SLAVIC DEITIES
The Slavic gods dwell close to the land—woven into the soil, the rivers, the thunder, and the grain. They move with the rhythms of nature and the turning of the seasons, mirroring the raw truths of life: birth and decay, war and harvest, love and fate. Some command the skies with flame and storm, like Perun the Thunderer; others dwell in the shadowed depths, like Veles the Serpent Lord. Goddesses such as Mokosh and Lada tend to fertility, weaving, and the sacred ties of hearth and kin. The Slavic pantheon lives in the breath of the world—in fields, forests, and firesides, where memory and reverence endure. To know them is to awaken the connection carried within.
Rod, The Creator
Before there were gods, before the stars were named or planets charted their course, there was Rod.
Rod is not merely a deity—he is the origin itself, the Consciousness. The silent weaver of law and spirit. Where others would later shape the winds and wage the wars of the heavens, Rod simply was—the unseen force from which all divine and mortal life emerged. In the old Slavic understanding of the world, he is the creator who brought the cosmos into being.
From his essence unfolded the three realms that uphold the sacred order of existence. Prav, the realm of divine law and higher truth, holds the justice that governs both gods and men. Yav is the living world—what we can touch, see, and shape with our hands. And Nav lies below them--the shadowed land of the dead and the ancestors, where the past speaks and nothing is truly lost.
Rod is not a figure of conquest or spectacle. He is rarely depicted at all, but when he is, it is as a wise elder in red, the color of life and lineage, cradling the world with quiet reverence, or a falcon nestling an egg. He does not demand worship or sacrifice, but is remembered in the rites of birth, in the naming of children, and in the stillness that follows death.
To honor Rod is to remember where we came from, and to know that we are never separate from the realms he set in motion. Even now, in every breath, he lingers.
Mokosh, Mother Earth
Sister to Perun, daughter of Svarog, Mokosh is the great Earth Mother of the Slavs—goddess of fertility, protector of women, and sacred spirit of the living land.
She governs the mysteries of birth, growth, and death, her presence rooted in the soil beneath our feet and the bloodlines that carry life forward. From loom to cradle, field to hearth, Mokosh is the quiet force behind every act of creation and the turning of life’s wheel.
Wearing robes embroidered with the threads of fate, she is crowned in wildflowers, wheat, and vines—symbols of her dominion over both the natural world and the human soul. In one hand, she holds the spindle of destiny; in the other, the grain of harvest, sustaining both body and spirit.
Wells, springs, and fertile fields are her sanctuaries, where offerings of bread and woven cloth are laid in reverence. Women seek her blessing in childbirth and healing; farmers call upon her for rain, soil, and renewal. She watches over spinners, midwives, and those whose hands shape the world with devotion.
She is the weaver of sacred patterns, the keeper of ancestral memory, the enduring heart of Slavic tradition.
To honor Mokosh is to honor the earth, the womb, the work of hands, and the wisdom that endures. She is the breath of the land, and the pulse beneath its skin.
She is the deep soil. The sacred threat. The whisper of wind that says: "Tend. Root. Weave."
​
​
Perun, The Thunderer
Perun—the youngest son of Svarog—is a sky-father, war-bringer, and the wielder of divine justice.
Where his gaze falls, falsehood trembles. Where his axe strikes, the wicked are laid bare.
He is the storm that does not yield and the roar that cannot be denied.
Clad in radiant armor, crowned in flame, Perun rides across the sky in a chariot drawn by a mighty goat or a stag.
In his hand, he wields the axe or hammer of thunder, hurling it through the heavens to strike down lies, treachery, and darkness.
Each strike brings not only destruction, but cleansing—his lightning splits the sky, yes, but also binds the world to truth.
He is the god of oaths, courage, and rightful battle—invoked by warriors and chieftains before war, and by peasants beneath the oak tree, where his power is strongest. The oak, his sacred tree, stands as a symbol of strength, endurance, and divine order.
Perun’s domain is not one of chaos, but of righteous force. He does not lash out blindly—he answers the cry for justice, the call for protection, the need for strength when all else falls away.
He is the shield of the worthy.
The storm against the corrupt.
The voice behind the thunder that says: “Stand. Strike. Endure.”
Those who honor Perun do not fear the storm. They become it.
Lada, the Harmony
When the world first bloomed beneath the touch of spring, when warmth returned to the soil and the rivers began to sing again, it was Lada who breathed. From the golden light of her father Svarog’s forge, she arose—the goddess of love, beauty, and harmony, whose laughter awakened life itself.
Lada is the heart of balance in all things. Where Svarog brings law and order, she brings union and peace. She is the pulse of creation’s joy—the eternal bride, the nurturer of souls, the divine mother whose presence is felt wherever life renews itself.
Her realm is not bound to temples or thrones, but lives in every blooming flower, in the first smile of a child, in the songs of lovers, and the gentle hum of bees in the meadow. To honor her is to honor the sacred rhythm of life, the harmony between heaven and earth.
Her symbols are the wreath of blossoms, the swan, and the mirror—each reflecting her power to unite opposites and restore beauty to a fractured world. In ancient rites, maidens wove garlands in her name and danced around fires at the dawn of spring, calling for Lada’s blessing upon the harvest, the home, and the heart.
To mortals, she brings not only love but the wisdom of right relation—the knowing that every bond, whether between man and woman or between earth and sky, must be tended with care. Where there is peace after discord, where warmth follows winter’s end, there you will find the gentle hand of Lada.
Through Lada’s harmony, the world remembers the order that unites sky and earth, spirit and form. To explore how this divine reflection shapes all creation, read the scroll from the Temple Archives:
As Above, So Below: The Hermetic Principle of Correspondence
Svarog, The Celestial Smith
In the beginning, when the world was still formless and dark, Svarog struck his hammer upon the anvil of the heavens. Sparks flew, and from them came fire, light, and law. He is the Father of the Sun, the Sacred Smith who forged order from chaos, the silent guardian of sacred flame, and one of the eight numinous children of Rod.
Svarog dwells not upon the earth, but in the celestial realm, beyond the sky’s dome. There, he shapes the destiny of men and gods alike, his forge a place where holy power is tempered by wisdom.
His presence is felt in the rhythmic beat of the blacksmith’s hammer, in the warmth of a hearth well-tended, in oaths sworn under stars. Temples once kept eternal flames in his honor, tended by priests and hallowed keepers of the fire. His symbols are the hammer, the sunwheel, and the firebird—each a mark of his sovereignty over both the seen and unseen world.
Where fire brings life, protection, and creation, there you will find Svarog’s quiet blessing.
To mortals, he gave the gifts of fire and craftsmanship—civilizing forces that transformed early tribes into cultures. In some tales, he is credited with forging the first plow, yoking the oxen of the sky, and teaching humankind the sacred art of agriculture. In others, he creates the very order that binds the world together: the sun’s course, the laws of kings, and the fires of the hearth.
In Slavic lands, those who work with fire—blacksmiths, keepers of the hearth, warriors—often whisper his name in reverence. For where there is fire tempered by wisdom, where there is light guided by law, there too dwells the mighty hand of Svarog.
Morana - Bringer of Death
In Slavic lore, Morana is the goddess of winter, death, and the quiet transformation that follows all endings. She is the still breath of the world when the fields lie barren and the rivers sleep beneath ice. Where others see decay, Morana sees renewal— for in her embrace, the old must fall away to make room for the new.
She walks the twilight between worlds, veiled in frost and shadow. Her presence is felt in the fading of the sun, in the withering of leaves, in the silence before the thaw. Ravens are said to herald her coming, their black wings stirring the air of forgotten memories. Yet Morana is not cruel; she is the necessary balance to creation itself. Without her, life would never rest, and the cycle would never turn.
Ancient rites once marked her passing with effigies cast into rivers or burned in farewell, honoring her dominion and welcoming spring’s return. Even now, her spirit lingers in the hush of winter nights—cold, solemn, yet strangely pure. She reminds humankind that death is not an ending but a doorway, a sacred pause between what was and what will be.
Through Morana’s stillness, the world remembers that even death is but a reflection of life.
To explore the deeper law that binds above and below, read the latest teaching from the Temple Archives:
As Above, So Below: The Hermetic Principle of Correspondence
