Hymn to Hela

by Elizabeth Vongvisith

Below the dry desert, below the driftwood

Cast by cresting waves, below the humus and rot,

Below the grave and abattoir, below the gates of the charnel-house,

Lies the Lady's serene land, lies Helheim, largest of the Nine Worlds.

Under a gentle gray sky, under a vacant sun and moon,

Under silence and severity, under Her firm, flesh-stripped hand,

Under the wide crown of the Tree and under the waters of Niflheim,

There is the hall of forever, there is the final hearth and home.

And in the body's bone scaffold, in the heart's ambient chambers,

Through tendon and gristle, through the brain-pan and chest cavity,

Among the ever-dividing cells, among the veins and corpuscles,

Heed you Her voice, hear Her speak in every exhalation:

I am your death and what lies after, I have drawn the borders of your life.

I am your most patient friend, and I am your most implacable foe.

I am the mistress of the dead, and I am the guardian of the living.

I am the secret way home, yet I know from where you first came.

Hail to the underworld goddess, hail to Helheim's ruler,

Daughter of the mighty Hag, hail, Angrboda's pride,

Hail the Trickster's child, born of the flame-haired firebrand,

Baldr's jailor and protector, Mordgud's friend and companion.

Hail the ancestors' mistress; hail the Keeper of the Dead!

You are the gallows and the axe; hail, Lady of endings!

Hail to the One who rules below, mighty in her inevitability.

You are the labyrinth's center. Hail, Hela Half-Rotted!