronics, and silver screens. May we all look! Look up! See the beauty of your stars, which captivated the First-Born, the Eldar long-faded(?). Forgive us for neglecting you, Elbereth, Lady of the Stars.

Ulmo, Lord of Waters, thank you for never abandoning us. We have done great harm to your kingdoms. We have allowed our gifts to consume us; for greed and the seeds of Morgoth to contaminate our hearts. Have we polluted your waters to the point they cannot cleanse us of our abomination? Or, do you have a fountain pure, worthy of a baptism of our collective hearts? May your Ulumúri sing the song of redeeming love, and help us turn our hearts.

Aulë, perhaps we’ve set you up to be a god among gods? After all, do we not worship the thing made? Your gems, your gold, your precious crafts? Perhaps, a twisted tale of tales made you out to be Yahweh, god of metallurgy, and a blacksmith, eventually god of all? Yet, you ever remain faithful to Eru, and I suspect such misplaced worship, if it is so, wounds you. Forgive us. Help us repair the tumults and havoc we’ve brought into Arda. May we bring back Spring to Arda marred.

Yavanna, Kementári, Queen of the Earth, I fear that your grievance of heart, at the beginning of days, before the Eruhin came to Arda, was justified. I fear that our darkened hearts have little love for the things of your love. Perhaps, it is time to wake the powers in the forest whose wrath we might arouse at our peril? Or, maybe, you might teach us anew to have dominion in Arda, though not, by the purpose of Eru, without respect or without gratitude? Come! Teach us, Queen of the Earth. Walk with us, robed in green, and crowned with the Sun.

Oh, Fëanturi, masters of spirits, how we need you both. We are Strangers, Guests in the Arda; travelers with one known road to travel: death. Perhaps, we need to dream new dreams? See visions of where we go when we leave the world? Hear our fate told anew, with hope in the Gift, rather than craving a new ending? Help us understand. Help us see our role in the Second Music if you can.

Dearest Nienna, acquainted with grief, how we Guests know your song. Help us with our lamentation. Teach us your sweet melodious song, that we may learn pity, and endurance in hope. Take the hand of your sister-in-law, Estë, and mend the wounds and mourning of Arda, and of Men; bring us strength and teach us wisdom in our sorrow.

Here ends my petition, to you, the Powers of Heaven: the Valar and Valier. May it find its way to each of you. May this mark the beginning of an awakening, a reimagining, and a new story (or, a re-telling of a good-spell, long forgotten). May you guide us all, as we stumble through Arda marred, and give us hope through glances into the Land of Faë.