Oschdre, Austrō, Ēostre, or Ostara?

I’ve written three posts that sit languishing in my drafts box. But this one? Ah, it’s time sensitive!

First off, Happy Autumn to those of you on the flip-side of the wheel! I’m told winter is coming. Happy Spring to those of you on this side of the globe. I hope it sticks.

At the last Pagan Pride Day one of the participants made a comment about how everything in Norse Paganism is hard to pronounce. “Even the word Norse,” he joked, pronouncing it Norsey. For the rest of the day he joked about all the Heathens and “that Norsey group.” It was so endearing, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that we are Germanic Heathens.

Besides it gets too complicated to talk about a pan-Germanic Heathenry at a primarily social event.

So, it didn’t bother me at all that he called us Norsey all day. It was all in fun and we talked it over at length during Imbolc.

It was then that someone who shoulda known better said something vaguely snarky about the vacillation of our lexicon and pantheon. It was the kind of comment that revealed the precise level of theological inexperience of the speaker.

So, as an exercise for a future lesson for my students (and as part of a discussion for this weekend’s celebration where we expect a number of first-time-visitors), I’m working out some definitions here. Definitions that I always take for granted that “everybody knows”—and, in truth, they don’t.[1]

Fortunately, I have students who keep me in check, make me back up, explain myself, recontextualize, and then proceed without losing the focus of our lesson. I like it. It makes me think more deeply about stuff I’ve assumed as predetermined “givens.”

Also, I like when they challenge me on a “given” and I turn out to be wrong because of my decades-long assumptions, I get a little tickled. OK. First I get ticked, then I end up tickled, because I realize A) I’m better for the knowledge, B) my student is well rounded enough to ask such an in-depth question, and C) my student is comfortable enough with me[2] to challenge me rather than just blindly following my lead.

Here’s the question, from a would-be student, that started this ball rolling: “How is Oschdre the same as Austrō, Ēostre, or Ostara [depending on your geography] and is She, then, the same as Eos and Aurora?”

Well, no; she’s not.

And yet, yes; she is.

This is the part where I have to back up.

No language, culture, or religion is isolated unto itself. Those traditions which claim to be or even strive to be “purist” do so in the face of thousands of years of contact, influence, and exchange—before, during, and after The Migration Period. Most cultures, and certainly not those of Europe and Asia, are not hermetically-sealed against outside influences. Moreover, cultures evolve in their own practices—in addition to outside influences, as a reaction to outside influences, as a resistance to outside influences.

Therefore whether we are talking about Scandinavian, Nordic, Teutonic, Germanic (including Celto-Germanic, Deitsche, and Anglo-Saxon) Heathenry, we are talking about peoples who affected each other during migrations that predate the Viking Era. The Jutes and Gauls and Goths were trading shite and raiding shite and sacking Rome (and getting sacked in turn) long before Ragnar went west.

Don’t let me confuse you here. We are not of the mind that “older” is “better” (whatever that means)—just that ancient interactions matter. We honor the New World (ehem, Christianized) practices of Hoodoo (Uath Dubh) and Bracherei (Powwow) as much as our ancient Old World influences.

This is the part where I have to explain myself.

There’s a difference between “eclecticism” and “syncretism.” And there’s a difference between heterogeneous “eclecticism” and a motley jumble—what I’ve heard derisively referred to as “smorgasbord tradition” and “cafeteria religion.” Some people find value in mix-and-match traditions; and I say, “Have at it!” Personally, I’m too attached to rationale. I like to have a little purpose behind my actions—purpose aside from, “Well, I like it; it feels right.”

Don’t let me confuse you here. We set great store by personal gnosis and individual patrons—but we temper both concepts with sound evidence rather than just “feeling our way” through our rituals and devotions.

Also, don’t let me confuse you on this point. Simply because we honor a Heathen pantheon does not mean non-Germanic figures won’t grab us by the ear and insist we “come along” from time to time. And we know better than to ignore them just because they aren’t “our flavor.” But that is a personal devotional issue, not necessarily one upon which we would center a sege (blót) for the entire group.

There’s also a small linguistic difference between “syncretic” and “syncretistic.”[3] Again, I’ve heard these used in a neutral as well as in a pejorative sense. I use them as neutral-to-positive demarcations.

Syncretistic (from syncretism) used to mean “to combine, as two parties against a third” especially, “in the manner of the Cretans.” But now it simply means “reconciliation of diverse or opposite tenets or practices.”[4]

Syncretic means “aiming at a union or reconciliation of diverse beliefs, practices, or systems” as it is “characterized by the fusion of concepts or sensations” (my emphasis).

Once you have all of that under your hat, you can see that neither syncretic nor syncretistic traditions are “smorgasbord traditions.” Nor are they exactly “mixed traditions.”[5]

(Traditional) Wicca itself has a syncretistic origin. It didn’t develop in a vacuum and has bits of various Pagan sources from across the whole Western world; from 19^th Century literature and folklore; and from Western occultism/ceremonial magic, which is very Judeo-Christian in itself.

This is the part where I have to recontextualize.

So—back to our theological question at hand. “How is Oschdre [Austrō, Ēostre, or Ostara depending on your geography] and is She, then, the same as Eos and Aurora?”

Well, no; she’s not.

And yet, yes; she is.

From a SYNCRETIC practitioner’s perspective, all of the goddesses representing light and vertive life are the same; the Goddess Ostara is the Goddess Eos is the Goddess Aurora. In this theology, the Gods become a fusion.[6]

Now, there is a supplementary divergence here too. Some folks see this “fusion” as a sort of archetype rather than discrete entities. Not all, just some.

From a SYNCRETISTIC practitioner’s perspective, the deities are all separate. They may have interrelating functions or characters that make them highly cooperative at certain points; but they remain individuals.[7]

Likewise, I think it’s fair to say that while Braucherei and Seiðr are both “shamanistic” practices, and that we study and engage in them both; Braucherei is *clearly* not Seiðr and Seiðr is *clearly* not Braucherei. Rootwork is not the same as witchcraft. I could go on forever.[8]

This is the part where I have to proceed, hopefully without having lost too much focus.

I’m more comfortable saying that Oschdre is the same as Austrō, Ēostre, or Ostara than I am saying she is the same as Eos or Aurora. Though she shares the element of vertive life-bringer with Demeter, she is not Demeter. However, I think Oschdre and Ēostre are only subtly different based on geography and the relationships she has with folks in different locales.

Let’s see if I can metaphor.

I am known as Angela, Ange, Angie, Ehsha, Dr. Farmer, Mrs. Farmer (not right by a long-shot but folks still call me that), Mom, and Mommy. I am each of these but I function differently for each name I am called. When my daughter calls me Mommy, I know to hide my wallet. When a (secular) student calls me Angela, I don’t respond. When someone other than my parents, cousins, or siblings call me Angie, I snarl. As Dr. Farmer I can pull strings that Mrs. Farmer (grrr) cannot. Angela is far more influential than Angie. And Ange? If you know me well enough for me to be comfortable with you calling me that? You don’t need me to tell you where my powers begin and end. (And if you call me that against my will? Just see.)

My point is to say, it’s important to know what your relationship to the God/dess is and refer to Him/Her appropriately.

As syncretists, we see Oschdre as a “White Lady”—or one who straddles the liminal space between “here” and “there.” Though she shares that roll with Berchta (Perchta, Perht, Berta[9]) and Holle (Holda, Hel, Hella, Huldra), she is not them.

One day I will parse out trinitarian God/desses like The Mór-ríoghain. Not today.

So how are we to celebrate?

As today is the equinox, we will do/have done a few things. But the term Oschdre (or Ostara) is a plural word—meaning the celebration was held over multiple days. Typically our Kindred likes to celebrate before the change of the season rather than when the energy is waning. This celebration is different. We can start today and conclude on Saturday—exactly what we are doing[10]–and we won’t miss any of the energy.

We don’t *only* venerate Ostara by the way; we have honors for Freyr (Frey), Thunor (Donner, Thor), Sif (Siwwa), and Idunn (Idunna) as well.

Plus eggs.
And fertility games.
And a seed share.
And other nice surprises.

Enjoy your spring!

Wæs þu hæl!

Ostara Eggs by Oshuna on deviantart

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[1] I mean, it’s fair. I’ve been studying theology since before some of my students were alive. It’s second-nature to me and alien to them.

[2] And my student knows my ego won’t implode.

[3] For another take on this see Aedicula Antinoi, “Nuancing Syncretism.” 

[4] All my definitions are from the OED Online. Lemme know if you want a real citation.

[5] This is what I call—non-derisively—PB&J traditions; taking two unrelated traditions and making a new (delicious) one. Correllian Nativists would fit this bill. I guess if someone were Yoruba-Kemetic, that would be too. Or Hellenic-Druid. Lords this could get fun.

[6] I’ll be honest. This is the way I was *taught* to imagine the divine: “All the Gods are one God.” But my experience with the divine has taught me that I should no longer refer to myself as syncretic but as syncretist.

[7] My son came in the room and I asked him, “Son, do you think Artemis and Diana are the same . . .”

Before I could even get out the end of the question, he said emphatically, “No,” and just kept going.

[8] That reminds me—I just taught the difference between theurgy and thamaturgy. I should do that here too.

[9] Some attest her to also being Freke. But because this name is more closely connected to Frigg and Berchta is the wife of Woden (*not* the same as Odin, I have it on good authority)—that just doesn’t work.

I don’t believe Frigg/a and Freyja are the same either.

[10] Some of us are even lucky enough to get to sneak off to Earth Fest for an hour or three.

PBP Weeks 21: J –Jarls and Judicial Assemblies

It’s a Thing.

No, really. We call our assemblies a “Thing.”

In Germanic and Celtic societies all of the “free folk” (this is why Anglo Saxons also call assemblies “folkmoot”) would gather to have their grievances heard by a legislative mediator called a “lawspeaker.” This process eventually morphed into modern Parliament, and in some ways, our own Supreme Court.[1] Back in the day, when tribes, or theod, were *required* to avenge injuries done to their kindred, in order to keep the peace between tribes,[2] the equalizing convention was the Thing. Folks would come before the assembly, made up of all the free members of a community, speak their piece, hear the judgment, and then be bound to follow through with it. Then? Then let it go. The customary law of the community, or thews, were binding to both sides—plaintiff and respondent. Once balance was achieved between warring tribes, it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. Don’t pick the scab, etc.

The kinds of things that are paid are weregild and shild.

Weregild is payment for death or injury. Like today, if you commit a crime that is not necessarily punishable with incarceration, you may still incur civil damages. For instance, should you ruin (or try to ruin) someone’s reputation in a malicious and dishonest way, there are legal ramifications. In today’s coursts, we all know that slander and libel are punishable with punitive fines determined by the measure of the injury. Likewise, weregild was paid depending on the “value” of what was taken (life, limb, ability to work, even reputation). Therefore, if you murdered the head of a household (or otherwise caused them to lose their means of income), you had to make reparations so that the family feel no financial loss. If you murdered or injured a community leader, chieften or priest, the weregild was higher since more folk would be “shortchanged” by the loss you created. Unlike today where courts establish fines and “damages” after the fact, the folk typically knew where a man’s (or woman’s) weregild was valued. In some cultures a women’s weregild (weragild?) was far more than a man’s; in other cultures it was the other way around.

Please, oh, please read this bit I wrote about Moby Dick and weregild while on an incredible intellectual high. For today is summer and I now has the dumb.

Shild, on the other hand, is a payment for unthewfulness; it is a payment for failing to uphold an oath. Not unlike breach of contract conditions written into treaties, shild is something typically set at the time of the oathmaking.

A Jarl, or Oearl as we say,[3] is the chosen chieften of a tribe to whom the folk bind themselves, often with an oath swearing ceremony. Oaths sworn on rings (really arm-torques and neck-torques, not normally finger rings) are performed at “thanings” (to be a thegn or thane was not to be a slave or servant,[4] but rather a loyal companion) where each oathmaker swears their troth (OE treowð) to the kindred—this means that they swear their “truth,” swear to keep faithfulness to the community. It’s a binding pledge of loyalty, and is a reciprocal relationship. The folk are loyal to the leaders of the community and the leaders are loyal to (and protect) the folk.

• Here’s a bit about how we deal with leadership in our kindred.
• You might care to read about how we connect with other folk in this post about Frith and Grith.
• And this is a post about our interpretation of “gefrain”–good report among the folk and the gods.
• And, um, this one is about how we deal with unthewfulness. Ick.

Dísrtroth is not a recon tradition, so you may ask why the heck all of this matters so much in a religiouscontext. The truth of it is that even though we do not reconstruct the religious aspects of old Northern traditions, in our social dealings we try to reclaim the ethic of a pre-Christian-patriarchal-Romanized order.

One that:

• Maintains thewd based in equity
• Venerates the female in every incarnation[5]
• Values the credibility of the word
• Strives for self-sufficiency
• Insists on personal responsibility[6]

I mention all of this because Nine Worlds American Kindred is planning a folkmoot for The Feast of the Einherjar (held November 9). I, for one, am terrified at the prospect of having things ready in time. We’ve opted to call it a “Witches’ Moot” because it is open to all members of our extended witch, pagan, and heathen community rather than our typical tribe-only event. We are planning games, classes/discussion circles, a mead making workshop, a seidhjallr rite, a sundown drum circle, a warrior commemoration rite (to honor and protect our military), a sumbl, an animal blessing, and potluck feast. Whether or not there will be any lawspeaking remains to be seen.[7] I’ll be posting more information on our website at http://www.disrtroth.org soon; I just have to get past final grades and Midsummer first!

As ever, I’ll keep you posted.

Wæs þu hæl!

~E

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[1] There are hierarchies of things—just like there are local, state, Federal, and Supreme courts in the U.S.

[2] This might seem ironic to those of a “love-and-light” only ideology. But while payback may be a bitch, it keeps the chit-sheets square thereby preventing a “pileup” of malicious return. Tit-for-tat. Gebo. Weregild. It’s not like folks were running around wreaking carnage all over Northern Europe; the Northfolk were very practical and stringent legal foundations kept the culture in line.

[3] Actually, we don’t say, as we have no oearls in our kindred.

[4] Thegndom is not the same as thralldom.

[5] Don’t get me wrong—we aren’t anti-male or the Heathen equivalent to Dianic, not even close

[6] That’s what we call being a “good heathen.” A good heathen knows the law of the land and abides by them. (Even the law allows the demand of a payment for damages.) And once the score is settled, a good heathen lets it go.

A “bad heathen”? A bad heathen ignores the law and manipulates others into unhealthy inter/co/dependence. A bad heathen is someone who wallows in unfairness; imagine the female body and spirit as an object of degradation, shame, or even one to be used to exploit others; fibs outright or otherwise manipulates statements to treachery; bleeds the resources of others and relies on others for sustenance (material and emotional); and blames others for their own bad luck, wyrd, and various negative circumstances.

Thank the gods I don’t associate with any of those.

[7] I mean, I’m happy to provide a space to have any and all quarrels mediated by a disinterested third party–even if I have to hire one, but perhaps that’s best done outside of the celebratory circle and the results of said mediation reinforced at the moot–I mean, we only want the event to last *one* day. HA!

The Difference–Part 2

Just a Star Disk. I think it’s cool. I thought I’d share. It doesn’t have much to do with this post. Maybe soon . . .

It occurs to me that someone scrapping for an argument might think that in this series of posts I am only addressing Heathenry and Wicca because I think they are the only two forms of Paganism that matter. That’s silly.

There are Druids, Kemeticists, Hellenists, and members of larger polytheistic world religions like Hinduism(s), Voodoo, Santeria, etc. Not to mention g-zillions of tribal religions and animisms. (I know that Buddhism is a “philosophy” rather than a religion, but I always want to include it in these discussions since it is a “spirituality.”) I’m only addressing Heathenry and Wicca because I’m investigating some articles on the topic of their differences. Partly to enhance my own understanding, partly to try and dispel some misunderstandings. According to Arlie Stephens, Wiccan and author of, “Similarities and Differences Between Heathenry and Wicca”:

Wiccans (especially relative newbies) often think that all pagans are basically similar to Wiccans, with perhaps a different pantheon or some minor changes. Heathens, on the other hand, often feel like they are sharing a (neo-pagan) tent with a (Wiccan) elephant . . . they feel like they’re being constantly misunderstood and misrepresented as “Wiccans worshipping Norse gods” and consequently often refuse to accept the name “pagan” at all, treating “pagan” and “neopagan” as referring only to Wiccan-derived religions.

I was interested in those articles and the misunderstandings they brought to light because I have been a Heathen among Wiccans (both initiated and “eclectic” or “non-traditional”) for a couple of years and this approach has helped me to understand a good deal of the friction between us. I hoped it might help some of you too.

As it turns out, my suspicions have been confirmed. We simply see the world differently. We simply have a different value system. We simply have different structures for just about everything–and this makes sense given our very different histories.

Funny thing is, neither of us is wrong. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Contrary to local gossip, I never wanted to convert or change anyone. I just wanted to live my spiritual life without constant attack because I didn’t believe the way the “other team” believed; couldn’t believe most of what the “other team” espoused (since I had experienced a different reality); because I didn’t value the same things the “other team” valued and therefore could not, in good conscience, support those values; and because I was unwilling to inhabit a structure that I found untenable.[1]

And I kinda hate it that there has to be a part of me that identifies “another team,” but it is what it is.[2] If you look back to my posts about “A Place Called Community,” another article that I dissected, and “Gefrain,” you will understand that the Heathen tradition believes in “The Web of Wyrd,” which is created from the interactions we have with others. If others have wyrd (or even untended öorlog) that is incompatible with your community’s wyrd or gefrain, keeping a distance from those who would defile your luck (community spiritual energy) isn’t “exclusionist” in a negative sense; it’s self-preservation, something to which every community has a right.

I suppose our incompatibilities (locally, at least[3]) stem from the differences I started investigating yesterday: our approaches to etymology, historical research, and scholarship and our attitudes regarding tradition invention. At the core of it, it seems that it boils down to temperament; Heathens tend to be a very pragmatic folk while others tend toward the fanciful. To quote Jerry Seinfeld: “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

(I’ve always suspected that this had something to do with the climate. With only a few months of sun, Northern Europeans had to get it together, pull their weight, make some choices, learn from their mistakes and the mistakes of others (quickly), and hunker down for long-ass winters. Southerners had the luxury of grapes and fate rather than mead and wyrd. I like to say that karma may be a bitch, but she ain’t got nothin’ on wyrd. That shit will hunt you down of you spin it wrong.[4])

Now, I know that bad behavior among Wiccans is no more a general rule than racism is a general rule in Heathenry. See the lovely Cin’s comments from yesterday for confirmation that there are some good apples. However, I know that bad behavior is something that happens in bits and pieces across all traditions. Unfortunately. I mean, every vineyard has a few sour grapes. I don’t hold all of Wicca to blame for these phenomenon any more than I hold Heathenry responsible for neo-Nazis. But, I do know that there are circumstances which drive wedges into Pagan communities. Misunderstanding—particularly intentional misunderstanding—is on the top of my list of suspects.

Now that my inner-lawyer has spoken, this leads me to some of the differences I have noted on my own: approaches to “oneness” and declarations of “leadership” and therefore ideas of “priesthood.”

First, the assertion that “we are all one,” is something that the Heathen would dispute, especially if it was intended to assert that the Heathen yolk him/herself to a plow shared by a devious ass. Yes, as human-kind, we are all united as citizens of a planet. We cannot unravel our wyrd so far as to never affect one another at all. However, to draw on the imagery of an old candy commercial: I’m gonna need some folks to keep their unthewful-gefrain out of my wyrd. Or at least keep it to the peripheries of my web. There are some with whom I will not weave because I do not want the consequences of their actions to vibrate my web.

But this isn’t a choice I make for my community. I actually have been the one to ply for “khesed” before “geburah”—s’cuse me while I fall back on my old system for a second.( I could see this as a parallel between “ehwaz” and “thurisaz,” respectively, but I’m still working on it.) This moves me to my second point: leadership. We work on a system of leadership by consensus. Everyone in our group must support our decisions. This can take time and patience and long discussions—ones in which all sides are heard and all participants are given say. Fortunately, we have drawn a community with like-values and this is a fairly easy process. Plus it creates a space where everyone has a chance to lead by consensus.

I am good at organizing and delegating activities and I’m kinda-OK at writing. I lead in those areas. Another member leads when it comes to youth activities. Another member leads where it comes to music. Another leads our more “shamanic” activities. Another is our leader when we have to make legal decisions. Another for financial. We choose the leader best suited for the task at hand. Leadership by consensus reflects the reciprocal relationship between all folk. Besides, we imagine leadership as a service to our community—we do not want to drain any one member by requiring him/her to be at our service at all times. Such an act would only weaken our kindred. After all, we see the leaders of the Eddas and the Sagas going to their men to build a consensus among them. If it worked for our ancestors . . .

Sadly, some people see leadership as exercising “power,” and believe that allowing others a voice compromises the leader’s “power.” At some point, this kind of leader is likely to face a discontent community hel-bent on exodus or rebellion. (There is a time and a place to exercise executive power. Thankfully, I don’t think we live in that time. Even so, a leader should know his folk well enough to make a decision that is in the best interests of his community—one which will also be supported by the folk.)

I guess this is a fine time to address the issue of “priesthood.” In Heathenry, while there is a strong connection to ancestry, there is no need for a direct lineage to support rank. After all, more than a fourteen-hundred years after the felling of the Sacred Oak, anyone claiming direct linage would be made a laughingstock. The best we Heathens hope to do is honor the ancestry we actually have. Gillette and Stead add:

Wiccan connection to the past often involves easily disproved claims of direct historical lineage. It’s emphasis is largely on esoteric experience rather than exoteric education. [Heathens’] claim to the past is acknowledged to be indirect, and relies solely on reproducing the ancient religion through historical research. Lore retrieved from esoteric sources is to be verified by historical research rather than taken on its own terms. Thus, in terms of reification, [Heathen] validity is buoyed by historical knowledge, while Wicca may often be disappointed by it.

So, for someone like me who is devoted to honoring her ancestors—particularly her female ancestors—there is a level of frustration that attends interactions with a culture that encourages its adherents to make (what I would contend are) unnecessary artificial connections to an imaginary ancestry. Most Heathens agree that it is better to honor what we have instead of fabricating what we honor.

Keep in mind that I do not think this is a “standard of practice”—but apparently, it does happen. Enough so that more than one article would talk about it as a trend.

Because position among the kindred is not based in ancestry, we have a pragmatic approach to priesthood. While Goði or Gyðia lead rituals, their leadership of rituals is not reflective of a greater level of “power,” spiritual development, or rank. Often, the decision concerning who leads ritual may depend on purely mundane criteria such as whose house the ritual is held, who knows the ritual sequence, or how well ones voice carries. This is different for some rituals. Sometimes in oracular work, it is the person with the least skill as an oracle or pathwork-leader who acts as “ceremonial chief.” This makes sense, right? In Seiðr, we allow the best magicians do the magic—the master of ceremonies is mostly there to keep things organized. This takes a certain level of skill and is to be respected as much as magical skill.

Gillette and Stead point out that:

Because of Wicca’s historical background in ceremonial magic, Wiccan rituals are generally fairly complex . . . [and have a fairly specific format]: consecrate elements, cast circle, call Quarters, sanctify ritual space with the elements, invoke Goddess (etc.), do working(s) at hand, symbolic Great Rite, wine & cakes, and close the whole thing up with a reversal of the opening process. . . . [Heathen] rituals, on the other hand, are generally simple and straightforward. For a basic devotional blot, all the pious [Heathen] would simply need is a suitable location, a little time away from the telephone, and a beverage to libate.

Stephens adds that “Wiccan circles pretty much always involve some attention to the four elements, generally seen as earth, air, fire, and water. Some Heathens may pay some ritual attention to the 4 or 6 directions, but many do not, and very few associate the directions with elements.”[5]

So, the complexity of a Wiccan ritual requires the levels of training and initiation in order to lead ceremony. Leading a Heathen ceremony requires little or no “scripting” at all. Now, Ceremonial Magic? That’s another thing. And given that CM is one of the foundations of Wicca, it makes sense that Wicca has the same level of formal scripting/memorization as Ceremonialism.

As for Heathen priestesses, some Wiccans may assume that because one is a Heathen gyðia, she also lays claims to hierarchical initiation. This assumed correspondence between Wiccan and Heathen priesthood is mistaken. You see, in initiatory Wicca (like other Ceremonial Magic societies), secrets are reserved for initiates (who commonly work through three grades of initiation). Heathenry is not initiatory, and there are no limited access to magical/seiðr secrets. Stephens points out that, “while a distinction is made between clergy and laity, and some heathen organizations have some kind of rank or status within the organization, there’s no shared idea of a progression between levels, with ever growing wisdom and spiritual insight.” For instance, in my sense of things, there are levels of training—but only as a rational sense of progression. There are some things a beginning seiðr-worker simply wouldn’t understand. And, quite simply, because of my Hermetic background, I feel that introspective work must always precede conscientious magical operation. But that’s me. Not all Heathens even work seiðr; not all seiðr-kona or seiðr-mannen perform oracle work; not all oracle-workers practice the seiðrhjallr rite. Each task requires a different level of training. But in no specific order—aside from one dictated by logic, that is. And this works for Heathens because, as Gillette and Stead point out, “there is a general trend for [Heathens] to rely more on detailed (and often esoteric) academic sources than their Wiccan cousins. . . . many [Heathens] exist whose research is on par with that of any good folklorist. . . . [while] Many Wiccans have resigned themselves to learning about their practices through books that would probably never survive a graduate student review.” This is a capitalistic publication practice the authors refer to as “witchcrap” (churning out more books than can possibly be peer reviewed, giving them the most sensational titles, giving them the most salacious covers, and allowing authors to include the most spurious of claims, unchecked).

Erh. Maybe they don’t “softball” as much as I assumed while writing Thursday’s post. Sorry. My sources are being a little rude and I may need to let them rest for the day.

I’m off to pack up food and drinks and chairs and donations and donations and donations for a (Là Fhèill Brìghde) holiday with some really rad Druids. Hide the candles, bring the extinguishers, Bridie is gonna ignite the Spring!

Wæs þu hæl!

Ehsha

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[1] Because of my rejection of their, um, whatever, I was met with some very poor treatment in the name of religion. You’d think I was dealing with Crusaders.

[2] We cannot work together; I wish we could as peers. However, there is no sense of colleagiality.

[3] I’d like to think that there are groups that *do* work side-by-side elsewhere. I mean, my general impression is that Wiccans are nice people—they just aren’t Heathen folk. And I suspect they like it that way.

[4] The concept of “spinning” wyrd on a spindle is not original to me *or to anyone in my generation of Heathens.* It’s well over 1500 years old. Any claims that I “copied” it (or any of the North traditions) from a contemporary would be hilarious if it didn’t reek of disconcerting illiteracy.

[5] Keep in mind that Northern Europeans tended to imagine three instead of four seasons.

Redneckognizing a Difference

As I was looking for something else (ain’t that always the way it goes?), I stumbled on an article by Arlie Stephens discussing the “Similarities and Differences Between Heathenry and Wicca,” which claims to be much like one written by Devyn Gillette and Lewis Stead (“The Pentagram and the Hammer”). I think the similarities begin and end with a thesis intended to compare and contrast the two traditions. Stephens claims that the Gillette and Stead article doesn’t, “really seem to empathize with Wiccans,” and that it, “focus[es] on the questions that Heathens care about,” I read them both and I disagree that the Gillette and Stead piece is insensitive to Wicca—if anything it softballs. However, I think they miss the mark on a number of claims. I’ll respond to both of these articles over a series of posts as I conduct my own exploration of “The Differences Between Paganism, Wicca, and Heathenry.”

This is not an attempt to cause even more friction between the groups, but an honest look at these two articles, their “hotspots,” and their shortcomings. I work my way into my personal encounters–as a Heathen among Wiccans–but bear in mind they are just my encounters. Everything else comes from scholarship.

The articles don’t really talk about it too much, but I am always struck that the one fundamental difference is, of course, linguistic. The classical, pre-Constantine meaning of “Paganus” (Latin) is “of the country, rustic.” Paganus also came to mean “civilian, non-militant.”

It’s no surprise that Christians called themselves mīlitēs indicating that they were members of a militant church. After all, Constantine turned the cross into a sword! Also, the symbols of Christianity were the fish and the star (iota + chi) and other Christograms, symbols of life and light and with a certain intellectual element (linked to numerology etc.). It was after Constantine that the primary symbol became a brute militaristic symbol of execution and death.[1] According to the OED, “The semantic development of post-classical Latin paganus in the sense ‘non-Christian, heathen’ is unclear. The dating of this sense is controversial, but the 4th cent. seems most plausible.”

On the other hand, “Heathen” is the Middle English for Old English hǽðen, Old Frisian hêthin, Middle Dutch heiden, Old High German heidan, and Old Norse heiðinn; it has always meant “non-Christian gentile.” We can assume, therefore that it came from the Gothic haiþnô (because it would have had to come after Christianity in order to mean neither-Christian-nor-Jewish—right?). I always thought it referred to folks who hailed from the heath. I thought it was the linguistic equivalent of Pagan: countryfolk.

It seemed to me that those who adhered to Mediterranean forms of pre-Christian rustic traditions would be Pagan while Celto-Germanic traditions (and Native American traditions, due to the import of the term from Old English alongside colonists) would be considered Heathen. I know that colloquially this is not the case. It just made sense linguistically. But nope. I thought wrong. To say “Heathen” makes a direct commentary on religious proclivities. You learn something new about countryfolk every day.

Wicca and Wica, however, appear in the OED as “wicce,” “wycce,” and so forth (all pronounced wɪtʃ/”witch” and meaning “witch”). I had heard-tell over and again that that the word Wicca rooted back to “wise” but the words for wise are “wys,” “wyss,” vyise,” etc. Though I can find plenty of claims of a connection, I can’t find a documented source (aside from Gardner and that which harkens back to Gardner) that proves a connection between wycce (witch) and wyss (wise). Now wit and witan, that means “witness” and “wise” (c900).[2] But, don’t we still use wit?

One thing Gillette and Stead do say on the matter is that they are skeptical about the meaning of Wicca as well [3]: “The etymology of the word ‘Wicca’ has been under close debate for some time, and frequently for reasons that have more to do with impressing an ideology than fair linguistic study.”

This is all just to say that I am still of the *academic* mind that Wicca originated with Gardner. I know that there were witchy practices in England and Ireland and Scotland prior to the Christianization of the Far West. I don’t doubt that for one minute. That they resembled today’s Wicca? I doubt it.

I was once asked (by someone defending a pre-Christian foundation for Wicca) if I thought Gardner made it all up out of his own head. My answer was, “No.”

No, I don’t think Gardner made it all up. Gardner’s Wicca looks too much like Golden Dawn practices (Freemasons, Rosicrucians, Hermeticism, Kabbalah, etc.) for it to be made up. Looks to me like he adapted those traditions and designed his own.

And Holy Hel—stop right there—I never said that this was a disparagement. I never said that this made Wicca invalid. I never said that this was not an OK way to be. If anything, it’s what makes Wicca’s history compelling for me. So don’t put words in m’mouth.

Gillette and Stead agree when they point out that:

English civil servant and folklorist Gerald Brosseau Gardner (1884-1964) and author Doreen Valiente. Gardner himself became involved in witchcraft circa 1934, but Gardnerianism, as a sect, did not likely develop until well after the repeal of the English anti-witchcraft laws in 1951. Much of Gardner’s efforts owed itself to the works of various theorists, including anthropologist Margaret Murray, occultist Aleister Crowley, folklorist James Frazer, and poet Robert Graves. Ritual structure was further influenced by societies such as the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, the Ordo Templi Orientis, and Co-Masonry.

I mean, I’m not trying to debunk anything. I just want to make some documentable sense of it all.[4]

That leads me to my first of the real differences between Heathens and Wiccans according to Stephens, Gillette, and Stead. Stephens (the author self-professed as “more sympathetic to Wicca”) says:

Another big difference is the attitude to historical research. While there is a huge range in both communities, Wiccans are, in general, much more likely to be interested in mythological or emotional rightness (how something feels), where Heathens are more likely to focus on scholarly research (what sources can be documented, and how reliable are they). In particular, Heathens care about consistency with recorded material. They tend to distinguish carefully between things recently invented and things derived from the recorded lore. A person who cannot identify their sources is likely to be laughed at or at least be somewhat forcefully educated . . . often by someone citing primary sources or recent scholarly work. Wiccans, on the other hand, may or may not care about scholarship. . . (emphasis added).

Does this mean, then, that Wicca supports the entitlement to just make trads up? (That’s a real question.)  If not, why do they use words like “Fraudnerian” to indicate someone who they believe made up a tradition?[5] (Or is that term just to deride someone for who claims to belong to Gardnarian Wicca? Or to deride someone who claims not to belong to Gardnerian Wicca. I get very confused by invectives when they get cross-used.) I’ve heard of lots of folks declaring to belong to a “family tradition” (not to be confused with FWTI, Family Wiccan Tradition International). That seems OK to Wiccans. I’ve even heard of folks applying the term “Witch” to a custom (like Native American spiritualism) that wouldn’t be caught dead using that word. All of this seems to be fine with Wiccan ethic too.

So where’s the line? That’s a real question.

This opens a whole new can of worms for me then. And this too is an actual question. Is it OK to make up traditions as long as they are adaptations of Gardnerian Wicca? Like Alexandrianism, Picti-Wita, Stregheria (a la Gramsci), Correllianism, Greenwood Tradition Celtic Shamanic Wicca (no really, it’s a thing), American Welsh Tradition (aka Edwardian Wicca), Faery Wicca, Seax-Wicca, and seemingly on-and-on. (I even knew a TW couple that reported an acquaintance making up his own tradition. Not that they were kind about it.) These seem to be OK with Wicca because they support and reify Gardner’s original.

I just want to be clear about what’s OK and what’s not.[6] Maybe one day I’ll share with you my suspicions about the reasons for this phenomenon. But not ’til I can–you know–document my claims.

To me, as a Heathen, it’s all fine as long as its rooted in something real. Real. That which has no foundation? That’s where I draw the line. Then again, I am Heathen. It seems to be a trait. (I didn’t realize that before this week. Thought it was just me. But it makes sense–we are a very pragmatic rather than fanciful people. And we do remember history. National and personal.)

So my question becomes: Why, if the above is true, is it OK to adapt Wicca when Wiccans (in my community at least) call into question the adaptation of other traditions? What of Ásatrú, Vanatru, Odinism, Theodism, etc.? These are all branch sects too, right?[7]  If adaptation is OK with Wiccan ethics across the board, and if it’s not a Wiccan value to deride the adaptation of existing tradition, what’s the deal? I’m at a loss.

Let me back up a minute and talk about what I’m doing with my life and why this has come up. (This is the first time I’m sharing this outside my kindred and my editor, btw.) I’ve already told you that I’ve decided to call myself American Disrtoth–loyal to female ancestors/divine–Northern and New-World-American of all races. You already know–I was taught in a Hermetic methodology with loads of historical, cultural, and magical contexts. You also know that there was a good deal of practical application in altered states to interact with the aether, to work divination, and to heal.[8] You likely know that I’m also trained as an academic feminist (undergraduate[9] through doctorate—all on top of my uppity female attitude in high school).[10] I’ve already explained that this is why all of my studies in Ceremonial Magick left me tilting my head a little to the left and saying “Hrrruuh?”[11] You likely picked up that I had already been thinking about feminism in CM when Brandy Williams came out with The Woman Magician. At that point, I knew I was on the right track. At first, my thoughts were to work with The Sisters of Seshat (of which I have proudly been a member for some time), founded by Williams, who also found the EGC and OTO too phallic. However, because I had turned to Heathenry when I learned about Anglo-Saxon ethics, I couldn’t stick it out with CM. This was reinforced by some “encounters” with ancestral spirits and deified ancestors—almost all of these were Northern European; one was not. Almost all were female; one was not.

This is why I have taken the magical traditions of Heathenry (seiðr and the traditions of the völva), visited traditions from before all of the Christian (mostly Enlightenment Era) masculinized baggage, and set it in the historical perspective of matristic (not to be confused with matriarchal) culture and then gave it the additional respect our American ancestors (and their practices) deserve.

Technically Disrtroth is not new (and I would never be so gauche as to give it my own name). It’s just a method of teaching and practicing what American Heathens (including Powwow and Hoodoo) have been doing for centuries and what I have been doing in one form or another since the 90s. It’s the truest sense of what and who I am. How the gods called me to become. What’s the problem?

Some other differences I plan to discuss are as follow:

(1) I know that one does not have to be initiated into a Heathen tradition to be, say, Ásatrú, Vanatru, Theodish, etc. and that Wicca is an initiatory path. I also know that there are those “eclectic” folks out there who call themselves “Wiccan.” All is good as far as I’m concerned–as long as it has backbone.

I mean, I’m all about initiation and oathmaking. Actually, I require it. Odd for a Heathen, I know–but I am more seiðr-centered than most. (Which is a process in Disrtoth–see, is it starting to come together for ya?) But I would never deign to criticize someone who found validation otherwise. Unless of course they had no good foundation. I’ve already pointed out that that is my one and only requirement: foundation, rationale, good-sense. Barring that? Everything is permitted; do what thou wilt, happy hunting, and blessed be. I don’t even think you have to have a family connection to anything. Those of us who do are extraordinarily blessed. Those who don’t are still our peers. But Gillette and Stead maintain that:

. . . an extraordinary number of Wiccan practitioners may make assertions to a direct connection with distant familial lineages (often connected with the European “witch craze”) or other exotic individuals or groups from which the particulars of their tradition and training are handed down directly. . . . [but] such statements seem unconfirmable. . . . This practice was so prevalent at one time that the assertions behind the late Alexander Sanders’ entry into Wicca served as the model for what became called “grandmother stories.” . . . such assertions sometimes become the subject of social ridicule . . . [and such behavior is called] witch wars, bitchcraft, and warlocking.

[Heathens] do not seem to possess as much a predilection for asserting (often cross-cultural) claims to a direct connection with ancient or esoteric practice as Wiccans do. In fact, those few who have made such claims are generally considered laughingstocks. . . . The beliefs and practices of ancient [Heathenry] can be confirmed academically through a myriad of historical accounts, texts, and chronicles. We know who the Northmen and the Teutons and the Saxons were worshipping and we have an idea how they were doing it. As a result, claims to direct ancient lineages become irrelevant.

(2) Of the theological differences between Wicca (and Wicca-based eclectic practices) and Heathenry is the polarity between genders which affects our sexual ethics. This is a fascinating thing that really slipped my mind in a concrete sense. It always just hung there like a nebula.

(3) There are also issues which stand between our concepts concerning land ownership. Bet you can’t wait to hear my legalese.

(4) Other differences involve priesthood. Wiccans, it seems, are far more exclusive whereas Heathens tend to be merit-based.  I’ve been working on a post about intellectual-sacral-leadership and secular-leadership (actually editing the chapter about intellectual-sacral-leadership and secular leadership). (5) These differences bleed into differences in magical practices.

(6) There are also issues of symbolism and (7) our thoughts about the end of world. Rather—confusion about what Heathens believe in regard to the apocalypse. Think pentagram/hammer. And Ragnarok–rather avoiding it.

Let me have some more time and I’ll work through these.

In the meantime, waes hael, and enjoy all of your Imbolc celebrations if I don’t get back to posting before then!

Ehsha

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[1] You should read Constantine’s Sword. If you can’t get arsed to read, at least watch the documentary.

[2] Then again, wita, pronounced waIt, also means “punishment” “esp. the torments of hell” (c825) and “blame” (c893).

[3] There is actually a great article called “The Meaning of Wicca.” (White, Ethan Doyle. Pomegranate: The International Journal of Pagan Studies 12.2: 2010). I assign it to my “Seekers” in every wave. They say it’s a real eye-opener for them.

[4] People like Ronald Hutton and the author of Uncommon Sense make a career of debunking “historical” evidence espoused by Wiccans and other neo-Pagans. (Read my old posts explaining my stance on neo-Paganisms.)

[5] After all Gardner claimed to be a 3rd Degree Mason when records show that he was only a 1st Degree Entered Apprentice–isn’t Fraudnerianism then a tradition in itself?

[6] I’ve talked about such “colonization” before. And I only bring it up now because I was recently (openly and publicly) called a fraud. (Even though I’ve never claimed to be TW. As a matter of fact, I’ve always claimed the opposite. Which is why I’m s’damned confused.)

[7] Would the person who called me a fraud call these sects fake too? Or is it just me? I s it, um, personal?

[8] It didn’t have a name. When I asked Bertie what to call it, she tentatively said, “The Arts.” So I’m going with that. You want to call that in to question? That’s on you.

[9] My undergrad mentor edited Norton’s Critical A Vindication of the Rights of Women. It goes way back.

[10] One who actually understands and can be in easy conversation with the likes of Kristeva, Irirgaray, Gross, Conboy, hooks, Morgana, Butler, Bordo, Haraway, Cixous,  Potonie-Pierre, deBeauvoir, Wittig, you name it—not just one or two over and over.

[11] Ironically the one who called me a fraud encouraged me to, “Start your own tradition!”

What the FAQ?

I’ve written a solid six posts since last time but I had a busy weekend with grove business[1] and Wyrd Sister business and I never got around to editing and publishing them—so e’suse me while I blow up your blog-feed over the next few days?[2] Having submitted finals for two courses and taken care of all m’business, I have some things to share with you. I feel compelled to answer a few questions that should have been asked before assumptions were made and answers were invented. It feels a little like the time The Road Less Traveled asked about the nuances between practices back on m’old blog. I’m glad to have the opportunity to share what I know and I’m pleased to challenge myself to be clear and explicable and to do it in lay terms.

Pull up a chair, this one is long.

What is a Völva?[3] Is a Völva automatically a priestess?

The word Völva translates roughly as staff-carrying-woman. Maria Kvilhaug calls her “The Norse Witch,” to distinguish her from a priestess or gyðia, and explains that Völur (the plural of Völva) “were honored and revered and sought as wise women, healers, prophets, oracles, shamans. . . . The primeval witch was the goddess Freyia, who introduced the art of seiðr [fate-magic, shamanism]. . . . I choose not to refer to the völva as ‘priestess’ because that gives a different association, even if she sometimes leads ritual like a priestess. Priestesses in the old Norse settings were called blótgyðiur [sacrificial priestesses] or hóvgyðiur [temple priestesses].”[4]

So, no. A Völva is not automatically a priestess. This term does not indicate priesthood but rather the practice of seiðr, magic. The Völva is a magician, a sorceress, a healer, an oracle—she is a witch. Plain and simple.

The Völva is a magician who comes from a tradition, unlike Western Esotericism, that venerated her femaleness[5] as well as her skills to the point where she was given high honors—even over royalty. Of course, with great power comes great responsibility. The Völva did not “lord” her power over the community, she served them with it. To be a Völva is not to engage in an ego-trip, but rather to place one’s self in the service of a community.  But please do not confuse service with servitude. The Völva was *NOT* in a position of subservience to *ANYONE.*

What is a stav?

Basically? It’s a stick.

More exactly, it is the Völva’s magical implement. It’s her wand. It’s her staff. It is her most important tool aside from her own body. It serves a variety of purposes when working magic, Seiðr. It can be used to aligns the Völva with the energy of Yggdrasil, The World Tree. It is used to channel energy. Here’s a quick link if you need more than that.

There are martial arts devoted to the use of a stav (or bo-stav) for battle and protection. I can’t imagine that the Völva, living on the outskirts of town (Útgarðar), wouldn’t occasionally need it for defensive purposes as well.

Kari Tauring, a performance artist and academic from Minnesota, has strong ties to her Norwegian roots. In her books, Völva Stav Manual (which I’ve read) and The Runes: A Human Journey (which I plan to read soon), Tauring discusses some deeply meaningful methods of aligning one’s self to the universal energies which surround us while using the human body, a stav, and, “energetic sounds and symbols of her Indo-European tradition through personal and family stories, Norse mythology, and Eastern and Native American philosophy” (Lulu.com). I don’t know anyone else who does this.[6] Tauring seems unique to me in her application of the Völva tradition. Have a look, it’s delightful. (And it looks like it takes far more coordination than I will ever have.) Oh, look here too–she’s too adorably amazing. (Kari told me she would be within driving range this spring. I hope to drag a van-full of folk to Ole Miss. And then be as googlie-eyed as I was when I met Susan Bordo. I’m such a nerd.)

I am über fortunate to have a man in my community who makes stav. (Stavs?) He was trained in Harnerism/Core Shamanism[7] and he has made a number of beautiful stav for himself and his wife to use on their journeys (I’ll get to “journeys” in a minute). He has been gracious enough to offer to hold a workshop for our grove in which he will teach our kindred how to make their own stav. We are going to tag-team guide a journey after everyone has made their stav. I’m tickled.

What does a Völva do?

Well? (Ha, ha—yes, there are wells.) Magic!

Like I said, she is a sorceress. Whatever you imagine a magician doing, that’s what a Völva does. She has different methods, of course—the greatest difference it seems to me is that she uses her body as her magical implement far more than she uses the external tools I associate with “Ceremonial Magic.”

Some of the specific things Völur do include:

Spæ — The term Spæ or Spæcraft is given to the divination part of Seiðr and is where we derive the word, “spy.” Some folks conflate this with runic-divination. I’m not sure if I do yet. I would say that rune casting is a personal act of Spæ, but that Spæ can be performed for “broader” issues as well—perhaps they both fall under the term Spæ.

Pathworking/Journeying (what is commonly referred to as shamanism; I’ll talk about that in another post)—The difference between a journey (otherwise called a pathworking) and a meditation tends to be that a meditation is concentrating on a fixed point or idea, whereas a journey takes traverses through different points and is often taken for a specific purpose: typically involving some kind of “quest.” (It’s more complicated than that, obvs; but I’m not focusing on journeys in this post. I’ve been writing them down for you and you can see them soon.) A journey is a mystical process which involves what might be referred to as “astral travel” and “astral work” for a set purpose, like “Going to the Well of Wyrd” to understand, forsee, and even change the “fate” of a community. There are journeys called “Churning” (yes, like butter) and Sleipnir’s Charge, a journey to Helheim for understanding and “shard” searching (if you understand pathworking, you know what I mean).  It can be a light-hearted technique but pathworking can also serve to lead a practitioner (male or female) to deeply meaningful and intensely rewarding healing and transformation. While on a journey, a practitioner can unite with primal creative energies, with their ancestor spirits, and with deified energies or spirit guides (fylgja).

Seership—Much like the Oracle at Delphi, the Völva is a seer. The Seiðrhjallr Rite, or The High Seat Trance Oracular Rite is likely the most spectacular (therefore, most well-known—however least understood!) of the Völva’s roles. The Seiðrhjallr is a group rite where the Völva enters into a trance-state to serve as oracle for an assembly. It features one Seer who acts as a channel, several priests and priestesses charged with the raising of energy and the psychic protection of the group, and an assembly who take an active part in the rite.

In our community, we are assembling a Seiðrhjallr group. We have some very talented seers and—like I said, a gentleman and myself serve as journey guides (and he’s also a promising “healer”); I rarely serve as seer—there are some far more naturally “open” than I am right now. I remain too guarded for group work. I’ll grow out of it.

We are small now, but expanding. You see, the level of trust required in trance-work (really, any magical group dynamic) is high. One does not grow a Seiðrhjaller group by leaps and bounds but by slow and careful measures.

Pathworking can be done alone—if you know your way around the landscape—but is best done with a guide, in my opinion. This is where we have had best and most immediate results. Therefore, we work as a group to build trust and maximize results as often as we can. We are having a semi-open pathworking (I mentioned it above)—I’m admittedly a little nervous about expanding. Nervous and excited. And terrified. And thrilled. And . . .

Seiðr—As I’ve mentioned, this is a term for the Northern European concept of magic and sorcery. This word is often misused to signify “Witchcraft,” however Hægtesse is a better word. Where Seiðr is a more familiar term, typically the first thing folks think of involves divination and the High Seat. However, given the other, profoundly powerful  (sometimes misunderstood as “darker”) aspects of Seiðr, many modern Heathens are beginning to understand that Seiðr has aspects of Sorcery and Ceremonial Magic. Seiðr is, at its core, about harnessing and shaping energy. *Magic.*

The Völva  uses both Galdr—a chant used during Seið—and Vardlokkur—a “song” used during Seið.

How does one become a Völva?

Tauring’s manual, which I pointed to above, indicates that it is the practice of Völva–craft itself that makes one a Völva. And I agree. What makes a magician a magician? A sorcerer a sorcerer? A witch a witch? The practices they (we) practice, of course. For something more personal, you can read about Samantha Catalina Sinclair’s experiences of discovery in her paper, “Traditions of the Nordic Völva.” 

There is no formal tradition of initiation in America for Völur. We are comparatively few and far between, therefore we have individual practices. There is, however a rapidly growing interest in Völva-craft and Seiðr and a number of prominent organizations that (I suspect, I am not a member so cannot speak for them) have initiations that have begun to be perpetuated in what would, in other traditions, be called “hive” groups. As for the small Seiðr group to which I belong, we do have initiations—but the ritual is about trust and community, not exclusivity and partitionment.

Some folks are initiated in traditions from other than American traditions (more on what that means in a minute). For instance, Yngona Desmond, founder of the Georgia Heathen Society and the Southlands Tribal Alliance, refers to herself as Vinland’s Völva (Vinland being the Viking name for North America), which she says is “an honorary title of respect and recognition, gifted [her] by Sámi Noaide . . . .”; Desmond defines herself as “a spiritual traveler and sacred pilgrim, visiting and honoring sacred sites across continental Europe, Scandinavia, and Russia.” She says that her “overall focus is on the Folksoul of [her] people. Secondly, it is on education.” It is not unusual to find that Völva are highly educated and academically minded. Author of Völuspá- Seiðr as Wyrd Consciousness, one of the first books I ever read on the subject, Desmond has a Masters in Religious Studies and a Doctorate in Philosophy.[8]

Who are some other notable Völva?

Aside from Tauring and Desmond (who are both Völva but do vastly different things in vastly different ways—if you walk away from this post with nothing else, let it be that Völva-craft is a heterogeneous set of praxis), there are a healthy handful of Seiðrkona and Seiðrmänner. I cannot name them all, so I will list the ones from whom I have garnered some knowledge (either from reading, from personal contact, or whatever). If you are or know someone who practices Seiðr and want to share info, I encourage you to leave it in the comments section.

Most notably in America is Diana Paxson, an Elder in the Covenant of the Goddess. Those of us who cut our prepubescent teeth on The Mists of Avalon will recognize Paxson as Marion Zimmer Bradley’s collaborator and the author of the later Avalon books.[9] Paxson is the co-leader (with Lorrie Wood) of Hrafnar, a Seiðrhjallr group in Berkeley, California, and author of Trance-Portation: Learning to Navigate the Inner World (2008). In her mid-40s, Paxson had a “close encounter with Odin” which started her on the path toward the runes and Seiðr; two years later she began her oracular Seiðr group: “In 1992 she joined the Troth, an international heathen organization.”

Also in California is Ember Cooke, founding Gyðia of the Vanic Conspiracy (2004), she has been a member of Paxson’s Hrafnar and “has served the Pagan community as lay clergy and spiritual counselor for almost nine years  .” Like Desmond, Cooke holds a degree in Religious Studies.

Katie Gerrard of London, author of Seiðr: The Gate is Open (parts of which I require my magic students and encourage my Seiðr group to read) and Odin’s Gateways, “has been studying the different forms of Norse magic and working with the Norse Gods since discovering them in the 1990s . . . . She also regularly hosts Seidr and other Seer and Norse Rite within the London area.”

Other helpful folk?

Jenny Blaine, researcher at Sheffield Hallam University, is author of Seiðr and Nine Worlds of Seid-Magic: Ecstasy and Neo-Shamanism in North European Paganism. She may not consider herself a Völva, but I enjoy her work.

Galina Krasskova is another academic Heathen (though she considers herself a Priest of Odin and Loki rather than a Völva). Krasskova’s ideas about working with the Northern gods are controversial—you can see an interview here and decide for yourself.

See the links at the footer for more stuff.

Any male (or transgendered) Seiðr-workers?

Raven Kaldera of Hubbardston, Massachusetts, author of Wyrdwalkers: Techniques of Northern-Tradition Shamanism and many other titles.

Jan Fries, whose book Seidways: Shaking, Swaying, and Serpent Mysteries (which is a favorite-favorite-favorite), is an occultist from Germany and self-acclaimed “freestyle shaman.”

Kveldulf Gundarsson (aka Stephan Grundy), is the author of Our Troth as well as Teutonic Magic and Teutonic Religion.

Oh, and then there’s Runic John!

Why do some people use the term “American Völva”?

Archeological Cultures in Northern and Central Europe at the late pre-Roman Iron Age

Think about Northern Europe. Think about all of the vast and different cultures there were and still are. Norwegians are not Saami are not Bavarian are not any other people from Northern Europe—see? Now imagine each of those cultures transporting their culture to North America and syncretizing it with other religions and other practices and other cultures. American experiences and ancestral öorlog are much different from that of those whose ancestors remained in Europe. This is not a judgment call—it’s just a difference.

For me, being an American Völva indicates how my kindred—specifically my dísr to whom I hold troth—sacrificed and adapted their practices to meet the demands of The New World. I honor my foremothers who are native to North America just as much as I honor my ethnic heritage rooted in Bavaria, Belgium, Scotland, and the Netherlands. I do this as I embrace the Heathen ethic entwined with my wyrd and answer to the voice of my deified ancestor, Freya. Further, I cannot disentangle myself from the religious experiences I have had as an American. My more recent experiences with Hoodoo (which have been profound!) and my older experiences with Western Ceremonial Magic, Evangelical Christianity, Jesuit Catholicism, and Powwow cannot be weeded out from my consciousness. Why would I want to? While I would never deign to speak for another’s experience, I imagine that this rich and wondrous birthright is what causes all Seiðr-workers who claim the title “American Völva” to identify as such: because we are American.

How did you get involved in Völva-craft, did it all come from these books and YouTube?

Don’t be silly.

But even if it did, that would be just fine. I could do worse.

Many of you have been right by my side watching the transformation I have made over the past two+ years. I began as an academic-Witch who couldn’t seem to find her place in her tradition. After a few teen years spent fishing for information, I finally settled into a place with a mentor. But my original training was too theoretical for my practical tendencies—though I still hold to every word Bertie taught me as though it were my lifeline. My secondary experience was too frenetic for my relatively conservative tastes—though I now find that I am re-drawn to the more tempestuous side of magic which I find in Seiðr. My tertiary experience was too solitary. Being in a new place, working on a doctorate, raising kids, I was alone. I go back and forth between wanting to return to my place of hermitdom and knowing I don’t belong there. This is because my quaternary experience left me battered and bruised. For three-and-a-half years I have had to defend my every breath. (Thus, this post.) You can’t blame me for wanting to hold everything in and hide everything away.

I waded into Witchcraft good and deep in my teens. While I studied in my 20s, I learned an array of Western esoteric occult systems.[10] In my 30s, I studied Ceremonialism—a lot—and kinda fell in love with Chaos, John Dee, and then Goetia. But, as you saw in my posts about the Vesica Pieces (“I Call it Like I See It” and “By Jove!” over at TBWF) and the Helix, I have had a real problem with the phallic nature of CM and the spermognostic preferences of GD-based traditions.

I “liked” Heathenry and loved Anglo-Saxon ethics but wasn’t thrilled about Odinism, Ásatrú, or really even Vanatru or Theodism. These too seemed to have phallus smeared all over a perfectly good system. And I couldn’t find any Heathens working “magic.”

Then—ah, I found a “Modern Teutonic Wizard” willing to take me as an apprentice. That was one of the (shortest, strangest) most meaningful moments of my recent religious experience. I found that all of the lessons I was learning were “the same concept with different words.” This is when I really began to struggle with the patristic structure of Western Ceremonialism (and even a great deal of “Goddess Worship” traditions) that reified the male and objectified the female. If the concepts are the same—can we change the words—then change the concepts.

I started studying Seiðr and making connections between what I already knew from twenty-years of study and what this “new” (ancient) tradition had to say about it. To be clear—there are some things that simply do not correspond.

I participated in a Thunarblót  with some lovely Heathens in Atlanta last year. By this time, I had figured out what I wanted but couldn’t find anyone (local) who worked Seiðr—still not completely understanding the depth of and healing possibilities of Völvaspæ.

Right when I thought I might throw my hands in the air and submit to phallus-worship (but not really), Brandy Williams published The Woman Magician: Revisioning Western Metaphysics from a Woman’s Perspective and Experience. It was pretty second wave—but better than no wave at all. Amen?

I realized that every path I had traversed, every doubling-back, every self-revision was leading me to the moment when I would realize the word “helix” had such profound meaning. It changed my life, my spirit, my outlook, my ethic, my practice. And it couldn’t have happened at a more perfect time. My spiritual (well, religious anyway) community was about to disintegrate. When it did, I moved on, stopped calling myself The Bad Witch, picked up my stav, and remembered how to journey;[11] I decided to tend my wyrd and my gefrain and heal some öorlog; and I moved ütgard.

Funny thing is, some folks followed me. Now we are all leaning on each other, nourishing each other, and transforming—like honey into mead, like cream into butter, like bacteria into cheese, like yeast into bread. Like a house into a home. Like an idea into a spiritual conversion. Like folk into kin.

And we aren’t pestering anybody.

The most amazing things have happened since I dedicated myself to a new purpose last summer. Chichen Itza is a transformative place. So is Helheim. I came back from both about the same time. And I found my fylgja waiting for me, right where I’d left her—smothering under my HGA.[12]

So now I have a new blog, a new approach, a new peace, a new ritual group—oh, and a new book.

The subject of the book is Dísrtroth, my concept for working with female energies in a Heathen Ceremonial Magic (Seiðr/Völva) practice. There is a full explanation of helical power (as opposed to phallic power) and a very basic set of galdr, vordlokkur, rituals and pathworkings. Basic—but powerful. This concept is the thus-far-culmination of twenty-six years of occult and Pagan study, two decades of feminist study—as it applies to religion, culture, literature, and film—fourteen years of dedication to a life in ministerial service,[13] nine years of Teutonic-based study, two years of seeking, and ten months of finding.

Support me with frith as I finish my travels?

If you simply cannot encourage me in kinship, at least refrain from hindering me? After all, our community shares wyrd whether we like it or not.

Wæs hæl

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[1] Our little community grove, Celestial Earth Sanctuary, joined forces with a larger organization in the area, Church of the Spiral Tree.

[2] One is about mental illness in the Pagan community (rather, about ministering to those with mental illnesses, defining mental illness in an already nonconformist culture, and the accompanying legal what-not). One is about Pagan seminary structure; one is about gefrain; one about “shamanism” (rather, about the word itself); and one is about community dynamics. This one is none of those.

[3] Why is Völva capitalized? What about Seiðr? Quite simply—because I turned “auto-correct” on so that my word processor would automatically add the special characters; in auto-correct mode as I have it set, the words are corrected and capitalized. No other reason. I should change it and one day I might. Until then!

[4] Her graduate thesis The Maiden with the Mead: A Goddess of Initiation Rituals in Old Norse Mythology?is available on her blog, Freyia Völundarhúsins LadyoftheLabyrinth´s Old Norse Mythology Website; I recommend, “The Völva – The Norse Witch.”

[5] Can I put off a discussion about male magicians until another day? The term ergi and ragr were applied to men who performed seiðr; these words do not mean what the Christian Church would have you believe they mean. I promise. Go read Katie Gerrard’s Seiðr: The Gate is Open (I don’t remember the chapter) if you need to know before I get to it. Deal?

[6] Doesn’t mean they don’t exist—just that I haven’t run across them, talked to them, etc.

[7] A subject of a future post.

[8] Kinda like yours truly—just saying.

[9] Collaboration with Bradley: The Forest House (1994),  Lady of Avalon (1997), and Priestess of Avalon (2000). Author of Ancestors of Avalon (2004), Ravens of Avalon (2007), and Sword of Avalon (2009). She has many more books to her credit.

[10] Never have I ever been Gardnerian or Alexandrian. Never have I ever claimed to be. As a matter of fact, I’ve always said, “Not Wiccan.”

[11] I do not claim a lineage other than as a well-trained Ceremonialist and oracular-trance worker who (finally) reclaimed her whoo-ha.

[12] And boy-howdy can she write rituals and journey scripts. All I have to do is give her my hands.

[13] Yea, I even tried Episcopal Seminary just before my youngest was born. Thaaaat didn’t work for me either.

Uruz and Fehu

When I first learned about runes in the 80s, I learned to use them as a magical tool rather than a tool for divination. They remain one of the most useful tools in my arsenal. It’s easy to hang a rune sign out in the open without anyone asking any questions. I’ve made rune glyphs for my daughter’s saddle, for my front door, for a friend’s new abode, for well, just about everything.

I never really learned to “read” them until about a decade later. But despite the fact that I knew Vitki, the art of using runes within Seiðr, it wasn’t until last year that I really started making and using runes specifically for divination.

Let me tell you why.
Because I was a fool.
Plain and simple.

Runes were “too primitive” and “not esoteric enough” to strike my fancy. They were too simple and straightforward and made too much “common sense” for a sorceress who looked for “challenge.”

Derp.

As I embarked on the prospect of learning Teutonic Shamanism, I learned that it’s the graceful simplicity of runes—not to mention the familiarity of the language—that reaches the subconscious of an English-speaker in the way that the intensely archetypal images of the Tarot do.

Here, let me show you. Keeping in mind that the “thorn” (þ) makes the “th” sound—not a “p” sound, can you make any sense of these sentences? (Courtesy of Bruce Mitchell’s An Invitation to Old English &Anglo-Saxon England, 1995.)

His linen socc feoll ofer bord in þæt wæter and scranc.
Hwær is his cþýþþ and cynn?
Se cniht is on þære bryge.

All you have to do is look at Jera to see the give-and-take of seed and harvest; Nauthiz to see “need” (as the two stick rub together to create need-fire) and friction; Pertho to see everything represented by the “chalice” of other traditions (‘cept Pertho has legs); Gebo to see fairness and equal-exchange—after all, we still use the X to symbolize a kiss; and Tiwaz, well—look for yourself: ↑.

So, I spent some time this week really thinking about why Uruz and Fehu look so different from one another on account of they both represent “cattle” of one sort or another. (I’m not the only one to compare these two runes; it seems a no brainer. Have a look: here and at Wandering Woman Wondering (she has some other great bits–you should go have a look for yourself). But let me break it down for you, “Ehsha style.”

Uruz—Aurochs (an extinct paleolithic wild ox, not unlike a bison)
Fehu—Domesticated cattle
The accepted meaning of Uruz is strength and Fehu is understood to indicate wealth and luck.[1]

My meditations on Uruz have always revealed “survival” and “instinct” along with “strength” and “power”; whereas my meditations on Fehu have always revealed “transitory-ness” and “that-which-is-subject-to something outside itself.” To me, the latter is not unlike bondage. I keep going back to the difference between wolves and beagles. A different set of instincts, a different way of communicating, a different set of drives. The wolf is ferocious, strong, and free (and nearly extinct as a result—and more valuable as a subsequent result); the beagle brays at everything, is vulnerable, and wants nothing more than to get his belly rubbed by his owners. Yeah, they both bite—but you don’t bring a beagle to a wolf pack and expect it to fit in. You can prolly expect it to be eaten alive.

The same goes for the ox and cow. Wild ox are ferocious, strong, and free (also extinct as a result—and more valuable as a subsequent result); cows are, well, they are “mooish.” They are vulnerable, and tip-able. And well—ever meet a cow? Both are good for food, but one is a little harder to catch. Or was. It is, perhaps ironically to this post, the trials inherent in catching the ox that led our ancestors to domesticate cattle. Easy pickin’s.

Some of the things I have been thinking about in terms of “cattle-wealth” is that the herd is less mobile than a wild herd. When I’ve had to move a few horses from one farm to another, it took a team of people, special vehicles, and a day or two off from work. When Curly showed Billy Crystal how to move a herd of cattle, we all got to watch as he learned the Hermetic lesson of “just one thing” along the way. And we got to see that it takes a little more than moving a few horses.

Now imagine driving wild oxen.

So, by “wealth,” I think of domesticated, controllable, and fairly immobile. Wealth, yes—but limited. I also think of the skills set associated with wealth. I know that some people see Fehu as meaning a skills-set that can be applied across the board. Like—if I have the skills-set to be a cattle farmer, this doesn’t go away. If I move to another place, I will still know how to be a cattle farmer. Perhaps I can even apply what I know about cows to something else.

But then I started thinking—yes, you know how to be a cattle farmer; but how useful is this off the farm? There is little need for cattle farmers in the city. I best keep my nary’ass on my own farm and keep to my own bovine herd. Right?

But the wild ox. Hmmm. That’s a little different. No one can get rich off the wild ox because it can’t be tamed. Because it don’t make no nevermind to the ox whether it’s got humans to housebreak it or not. I take that back. A wild ox would impale someone who tried breaking its spirit in an effort to add to the wealth of a cattle farm.

So then what? The ox gets hunted for its pelts because it can’t be reined in—just like the wolf? Yup.

http://www.luckyearthlings.com

But, fortunately, the runes keep a sacred space for this animal in Uruz. Here, the Aurochs-ox is not extinct. In this rune, the Aurochs-ox runs free and is unyoked by the need of those that would domesticate him, tame him, limit him, make profit from him. And the Aurochs-ox is mobile; he goes where his instincts take him, rather than being fattened up for the slaughter.

See, when I compare these two runes in my mind, they are like comparing apples to oranges, wolves to beagles, heifers to bison. The cattle of Fehu applies to the owner of the herd whereas the ox of Uruz applies to the animal itself. (And as Dora told you, I always want to be “the thing itself.”)

Plus, there’s this linguistic thing. To cow someone is to intimidate, to coerce, to force them into service.[2] That’s a way to wealth and transitory popularity—lots of property and an ability to coerce herds. (And the best way to coerce herd animals is to make them feel safe. Right up to the point where you slit their throats. Tell them all about the wolves outside the farm; tell them about the plentiful grain in the slop bucket. Hell, yea, domesticated beasts will sit down and set-a-spell for a full trough.) But it’s indicative of having others in a thralldom that’s so bound and unnatural to my Heathen soul.

Let me have the role of ox any day. Let me be a killer-wolf over a crated, fenced, processed kibble-eating beagle any day. I may have to forage and scrape for my sustenance. But I will be free. I know I will continually have to fight off the slings and arrows of the hunters who are after my hide. Likely they’d like to don it for a ritual in which they pretend to be me. But I will be free. And I am fortunate in that the hunters these days have poor eyesight—they are nearly blind. And their arrows come no nearer piercing my hide, made tough from my existence in the wild—made tough by the necessity of avoiding the hunters,[3] than they are to being anything other than cattle themselves. But I will be free.

Today, I represent the enduring spirit of Uruz. And the cows out there can suck my sheath.

B, Q, 93,

TBW

 

This post is part of a year-long project. Rowan Pendragon’s The Pagan Blog Project; “a way to spend a full year dedicating time each week very specifically to studying, reflecting, and sharing . . . .    The project consists of a single blog post each week posted on prompt that will focus on a letter of the alphabet” (http://paganblogproject/).

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[1] Some folks see Fehu and Uruz and “brains and brawn” respectively, but I have a problem with that interpretation.

[2] It likely has something to do with the Old English cu and Old Norse kyr being related to the Old Norse kuga—meaning “to oppress.” But no one knows f’sure.

[3] See the Catch 22? My hide wouldn’t be nearly as strong if hunters hadn’t made me that way.

Hel and Back

This one spans three decades and may take a minute. Grab a drink and put your feet up.

It was 1980 and I sat in the church van with Maria Villalobos-Ramirez, Lourdes Bacardo, Anita Rodriguez, and Dolores Ortega. Between the five of us we had gone through all of the butane in Anita’s Clicker portable curling iron, half-a-bottle of Love’s Baby Soft, a tin of grape Lip Lickers, and a full eyeliner pencil and a lighter.

We were headed to camp (yes, think Jesus Camp only less affluent) and we were singing. Songs that started out about roadtrips, “Lonely days turn to lonely nights, you take a trip to the city lights,” “Surrounded by strangers I thought were my friends / I found myself further and further from my home,” and “I gotta be cool, relax, get hip, get on my tracks. Take a back seat, hitch-hike. . .,” disintegrated into, “There’s gonna be a heartache tonight,”[1] “I wanna kiss you all over,” “Oi, oi . . . I’m a powerload . . . watch me explode!” That’s about when Brother Preacherman said enough was enough and that we should sing gospel songs instead.

That’s when TBW decided to rebel. I parodied a choir-girl stance and began, “Hey Momma, look at me, I’m on my way to the Promised Land.” Right on cue, the other girls chimed in, “We’re on a highway to Hell!”

Brother Preacherman was too tolerant of my bad behaviors.

We think of going to Hel as a bad thing. We tell the feckheads in our lives to go to Hel. Some of us even provide directions. But as someone who’s been to Hel and back, I can tell you that the ride sucks, but the return has its rewards.

Let me explain.

Part One: I left the comforts of my rather insular covens and headed for The Bamas in 2002. I worked on my doctorate, raised my babies, and kept doing my thang. I tried “coming-out of the broom closet” once or twice—okay, constantly—but very few people understood what I was up to. There was an “English Graduate Organization Prom” that I attended with my new-found grad-school bestie that first year; I had only been around for a few months and I thought it would be good to mingle. I was wearing a headband right on my hairline; a die-hard-fundie (who had made off-color comments about a pentagram shirt I wore to class) asked me, “Do all of you wear those?”

“All who?”

“Wicc-ahh, wit-ahh, whatever you call yourself.”

I had been pegged by a Church of Christer—but for a totally banal headband.

I threw a bang-up Samhain party (which I referred to as a “Samhain” party rather than a Halloween party—and was met with “a whaah?”) some weeks after that and all of my Witchy-Chachkas were very visible. Everyone must have thought they were décor.

Another time, a few years later, I sat on my back porch with my immediate supervisor (and friend), her fiancé, The Only Other possible-Pagan (she was ambivalent at the time), and The Bad Husband. I don’t remember what precipitated the event, but I was reading Tarot. My boss wanted to know, “Where’d you learn that?” Just as I was about to tell her everything, the other woman shot me a terrified look that said, “NO! Keep your mouth shut!” To this day, I wonder what she was afraid of?

After that, I wore pentagrams, spiral goddesses, serpents, and medicine bags to work. You name it, I tried signifying with it and no one saw me. (I still have a giant “Witch” sign over my desk—next to a rune glyph, a spiral goddess pendulum, and a little portrait pin of Marie Laveau.)

All of this is just to say that when I decided to make myself known, I had to take my stav in both hands and pound the ground. Hard.

I think I was a little out of line. Much like singing AC/DC in a church van.

Because that action set me on a road to Hel, through the fires, and into relationships with some of the Baddest Witches eveh.

Part Two: The Descent

It was Summer 2007, I had just earned a Fellowship: the department was paying me to finish my dissertation rather than teaching. The above mentioned grad-school bestie was so resentful that I had gotten the award rather than her that she “broke-up” with me. No shit.

The Only Other possible-Pagan took a job in another state and shoved off—and not on good terms.

In late-May, I set the need-fire, I took my stav, and I called for three witches that would teach me what I needed to learn from here on out.

See “The Witch’s Duh.”

I had just met a brand-spanking-new grad-student with the craziest aura I have ever seen. (She is the #2 of my “Trance” post, btw.) Having sent my children to stay with family in Chicago,[2] by July 3, I was three chapter drafts into my dissertation. There was a toga party.

That’s how it began.

After that, there were 12 months of phonecalls with her voice on the other end saying, “Oops, I ended up in bed with the wrong boy again, can you help?” and “I’m drunk and the boy I like is being mean to me, can you help?” Imagining her as salvageable, I always did. But the relationship wasn’t entirely unreciprocal. Having felt like I had bled every ounce of my person for others, I had little to no sense of self left in the cupboard. We joked that she thought she was “all that” and that I didn’t even believe I was “a bag of chips.” But her unbridled vivaciousness would not contend for her BFF (actually, this relationship was the first time I’d heard/applied this term of endearment) to be less than awesome. She said that she loved me and she brought the dead parts of me back to life.

It was February of 2008 when I decided to dust off my grimories and hit the books harder than ever.[3] By April, I was ready for my last elevation with Bertie. I graduated with a PhD in May. Over the summer, The Only Other Pagan came back to town and we made amends. She had wholeheartedly adopted Witchiness—plus she brought a friend back with her.

We were tightthighttight for three months.[4]

Then, in September/October, I got talked into rigging a Dom-Jot table. I take full responsibility for having gone along with it. I lost my mind that fall and nearly lost everything else by New Year.

Part Three: In Hel and Back Out

In January 2009, I had a Naussican spear through my chest (see “It’s a Wonderful Q” for this reference), and found myself standing at the Gates of Hel without a shovel.

I started teaching Witchcraft on a more formal basis; I knew that if I was going to have to climb my way out of Helheim, I was going to need to buckle down. I spent the next ten months mentoring Witchcraft students online and teaching a select few in person. I spent those same ten months deflecting ridiculous fallout from that fight with a Naussican. I started writing a book called The Bad Witch Files—but I never knew how it ended, so it never went very far. It still calls me in bits and spurts.

I continued teaching (secular and religious) and learning and practicing and trying to piece my life back together in some way that looked like life, even if it still smelled of sulfur.

In October 2010, I started blogging here and you can go see the milestones for yourself. I think it was summer 2011 before I realized I was on the road back from Hel. I knew the journey was going to be long. And I knew that if I was ever going to make it all the way out, I was going to need to articulate myself—use my voice.

And—here was the hardest part—then I had to work through forgiving myself.

But, in order to avoid the calm stillness and silence where certainty resides, I kept myself a moving target, often chasing my own tail. Having spun m’self round and round, I have finally come full circle after traveling to Hel and back.

Part Four: The Return

It was back in February 2012 that I finally found the new mentor I had been craving. I had studied and practiced all the Hermetics, Ceremonial Magic, Theurgy, and Goetia I wanted to alone. After ten-fricking years of going it alone, I was ready to be taught, lead, united with others.

I looked to him to teach me all about Teutonic Shamanism. Unfortunately, it didn’t take too long for me to drain him of everything he knew, leaving me back at the drawing board.[5]

Right back where I started.

Fortunately, I did not go to jail, but I did collect $200. And by “collect $200,” I mean “pulled my head out of my arse and found my voice.”

Yawp, bitches. [6]

At the beginning of that shitefeckedup four year trek, I knew I had Heathen ethics, I knew I had High Ceremonial practices, I knew I had a moral compass aligned with Matthew 25:40, I knew I had a Helluva sound occult education behind me, and I knew I had – gifts—we’ll go with “gifts.” But I had never been forced to articulate what I “was.” I always considered myself a Heathen Sorcerer, perhaps because my childhood nickname was, “Y’lil’heathen,” perhaps for more substantial reasons stemming from my appreciation of the Anglo-Saxon ethics I learned as an undergraduate. I laid claim to the title “Sorcerer” in my early 20s, before I was even a mamma.[7] But, while I knew what it meant in my body and in my soul, I was never really sure what that might mean—you know, on paper, with other people looking at it.

Polyphanes wrote a post last week that struck a chord with me. He wrote: “I’m so far over the place, hither and thither, that I break a lot of people’s definitions, preconceptions, and labels. In other words, as befitting my Hermetic nature, I’m a trickster and don’t fit into any one bin, since I’ll just flit right out and into another one. I’d be like a Schrödinger’s Cat of traditions, except with less neurotoxin.” 

I felt a little like an unexplained Copenhagen interpretation too.

I’ve given you the rundown of my Jesuit educational upbringing with Bertie. Though Bertie tried her best to balance Catholic Christianity and Occult-Paganism for me, I held on to some of the vestiges of my Evangelical fears of “evil” and “Hel” for quite a while. I’m not ashamed to admit that. But, today, it seems like a lifetime ago that I was articulating my sense of Evangelical Detox. That’s not to say I discovered it in 2010, but that I had just found the voice to articulate the experience.[8]

Perhaps the most profound experiences are what ended my ongoing tailspin in the last few months. Having gotten back in constant contact with Bertie, I was pressed *from the outside* to journey back to the inside. Having lost Brother Preacherman and Mama Lisa over the summer, I was shocked into appreciating the “call” (or were they saying “caul”?) other folks saw hovering on and about me. Having learned what I’ve learned from Maman Lee a few months back. And having been pressed by The Road Less Traveled to reeeeealy articulate the difference in several traditions—some of which are my own, some of which I didn’t understand nearly as well as I did after being asked to clearly express those distinctions—I found that my voice was there all along. It was a little browbeaten and tired, it had been vilified and colonized—but it was still audible. And it still sounded like me.

Back in December 2011, I think I busted through some hymeneal (hmmm, hymnal?) membrane when I clearly articulated my thoughts about the word “vagina.” It had been—dare I say it—pricking at me for a while. And much like really good sex, once I found the right spot, it was all over.

In February 2012, I picked up the stav I had left idle for too long and started working on Teutonic Shamanism[9]—very close to the pathworking Bertie had taught me in the 90s.[10] It was these pathwork journeys, ironically, that brought me back out of Hel. And how I found my voice.

As for the journey, it’s not at an end. But I’m glad to be trading in these uncomfortable shoes.

So here’s what I’ll tell you in the next few posts:

• What it means to go to Hel and Back in Teutonic Shamanism
• Why I’m settling deeper into a new path (or, really, praxis)—that’s not different, just a better amalgamation of what I always was
• What I’m teaching in Delta, Alabama next month and in Auburn, Alabama in November and December
• How all of this relates to Wolves and Ulfarnir
• How you can go to Hel too!

Thanks for sticking it out for this long post.

B, Q, 93,

TBW

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[1] Which I thought was, “There’s gonna be a party tonight.”

[2] One of whom, at not quite twenty, we lost this week.

[3] Ergo the 2008 in my email address—that was the year I set “stuff” up under the name Ehsha.

[4] This is all a sort of side-story which is more of an irritation than anything real. But it bears mentioning given what I had requested—three witches to teach me. Boy howdy. Witch’s Duh.

[5] This is no disparagement on him. It’s just that everything was the same stuff I had been teaching for years myself—just with different names.

[6] Walt Whitman. Leaves of Grass. I’m teaching this in a few weeks. Squee.

[7] I remember the conversation with my sister. I didn’t have the language to discuss High Magic versus Low Magic yet, but I knew the connotation of “Sorcerer” versus the connotation of “Witch.” Having always understood Wicca as initiatory, I never laid claim to it as an eclectic idea. I still have a hard time getting my head wrapped around non-initiatory Wicca as “Wicca.”

[8] And it seems kinda trippy to me that I started envisaging an online Pagan Seminary back in September 2008 and started actually working toward it by publishing the results here nearly three years later. Now, here at the end of 2012, it seems the time has come to fully articulate that ambition.

[9] I don’t know how many of you saw the “Wyrd Sister” page before I turned it into the retail page it is now. If you missed it back in January, it aimed at being a page which cataloged my last leg of training in Seiðr. It rapidly got too close to STFU mysteries, so I switched it.

[10] And now I have vajay and stav and pounding jokes running through my head—that’s appropriate.

Some New Baubles and Things to Share

Pimping again.

I came across Wane Wyrds not long ago via The Pagan Pages Blog Hop and really liked the way Cena explained some of the misconceptions about Vanatru. I liked it so well, that I thought I’d share her post, “Misconceptions about Vanatru: What it is and what it isn’t,” with you.

And I’ve also enjoyed several well-spent hours reading/looking at Donald L. Engstrom-Reese’s work at Walking In Beauty, where he defines Queer Spirit for a Pagan community which is, in my opinion, far too hung up on binaries for its own good. I especially like this page where he offers some terms and definitions.

I’ll have a few more to add in a few weeks as I fill you in on my new group: Ulfarnir. I’m thinkin’ maybe they might need their own page.

Which reminds me–I had the great pleasure to meet some real Timberwolves yesterday and talk with the woman who takes care of them. (“You don’t train a wild animal,” she reminded me, “you work with its instincts rather than against them.”) It was an amazing experience and I learned some valuable things. Therefore, I plan to go back and revise my post on wolves to include what I learned. Stop by and see it in a day or so.

I always tell you that I’ll get back to this subject or that subject in another post–sometimes I forget or just get sidetracked. If there was something I said I’d tell you and I haven’t, drop me a reminder. I plan to run through the last few posts and gather up the stragglers when I have a minute; until then, I’ll follow your cues.

You’ll also notice that I’ve added a button for “Heathens Against Hate.” Go poke them.

I hope you dig the new layout. It seems that the more longwinded of my posts can scroll on-and-on, so I wanted a broader middle column for ya.

And, as I’m always up for suggestions, I took a loyal reader’s advice and added a tip-jar. I weighed the decision and looked at a lot of others’ opinions (like this one). In the end, I figured–as a minister, writing at The Files is part of my job. All of the contributions go toward supporting the things I do in the Pagan community. Why would I shortchange my community of some much needed financial support? Besides, some of the blogs I respect most have a tip-jar. I reckon it’s done. If I’ve made you laugh, made you cry, pissed you off enough to make you do something productive, or just given you an idea to reflect on for a bit, consider contributing. (It will show up as Open Path Sanctuary & Templum Gnostica, the legal brainchild behind all the pixie dust.) All of the bells and whistles I am adding to the Pagan community depend on the support of readers and enthusiasts like you.

As ever, I encourage you to go visit the folks on my blogroll. And if I have been remiss in including your blog or if you have a suggestion for a Bad Blog for me to add, drop me a line (abadwitch@yahoo.com).

Blessings, Quarks, and 93!

Ehsha

 

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