Slavic Polytheism: Updating my Prayers

Lately, my Slavic polytheist practice has been feeling stagnant. Part of that is that I’ve been ridiculously overworked for the past two months (which is also why this blog has basically gone dark). I’ve been so busy that I’ve been neglecting religion, because at the end of each day I’m so exhausted that I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to eat dinner, crash into bed, and watch a mindless YouTube video until I fall asleep. My Wiccan practice has suffered, and so has my Slavic practice.

More deeply than that, though, I’ve been feeling for a while that I need a change. I’d been using the same basic morning prayer for the past several years, and it’s started to become kind of rote. There’s not a lot of feeling or intention behind it. It’s been more the case that I light my incense, say the words, an go about my day, but without really feeling that I’ve connected meaningfully with the Slavic gods.

On top of that, I’ve been feeling a disconnect from the gods themselves, as I wrestle with some broad theological questions about the deities, what we know about them, and how I can maintain a balance between Slavic heathenry and Wicca. I am, first and foremost, a priest of the Wiccan Gods; that is and will remain my primary commitment. And while the Wiccan Gods are not jealous and have no proscription on worshipping other deities, there’s an open question for me of how I can fit a separate religious practice around something that takes up so much of my life, without neglecting one or the other. How can I worship a Slavic moon god when every time I look up at the moon, I see the Wiccan Goddess? How can I celebrate Maslenitsa when I dedicate every spring equinox to the Wiccan Wheel of the Year? I love Slavic deities and feel enriched and fulfilled by honoring them, but I wonder sometimes if I can really honor them fully when I have this other, deeper relationship already in place.

Additionally, the quality of information I have about the Slavic pantheon has drastically improved since I first started my practice. Some things I thought were established scholarship have been debunked, as with the seasonal myth of Jarilo and Morena as twins/spouses and children of Perun. Other things I thought were lost have been painstakingly researched, largely due to the efforts of Slavic polytheists who are native speakers of Slavic languages and who have access to archaeological research that I can’t read. For example, I used to think of “Khors-Dazhbog” as a single solar deity, because there is no “and” separating the two names when they’re listed with the rest of the Kiev pantheon in the Primary Chronicle. Now, I’ve learned that there’s pretty good evidence that these are two separate deities. Dazhbog is likely a solar god, and while there are competing theories about Khors, the work I’ve read leads me to think he’s probably a lunar god.

As a second example, I used to think of Simargl as a destructive winged beast, identified with the Persian Simurgh. I found an apocryphal story that Simargl was kept prisoner behind the North Star and would be released at the end of the world, in a manner reminiscent of the Fenris Wolf. Now, I’ve had the opportunity to read some extraordinary scholarship by others that suggests Simargl was a deity of grain and crops.

So some of the older prayers I used to use no longer fit what I know (or at least, what I think I know) about these gods. And recently, I’ve been wanting to overhaul my whole morning ritual.

As I undertook the project of rebuilding the foundation of my Slavic practice, I decided that I wanted to expand the list of deities I honor regularly—and to reconsider the order in which I name and honor them. In my previous ritual format, I started with Svarozhich as a sort of gateway guardian, opening the door between me and the gods. I then honored the five deities of the Kiev pantheon (counting Khors-Dazhbog as one god), followed by Jarilo and Morena, and then finally Baba Yaga (who I don’t think of as a deity, exactly, but as a spirit with whom I have a complicated devotional relationship). This time around, I chose to include several other gods who are decently historically attested, fleshing out the pantheon.

I also decided to include a number of non-deity spirits in my routine. A lot of polytheists will talk about a framework with three broad classes of spirits: Gods, ancestors, and spirits of place (which the Norse heathens like to call “wights”). This time around, I’ve chosen to include all three in my daily devotionals, starting with the ancestors and working up to the gods.

Something I’ve found for myself is that it’s easiest for me to connect to the Slavic gods as they manifest in very literal ways in the natural world. Part of this is because of the dearth of surviving mythology around these gods; we know that Dazhbog was a solar god, but we really don’t have any stories about him, so if I want to connect to him, I can’t look for a myth in which he features prominently. Instead, I reach for the feeling of sacred joy that accompanies sunlight on my skin. So for each god or spirit that I honor, I started with something literal and physical: How are they embodied in the world? What can I point to and say “That’s them”? Dazhbog is the sun, Stribog is the wind, and so on. From there, I built up simple prayers with a descriptive adjectival epithet and a short description of activity—something that they do.

Ordering the prayers, I started with ancestors, then spirits of place, then the Gods. I started with Svarozhich as before, because I really do think of him as a messenger who can open up the gateway for communication with the gods. That’s not really historically attested beyond some comparative similarities with deities in other pantheons (Agni, Hestia), but it feels right to me and I’m sticking with it. From there, I move on to Svarog; this is partly because he feels like a natural extension from Svarozhich, and partly because I think of him as the creator deity in the Slavic pantheon. After Svarog, I name deities associated with celestial bodies and the sky: Dazhbog, Khors, Zorya, Perun, and Stribog. Then I work my way down to grain, animals, and the earth: Simargl, Veles, Mokosh, and Devana (who I used to think of as a fakelore deity, but who has increasingly won me over as a member of the pantheon). Then I list some more abstract deities of life and death: Zhiva, Jarilo, Morena, the Rozhanitsy, and finally Baba Yaga.

In naming each spirit or deity, I offer them a pinch of steel-cut oats. I used to do salt, but I couldn’t really find a responsible way to dispose of it; dumping a whole bunch of salt out on the earth will destroy the soil and prevent anything from growing, and that felt wrong to me. The only one who doesn’t get oats is Svarozhich; when I name him, I light a stick of incense as an offering, instead.

That’s the thought process that has gone into my overhaul of the daily(-ish) ritual I use for honoring the Slavic gods. Without further ado, here are the prayers I’ve written. Note that these are not authoritative and I’m not an expert; I’m relying largely on the work of other, better-informed people and on my own personal sense of who these gods are and how I can relate to them. As I learn more, my practice is constantly liable to evolve.

Hail to the Dziady, the ancestors, watchful and wise, who have tread the path before me.

Hail to the Domovoy, the house, helpful and tidy, protector of kith and kin.
Hail to the Leshy, the woods, hairy and hidden, leading the wicked astray.
Hail to the Vodyanoy, the waters, aged and amphibian, tempestuous lord of the deep.

Hail to Svarozhich, the fire, white-tusked boar, bearer of the messages of the gods.
Hail to Svarog, the forge, quarrelsome one, maker of heaven and earth.
Hail to Dazhbog, the sun, child of Svarog, all-giving and generous god.
Hail to Khors, the moon, haggard and drawn, stalking in the form of a wolf.
Hail to Zorya, the dawn and the dusk, fair-haired and shining, bringer of change.
Hail to Perun, the rain, axe-wielding warrior, chieftain of the mighty gods.
Hail to Stribog, the wind, swiftest among the gods, grandfather of the poets.
Hail to Simargl, the grain, winged and protective, reaper of all that is sown.
Hail to Veles, the beast, trickster magician, keeper of the souls of the dead.
Hail to Devana, the hunt, sharp-eyed archer, maiden of the wild and untouched places.
Hail to Mokosh, the earth, skillful weaver, protector of women and children.
Hail to Zhiva, the womb, bountiful mother, nourishing giver of life.
Hail to Jarilo, the spring, beautiful youth, riding upon a white horse.
Hail to Morena, the winter, drowned and enflamed, bringer of cruel death.
Hail to the Rozhanitsy, the spindle, three who are one, givers of good and ill fate.
Hail to Baba Yaga, the oven, bony-legged and iron-toothed, tester of the kind and unkind.

So this is my daily ritual now. I’m going to try to get back into it, because I’ve been really missing that connection to the Slavic gods and a feeling of religious fulfillment more broadly. We’ll see how things go from here.