This post presents several Latin titles and epithets of a Romanized Ingvi-Frey, further enlightening His nature and roles. As with everything I say, this is not dogma, but my personal take on the subject and partly out of my personal experience. There’s no reason why others shouldn’t change the list or scrap it altogether.

Dominus
This is the Latin translation of Old Norse Freyr and the most obvious of His titles. In ancient Rome, dominus was a form of deference, used for both emperors (as lord and master) and common people (like modern “mister” and medieval “Dom/Don”). But the word is obviously derived from domus, which means home and, in a wider sense, can also be one’s country or homeland. As such, a dominus was originally a master of the house and later a ruler of the land. The title is therefore well suited for a god with a tradition of being a divine ancestor: as Lord at home, He’s a forefather and a protector of the family, a role further enhanced by His link with friðr or sacred inviolability, applied both to kinship and the physical limits of the house; as Lord in a community, He is a divine father and protector.

Ingui’s role as dominus at home resembles that of Silvanus, whose domestic cult places Him as a warden of boundaries of the family property and a protector of all that lies in it. Ingui’s phallic nature is also relevant, not only as an expression of the ability to generate offspring, but also because a penis was a popular apotropaic symbol, protecting both people and houses.

Deus Aureus
Among modern polytheists, Ingui is often called the Golden God, the Latin translation being Deus Aureus. It express multiple aspects of the god, but which may be summed up in the following sentence: sweet as honey, rich as gold, warm as the sun, and bountiful as a field of grain. All things that are gold-like and define Ingui’s most generous and nurturing side. A tender of wounds, a breaker of ice, a comforting friend, and a granter of abundance. I’ve met people who got out of a low point in their lives after having dreams where Freyr melted the ice around them. And there are others to whom He’s a guide, a giver of strength, and a nurturer.

Deus Mundi
A translation of the Old Norse veraldargoð, which means God of the World, it expresses Ingui’s concern for worldly well-being. People’s health, wealth, food, pleasures, and happiness, linking this epithet to that of Deus Aureus.

Sanctus
According to John Scheid, in ancient Rome, holy “was a term applied to anything which it was a religious offense to violate” and could be applied to “city boundaries, certain laws, treaties, tribunes of the people, and official Roman ambassadors.” It was also used for deities – Silvanus, for instance – and in Ingui’s case it expresses His role as a god of friðr or sacred inviolability.

Virilis
The phallic side of Ingui. A giver of sexual potency and pleasure, a generator of offspring (both human and animal), and a protector by virtue of the apotropaic value of the erect penis.

Currus
He of the wagon, as an obvious reference to sacred processions where Ingui’s image is carried on a wheeled vehicle.

Liberator
Ingui, the Liberator, as a god who “looses each man from captivity”, to use the words of the eddic poem Lokasenna, but also from woes and pain. Close to being a saviour, perhaps in the same sense as the Dioskouri, but Ingui also has a darker side.

Renovator
The Ingui who renews is the god who takes part in death as a necessary element of life. It expresses the need for the nurturing sacrifice, from the killing of plants to that of livestock for human consumption. It also includes people, whose bodies have a limited time-span and will inevitably die as part of the cycle of life. Among modern polytheists, there are those who believe Ingui is Himself a sacrificial god, dying every year at the end of the crops’ season to renew the land with His blood, before coming back to life in mid or late winter. At the very least, He’s a deity who understands the importance of death and will take part in it if necessary.

Agri
He of the field, as beffits an agricultural god, also expressing His relationship with the giantess Gerð, who’s Ingui’s wife in Norse mythology. The name of the goddess comes from Old Norse garð, which means (fenced) land, as in Asgarð, Útgarð, and Miðgarð or Land of the Gods, Outer Land, and Middle Land. Freyr’s relationship with Gerð is therefore one of sacred marriage.

Avellanae
While the hazel is virtually absent from Norse mythological tales, it features in the sagas in the form of höslur or hazel poles, which are used in the tales to mark hallowed ground. The sources may be late, but they may also preserve the memory of older tradidions. In Egil’s Saga, for instance, a court session takes place within an area marked by a circle of hazel poles connected by a rope, and in Kormáks saga they’re used to establish the limits of a duelling area. This may seem a contradiction with the notion of friðr, but it refers to a form of judgement by divine will: the result of the duel was a verdict sanctioned by the gods, so it had to take place on especially prepared hallowed ground (more on that here).

In Norse lore, the hazel is therefore a granter of sacred inviolability, which makes it an appropriate plant for Ingui, who may be called Avellanae: From the Hazel Tree.

Pini
Ingui’s connection with pine is more of a UPG of mine than an actual historical element. Being an evergreen, it has the potential to represent ultimate life, but it also has a sexual connection in the upwards shape of its branches or the phallic symbolism of the pine cone. There’s also the link with midwinter celebrations, when pine takes on a main role. Freyr may not a sun god proper, but He has solar qualities, which is why I celebrate His birthday around winter solstice. He’s therefore born under the shade of that tree, so to speak, and may be called Pini or From the Pine.

Deus Vitae
If I had to sum up Ingui’s aspects and qualities into one, I’d say Deus Vitae or God of Life, in the broadest sense of the word. Good life for plants, animals, and humans alike; at home, in your community, on the farming fields, and in the wild. But also of death in that it’s part of the circle of life.

Freyr is more of a title than an actual name, as it’s simply Old Norse for Lord. It appears in different forms in the Germanic world: Frö, Frea, and even the Latinized form Fricco in Adam of Bremen’s History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen. The god’s actual name may be Ingui or Yngvi, which is sometimes coupled with Freyr, as in Snorri Sturluson’s Ynglinga Saga and Edda. The meaning is unknown, but it resembles the name of the Ing rune in the Old English Rune Poem. In Stephen Pollington’s translation:

Ing was first among the East Danes
seen by men until he later eastwards
went across the waves, the wagon sped behind,
thus the hard men named the hero

Notice the reference to a wagon and the implication of a vessel, both of which are linked to Freyr in the Scandinavian sources. According to Snorri’s Edda and the eddic poem Grimnismál, the god has a ship named Skiðblaðnir and the link is reinforced by His own ascendency, since the myths present Him as the son of Njorðr, who is a god of coastal areas and boats. The connection to the wagon is found in a tale where a priestess of Freyr is described as travelling the countryside on a carriage along with an image of the god. The source is late, so it’s not clear how far it reflects old practices, but the idea of a godly image travelling resonates with a description by Tacitus.

Note also that the runic stanza speaks of Freyr as a divine hero and ancestor. He was the first among the East Danes and in Beowulf the Danes are called Ingwine or the friends of Ing. The same may be said for the Yngling kings of Sweden and Norway and Tacitus, in his Germania, mentions a group of Germanic tribes whom he calls the Ingaevones. Presumably, the name means something like the sons or people of Ing or Ingunar. This is not a unknown notion in the Mediterranean world: after all, how many Roman and Greek families claimed to descend from a god or goddess? Tacitus also mentions a Germanic goddess to whom he calls Nerthus (id est Terra matrem), whose image was carried on a wagon in a festival during which no war could be made or arms taken. Incidentally, Nerthus is akin to the Old Norse njorðr and the ing- element is present in several personal names: Ingmar, Ingvar, Ingrid, Ingjald, Ingimund, etc.

Freyr is also known as a phallic god. Adam of Bremen’s description of the image of Fricco in the temple of Uppsala is cum ingenti priapo or with a huge phallus. For that reason, the small Rälling statuette, found in Sweden in 1904, is assumed to be a depiction of Freyr. His role as a giver of fertility and abundance, even pleasure, is thus obvious and it’s reinforced by a series of reference in written sources: Snorri’s Edda, for instance, says He rules over rain and sunshine and grants prosperity and peace. Elsewhere, there are references to toasts being made to the god and His father for the same exact thing: peace and prosperity; or rather good harvests. The original Old Norse is ár ok friðr and the first element is pretty straight forward, since ár is related to modern English year and bears the sense of a good passing of the seasons, i.e., a good harvest. Friðr is a more complex idea, in that it’s usually translated as peace, but it goes beyond the absence of conflict and may also express notions of justice and sacred inviolability. It may be found in the bonds of family and community, but also in the temporary protection awarded to people and places of assembly, in that it makes the use of violence forbidden and punishable. If, however, one was declared an outlaw – outside the bonds of friðr – he or she could be struck without fear of reprimand. An analysis of the term can be found here.

A few more things could be said about Freyr, but I’ll go through them as we go along. For now it will do, since this post serves the purpose of introducing Him before making a comparison with Roman and Greek gods with whom He has things in common.

Silvanus
Silvanus is a god of the woodland. He’s often depicted naked expect for a sheep or ram’s skin with fruit, carrying a tree or branch in one hand and a sickle or falx in the other. A dog is also commonly found next to Him, speaking for His role as a god of woodland game, but also as a protector of one’s home. Silvanus extends His action to the entire farmland, including the agricultural fields, the herds, the barns, and also the house itself. For that reason, He receives the titles of Domesticus, Lar, and Agrestis. He’s also called Orientalis, presumably in reference to sacred groves in the eastern part of the proprieties and from which the boundaries were set. Which makes sense, given that Silvanus is also a liminal god. So fertility, protection, the fields and herds, as well as home and family are all things that He has in common with Ingui-Frey. Silvanus is also linked to the Silvanae or wood nymphs, whereas Freyr is connected to the Elves, of whom He’s said to be ruler.

Priapus
Priapus and Freyr have something big in common: their huge penises! Something tells me that if an ancient Roman were to visit the temple of Uppsala, he may have left thinking that the old Swedes worshipped Priapus. He may have started as a god of good crops, but His genitalia awarded Him a role as a protective deity of gardens, since the phallus was highly popular as a lucky charm. An expression of that belief is on display at the British Museum, where you can see a Roman wind chime with a lion-tailed penis.

Liber Pater
The Free Father, which is how His name translates, has always been closely linked with the cult of Ceres. He came to be associated with Dionysus, Himself another god with a few common elements with Freyr, and the freedom element likely appealed to the lower classes, plebeians and freedmen and women who formed a large portion of His worshippers. Freyr’s “social status” is unclear or may be irrelevant all together: His role as an agricultural god and a tribal ancestor or hero would make Him a god of the masses, but also of the elites. But the Norse may have seen Him as a liberator, since the eddic poem Lokasenna has another deity presenting Freyr as a god that “makes no girl cry nor any men’s wife / and looses each man from captivity”. Which is not only another link to Liber Pater, but also Silvanus, who seems to have had His share of popularity among freedmen.

Dioskouri
In Germania 40, Tacitus tells of the Naharvali, who had a grove where a priest presided wearing a female dress. He adds that, according to the Roman interpretation, the gods recorded in that fashion are Castor and Pollux and that the Germanic tribe worshipped their gods, whom he calls Alcis, as brothers and youths. There’s no clear evidence that Freyr is connected to the deities of the Naharvali, but it is noteworthy that He has a sister named Freya (meaning lady), just as their father, Njorðr, has a sister. Together, They’re part of a group of Norse gods known as Vanir, who were associated with a more open sexuality and cross-dressing: the phallus is a good indicator of just that, while Freya is noted for Her lust, much like Aphrodite, and Snorri’s Ynglinga saga says the Vanir practiced incest. He also adds that They know a form of magic called Seiðr, which was forbidden to men because it implied effeminacy. The Divine Twins and gender ambiguity are therefore two things that the Vanir and the Alcis may have had in common.

I stress that I’m not saying that Freyr is the same god as any of these gods. I’m merely pointing out similarities between Him and a few Greek and Roman deities, which creates reference points in the Romanization of Ingui. It also “softens” the process, in that it makes Him familiar and shows how Freyr’s ways, so to speak, are not unheard of in Roman polytheism.

*Images: Freyr (from the Norse Tarot), Silvanus (British Museum), Priapus, and the Dioskouri (Metropolitan Museum).

I have already written about my relationship with Him, so I won’t expand too much on it. Suffice to say that Freyr is my longest standing devotion, sparked by a curious look at the mythology section of an encyclopaedia and resisting through my several religious shifts, as I moved from one tradition to another in search of my own. He was there when I was closer to modern Druidry, certainly when I became a heathen, and survived the final shift to Roman polytheism. At some point, the probability of me Romanizing Him became high, but I resisted it because I wanted the transformation to be respectful, both of Roman and Norse traditions. The simple creation of a syncretic form like Silvanus-Fricco or the mere introduction of Germanic elements into Latin ritual just wouldn’t do. So I had to think about it, let it brew, and come up with a balanced and appealing format.

The move might draw criticism from both Roman and Norse polytheists, yet both can be easily addressed. The former may find solace in the historical precedent of Greek, Egyptian, Celtic, and other foreign deities being Romanized and introduced into the religious life of the religio, even in Rome itself. Think of the Dioskouri, Hercules, Isis, Osiris, Cybele, and Epona; think of all the gods and goddesses that were given a Roman look and ritual in the provinces, not all of them fully syncretised, like Sucellus, Endovellicus, and Nehalennia. Of course, one might point out that the ritus graecus of Roman religious ceremonies was just another form of ritus romanus and that cult practices of foreign deities were often adapted. Which is true, but none of that prevents the Latinization of a non-Latin cult. On the contrary, it provides us with several precedents and models. And if you say the case of Freyr is not historical, my answer is that I’m not a re-enactor: a living religion naturally takes in and adapts new elements.

The same mutability is also true for Norse polytheism. The fact that none of the Vanir was Romanized in the past – if you ignore Tacitus’ description of the Germanic world – doesn’t mean it shouldn’t happen today. The location of Europe’s far north allowed for a greater isolation of its religions and no doubt it would have been a different story if, instead of the Baltic, Scandinavia was by the Mediterranean. It’s basically a matter of proximity and close ties, something modern-day technology took care of. And if you’re into reconstructing a living religion, as opposed to re-enacting it, then you have to accept that new practices will take shape. The issue, I’d argue, is not with the appearance of the new, but rather the form it takes. Namely, if it is a respectful adaptation of both the original tradition of the god and that which receives His cult. That’s a balance I tried to create and it’s also a very Roman thing: respect towards the traditional orthopraxy extended even to foreign deities, but it also required a degree of conformity to Roman social rules. Cybele is a good historical example of just that.

This series is divided into several posts on different elements of a Romanized Freyr, including a comparison with several Roman gods, proposed rituals, and a drawing of the god by my own hand. Some things will simply be a Latin translation of old Norse, but others will bear more substantial changes.

1. Presenting and comparing
2. Titles and aspects
3. Symbols
4. Feast days
5. Rituals (1)
6. Rituals (2)
7. Depiction

One final note: I don’t believe Freyr is the same god as any Roman god. I take Him as a separate entity originating from northern Europe, which is why the Latinization allowed room for the preservation of a Norse identity.

Having and almost year-long devotion to Mercury, the idea has finally been put into practice. And bit accidently, actually, because this month’s first Wednesday – that is today – is also the 4th, which is a very mercurial number (Mercury’s Day is actually the forth of he week). It’s not a very common coincidence: the last time it happened was in May and it won’t happen again until April, July, and then… September 2013. So, in a way, it’s auspicious in that it’s also the starting month of 2012. And it’s a perfect combination for a first time at a celebration that I will henceforth hold at every January 4th. I called it Vialia, from the Latin word for pathway – via – as in Lares Viales or wights of the roads.

Breakfast with a god
In the morning, after waking up, washing up, and morning prayers, I made an offering of incense to Mercury and decorated His clay altar with a bead wreath. I then arranged another altar set with His image and prepared my breakfast, which included a bowl of strawberries and spelt cakes that was presented to Mercury along with a portion of wheat, a candle, more incense, and a flower wreath. Thus, my first meal of the day had Mercury as the guest of honour and breakfast company. Before eating the strawberries and cakes, I took a few and set them aside to later leave at the public altar in Belém, along with the portion of wheat and the wreath.

Animal adoption
I’ve been eyeing financial animal adoption for a while and decided to start today, as a gesture in honour of Mercury, with the symbolic bonus of choosing foxes, namely a red and a Darwin’s. I’ll take the adoption kit for the former, which means I’ll be able to keep a few mementos from this first Vialia, but the donation for the latter will go entirely to conservation programmes, if nothing else because Darwin’s fox is critically endangered, while the red one is not. Now, you may ask what does this animal have to do with Mercury, especially since He’s linked to cattle and watch dogs, while foxes are predators that may attack herds and hens. Yet dogs are not naturally a shepherds sidekick, but fulfil that role after having been tamed, bred, and trained for it. Before that they were wolves, wild canines like a fox, but with a greater aggressive potential. But perhaps more importantly, foxes are liminal and cunning animals, in that they move through different worlds – wild, rural, urban, and their boundaries – and have a trickster’s nature. Which is very appropriate for a god who’s Himself a trickster who moves between realms. And, being a liminal animal, it’s also a good badge for travellers and diplomats, both of which cross borders and may require a good dose of wit and cunning. The fox may not have an historical precedent in Greek or Roman traditions as a hermetic/mercurial animal, but the link makes sense and so there’s no reason why it shouldn’t arise as a modern symbol of Mercury.

Of course, dealing with tricksters means that you’ll have to deal with their sense of humour, too, and be ready for shortcomings. In this case, a World Wildlife Fund webpage that failed to submit my adoptions. Ironic, isn’t it? Guess I’ll have to wait a few days before trying again.

At the public altar
At the altar to Mercury in Belém, I laid the flower wreath, two strawberries, two spelt cakes, and four handfuls of wheat, which I spread clockwise with a few words to the god. I also took out of my bag the set of oracular pebbles I created and drew three of them after asking Mercury for His advice for the New year. What I got may be connected with my thesis, but time will tell.

Along the way to and from Belém, I left a few coins as offerings to the Lares Viales. On vases, garden pillars, and hidden in public benches. Some may be found and taken by pass-byers, which has its beauty, since you’re putting them “on the road” and the coins will move from one hand to another.

The already usual ceremony was conducted in ritus romanus and had a long praefatio focused on relevant deities for me and my family on this day – Fortuna, Diana, Juno, etc. – but not the main god of the ceremony, who’s naturally Janus. This year, besides crowning His image with a flower wreath, I also gave Him twelve yellow rose petals, one for each month of the year, apart from the offerings of wine, honey, mola salsa, and a chestnut bread I bake especially for this sacrifice.

Throughout the day, I may still make several vows to different deities, since this is a most auspicious date. A happy New Year for all and may Janus bless you and your family.

Saturn’s feast is well know and traditionally spans from the 17th to the 23rd of December. Gift giving, wreaths, general revelry, and a healthy dose of mockery are the basic elements of Saturnalia. And except for the election of a mock king, something that requires a group of people, all of them are applicable or adaptable for a solitary like me. Gift giving is still part of modern Christmas celebrations, as are wreaths and other decorations; revelry may come in a more sober fashion, but dinner parties are also a current practice and one can make them as wild as possible. And in the past few years I’ve been adding a few things that have come to enrich my Saturnalia.

Besides a more traditional ceremony to Saturn in ritus Graecus, last year I also started setting up a statue of the god on the living room table. I crown it with a small wheat wreath, light a candle and maybe a portion of incense as a daily offering and, this year, decorate it with golden balls and pine twigs. But an older personal tradition implies baking walnut muffins and going door to door to give them to friends and relatives, usually at night so I can take a candle holder decorated with pine. It’s an expansion of the traditional gift giving and, this year, the candle I carried was lighted from the flame offered to Saturn, so as to bring the god’s blessing to my actions and honour Him thus. But the integration of this personal tradition in Saturnalia means that the festivity lasts one more day, until the 24th, which is what happened this year. As for mockery, I tend to translate that into comedy movies and a humorous tale which I then send to friends and family on the eve of the solstice.

The link of Lord Ingui with the season is less obvious, historically speaking. The boar might be the clearest connection, both in the reference to Yule sacrifices and in the description of Gullinbursti – Freyr’s shinning golden boar, who sheds light even in the darkest realms, which is significant when you put it in a midwinter context. Still, given Ingui’s solar qualities and my own devotion to Him, I’ve come to see the solstice as His birthday. Symbolically, it makes sense and it puts what little historical information there is in a greater scheme. The idea of a Vanic nativity scene has been growing in my mind, complete with golden boars and elves, plus sand and dirt, representing the Sea (Njord) and the Earth (Njarda or Njörun or Nerthus), who are Freyr’s parents. But I still haven’t used this idea and, currently, my celebration of Ingui’s birthday is marked by the decoration of His altar with natural pine, offerings on midwinter’s eve and sunrise, and a Swedish straw pig on the top of the Yule tree. And the celebration is suppose to last until end of December.

Next year’s might be different. Then again, it may be different in many ways, given the current economic crisis. But, if all goes well, 2012 should have a lot more boars (homemade, if necessary), maybe a Vanic nativity and a special birthday cake of some sort (perhaps pastry pig’s head).

I started by buying strawberries and flowers after sunset of the day before. I tend to see Mercury as the same god as Hermes, if nothing else because it makes sense to me that, since He’s a very mobile deity of travellers, He’s one of the likeliest divine beings to be known far and wide by different names. Since Pausanias says that Hermes was believed to have been nourished under a wild strawberry tree – the remains of which were kept in a sanctuary to Him – I find that particular fruit to be a proper offering and snack in a day devoted to Mercury. As for the flowers, I happened to pass by a shop on my way home and thought of making a wreath, which I eventually did.

In the following morning, after the usual prayers and greetings to several gods and my ancestors, and after having breakfast, I made an offering to incense and a candle to Mercury by His small clay altar, decorated with beads I keep for such occasions. Then I went to a nearby park to get a small willow branch, which are thin and flexible enough to work as a frame for a home-made flower wreath. I also ordered a new mobile phone, since my old one decided it was time to bow and leave the stage. I waited until December 7th to buy it and did it online, which allowed me to get a pretty good discount. Overall, things that are very Mercury-related: acquiring a communication device, using the world wide web, and working things around to get a bargain. The next thing on the to do list was a visit to the public altar in Belém.

I packed a few things, took the flower wreath and made my way to the subway and afterwards the train line that runs parallel to the Tagus river. That was another mercurial activity: travelling! Even if a small distance in an urban area. The altar is pretty well preserved, with the inscription visible and no signs of ill-intentioned damage. And so I laid the flower wreath on it, took a strawberry and a few handfuls of wheat grains, giving the first portion to Janus, the following two to Mercury, and a final one to the genii loci. It’s a quick and informal thing, I know, but it’s also more of a personal devotional act than a great traditional ceremony which, in any case, couldn’t be easily performed in a public garden.

The rest of the day was spent doing research at a university library, going through editions of medieval documents. It was a work thing for my thesis, but it’s also something that can be related to Mercury, since He’s a god of writing and a divine interpreter (and trust me, there’s a lot reading between the lines when analysing medieval documents). The fact that in my everyday life I often do things He may enjoy and the likelihood that ahead of me lies a good dose of work journeys is probably the reason why He grew into a major devotion of mine in a short period of time. We have a mutually enjoyable routine, so to speak, and I have had a share of signs that He’s out there paying attention.

A few days ago, on the late night of the 12th, Lisbon was hit by a storm. There was heavy rain, strong wind, and roaring thunder. I woke up because of it and thought that there was no way I could burn offerings under that weather. I don’t have a fireplace, a roofed terrace, or a porch where I can set up a ritual fire when it’s raining. And because I share a flat, there’s no way I’m going to take over the kitchen to perform a sacrifice. So my usual options are a simple prayer and offerings on the clay altars I keep in my room or using a metal extension and bowl on the window so I can make a more traditional ceremony. Of course, the latter option depends on the weather and, since it was raining, the best I could do was pouring the offerings on the edge of the window and let the rain and wind carry them.

However, the morning of the 13th was dry and occasionally bright. So I made my usual prayers and offerings at my home shrine, presented Jupiter with what I had to offer Him and, as the weather seemed to be stable, prepared things for a traditional ceremony. I lighted a ritual fire outside my window, got a bowl of water to wash my hands in and a white cloth to cover my head. And then I called on Janus to open the sacrifice, gave Him incense and wine, as well as to Vesta, for the blessing of the sacrificial fire, before directing my prayers to the God of Thunder. I listed my offerings to Him and then poured them one by one in the flames after requesting the deity’s blessings. Vesta received another portion of incense at that point and a final one was made for expiation, in case any god or goddess was offended during the ceremony.

The fire eventually died out. I collected the remains of the offerings and carried them to a nearby park. My initial idea was to place them by an oak tree, but then I remembered about a high place, one of the highest in Lisbon, with a commanding view of the city. You can see downtown from there, as well as the river and the cities beyond it. There’s a park on that hill top and it would have been a perfect place for a temple to Jupiter, so I went there and left the burnt remains of the offerings on a spot where I would like place an altar to the god. The wind was strong, but the weather was dry.

The rain came back a few hours later, pouring intensely as thunder ripped through the night sky. I stood by the window and watched. The Ides of November had been like the eye of a storm: calm and bright in the middle of dark thundering weather.