Our Nimue Is Different

The names of the Gods are whatever They are willing to answer to.

We have lots of little Feri sayings. One of them is “all Gods are Feri Gods”…by which we mean, among other things, worship whom you please. Unlike some religions, we don’t care who you dance with, so long as you also dance with them that brung you. That said, we do have a pantheon, of sorts; they are a feral, implausible bunch. For example, there’s Nimue, the Laughing Maiden.

Oh, Maiden goddesses! Strewing flowers everywhere, frolicking with fawns and birdies. Springtime!

Springtime, I might remind you, is when snakes and other animals emerge from hibernation, starving. It’s also mating season for some species. Driven by twin hungers, they are not so much adorable. Also? Artemis, Maiden Goddess nonpareil, had Actaeon torn apart by his own hounds just for looking at her.

Awwww, who’s a cute widdle Goddess then?

We describe Nimue as the first emanation of the Star Goddess, in the ongoing act of creation. She appears as a young girl, not yet pubescent. That is, the awesome cosmic power of the unfolding universe rests in the hands of a nine year old; if that doesn’t worry you, you don’t know many nine year olds. Nimue is also the embodiment of the Black Heart of Innocence. Because of this and her very primal creative power, I often see her as a goddess of luck…but the kind of luck that tends to leave a rainbow cloud of chaos in its wake. While she gives results* she does like to pixie-lead you on the way there, and her sense of humor is, um, low. If you step out to the grocery store to buy a loaf of bread and wind up in Tijuana with a trunk full of Froot Loops and vintage porn…that was Nimue.

Allow me to share an illustrative anecdote:

I did a rite for Nimue while I was applying for grad school. I needed among other things just one black candle. I had a very clear memory of there having been black candles previously at the store where I usually buy candles.

There were none. Apparently there was a rush on black candles. Everywhere. I drove all over town, visiting locations I’d never been, looking for a thing that could not be found.

Finally, in desperation, I went to Bed, Bath, and Beyond. There I found the last black candle in Athens, Georgia. It had a moon on the label and was called “Midsummer Night.” It also cost stank atrociously and cost $25. But it was that, or drive to Atlanta to look for black candles and…I dared not. I took it home. I did the ritual.

Did I mention the candle was also very large? And stinky? My house reeked like a whore’s boudoir** for well over a week. I got into graduate school. My life hasn’t been the same since.

So, yeah. Nimue.

*Notice I didn’t say “necessarily the results you asked for, wanted, expected, or have the power to comprehend.” I just said “results.”

**Not that I have any idea what a whore’s boudoir smells like. For all I know, they are very tasteful and smell of lilies.

About Sara Amis

Sara Amis writes fiction, poetry, non-fiction, and rants. She is a Faery initiate who kicks it old-school, a member of Hellbender Coven, and has many opinions. Her work has appeared in Datura, Jabberwocky, Lilith Queen of the Desert, Witches and Pagans, Moon Milk Review, A Mantle of Stars, and her blog, the Consequence of Chance. Her poem series The Sophia Leaves Text Messages was published as an artist's book by Papaveria Press. She teaches Tarot and magic sometimes.


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