Dark Sentiments Season 11 — T Minus 5
Posted By Randy on September 26, 2020
When people speak of “manners”, they commonly have in mind some superficial behaviours first impressed upon them as something to be sure to do at Grandma’s dining room table. Just as all things of True Importance become trivialized by common usage among the Great Unwashed, we have manners, and Manners.
The Dark Sentiment uttered on Day 16 of Season 6 speaks of Manners, and most importantly their importance in troubled times, anywhere, and any when.
Dark Sentiments 2015 – Day 16: The Stranger at the Door
First published on October 16, 2015
I’ve spoken before of the Hávamál (sayings of the high one), that being one of the poems in The Elder or Poetric Edda, also known as .
For those of us with eyes to see, ears to hear, minds to think, and hearts to feel, the world of now is every bit as dangerous as it ever was, and Manners are never out of style for the Warrior. In the chapter titled Wisdom for Wanderers and Counsel to Guests, Hávamál has much still timely advice that you would do well to heed.
The image at left – “The Stranger at the Door” (1908 by W.G. Collingwood ((1854 – 1932)) is taken from one of the illustrations Collingwood did for the 1908 English language translation of The Edda by Olive Bray. We see a weary but wary traveller knocking at a stout door while watching the path just trod, hand upon the hilt of his sword in readiness for skulduggery. My interpretation of the situation depicted is that the traveller will draw without hesitation if set upon, but the last thing he wants is for whoever opens the door to find a stranger with blade in hand, and so he tolerates a tactical disadvantage in favour of a measured and mannerly approach to his eagerly anticipated host.
Throughout history, in times and places wherein the presence of a defensive weapon, if not visibly worn, must at least always be presumed (like here and now), Manners, Temper, Wit, clarity of Communication, and attention to Etiquette can never be treated as quaint, archaic notions to be safely discarded as things of little importance.
As I regarded this traveller, and grew a sense of kinship with him, this poem formed in my mind. Tell me what you think.
The Stranger at the Door
By LFM
The hour is late, the moon is full,
At last the homely inn is gained,
A grimy hand appears from ‘neath
A cloak careworn and weather stained.
One hand knocks upon the door,
While other grips the sheath-ed blade,
Wary eyes watch road behind,
Where tracks his weary feet have made.
This Traveller on mission grave
Before the olde inn’s door doth stand,
In hope whoever opens it
Won’t find him, naked blade in hand.
He knows his troubles are not shared
By those his knock hath waked within,
And so be prays the portal yawns
Ere fight for life might fain begin.
For though he’ll go not gently to
Commune with long departed kin,
He’d not deliver doubt or fear
To he who comes to let him in.
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