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.

*Not* Hatin’ on St. Patrick — or Rome

This time of year I start to see a lot of “lore-based” anti-St.-Patrick arguments about the abuse heaped upon pagans at his hands. Folks, the history doesn’t support these myths. (And you may know how I feel about that. If not, read this.) We have to remember that the version we have of Patrick and his violent conversion in toto of Ireland was filtered through Catholic monks a few hundred years after he was dead and buried (presumably next to Jimmy Hoffa). Along with all the silliness I’ve seen on social media, I was glad to see Jason at The Wild Hunt address the matter in a more evenhanded way.

If you’ve only ever heard the myth of Patrick, you can watch this super-simplified slideshow. I’ll wait.

Chicago’s SSI Parade

As an American married to a ruddy Gael-Mheiriceánaigh, I enjoy our green-bacchanalia. Even if I find it to be a bit of an obscene caricature of actual Celtic heritage. (Shoot, I like cosplay as much as the next nerd.) But having grown up on the SouthS ide of Chicago–a notoriously Irish Catholic area, where I attended a Catholic school and graduated from a Catholic University–I participated in the South Side Irish Parade, both as a parader and as a spectator running across Western Avenue in traditional fashion!

Yes, I’m a Heathen and St. Patrick’s Day is (originally–or aboriginally) a celebration of the conversion of Ireland to Christianity. However, the celebration did not become a “thing” until well after Patrick was gone. What’s more important is that the conversion to Christianity was neither immediate and complete nor savage. It was a slow and cooperative “colonization” (I mean that in every sense of the word). See this for simplified info.

You see, in my experience of St. Paddy’s, the whole brouhaha had more to do with celebrating Irish-American Blue Collar identity than anything else. I mean, these were folks whose great-grandparents distinctly remembered being the subjects of New World Hibernophobia and “NINA” signs (likewise mythological in its omnipresence in America), they remembered forming labor unions and passing the value of work-solidarity down to the next generation who then told stories about working their way up the social hierarchy through rigorous work ethics and of creating their own communities for support and protection. So–it wasn’t so much about snakes and Druids–more about getting (and keeping) an honest-paying job. 

But, as it stands, I am a syncretistic Heathen who happens to value the way Christianity shapes my understanding of the divine–even if I don’t subscribe to its tenets. I figure I honor my patrons every day, and They know Ireland was converted–it’s no news to Them; I doubt they mind if I wallow in a bit of an American satire that focuses more on Irishness than it does Catholocism.

 

Now, if I was a Druid in 20th Century Ireland celebrating a High Hold Day of Obligation? They might ask me to withhold my “Slainte!” That’s a whole different story.

My main point is that we shouldn’t “hate” on St. Patrick. Instead, we should focus on venerating our own ancestors–especially if they were Irish, came to a new place, fought against yet another wave of oppression, managed to feed their families and carve out a new democracy in the workplace, and bring our generation into existence with a strong sense of ethnic pride.

If that doesn’t do it for you, stick it to Patrick by honoring your own patron gods and goddesses (as this article also suggests). And one way to do that is to find out about *real* history rather than the wholesale purchase of unsubstantiated “lore.”

I look at it like this. Creationists are often disparaged openly and loudly for their hard-headed insistence that the Genesis myth is fact when we have evidence to support a more temperate version of how the world came into existence. But that doesn’t mean that the Garden of Eden story has no value. Lore is important to the development and maintenance of a culture–so long as it isn’t confused with fact. At the same time, the St. Patrick story is important to Catholic culture. Just as the story of Iðunn is important to we Heathens and the story of Eris is important to Discordians and Hellenic Neopagans and the story of Connla is important to the Celts. The apples are different, but the need for lore is the same. Maybe we would be better off concentrating on our own lore than fixating on the lore of the mega-culture? Hmmm, just a thought.

And “hate” was never good for anyone.

Go out and kiss someone Irish–or kiss someone pretending to be Irish for the day. Either way? Propagate human connections rather than seething in anger about a misrepresented historical somethingorother. Go love your ancestors and lift up your Pagan/Heathen patrons, gods, guides, whatever you got. If you must: stick it to Catholicism by being a better Pagan.

Waes thu hael!

The thing about the hands and arms? That’s a myth too, BTW.

Just a sidenote: While I’m on the subject of misplaced ire, I found some very disturbing hate-mongering propagated by Heathens. I was aghast–and really, really confused by the “Burn Rome” movement. (You can buy a t-shirt that says “Burn Rome” around a Valknut.) Because it is new to me, you might just want to read a report with more veracity here. To illustrate how it is used, see this link. Likewise, this makes no sense. Rome is not Roman Catholicism and the Vikings (because I presume this is who the “Burn Rome” crowd is emulating) never really engaged with The Roman Empire–it was already in a shambles by the time the raiders came along. Heck–Rome prettymuch burned itsownself, like, 700 years prior. I find the whole thing … odd.

 

Samhain and Winternights

I found the article I referenced in my last post and was reminded that it was for the newsletter for The United Pagan Federation (October 2012). If you are interested, here it is:

Most Pagans recognize the term Samhain (pronounced: sow-an), meaning “summer’s end,” as the “Celtic” origins of Halloween. There are plenty of mythologies surrounding that particular night (or nights), but we aren’t exactly sure what the pre-Christian Celts, Gaels (Picts), and Manx did to celebrate—if the celebrated at all—because their custom was to pass knowledge down in secret, without writing much down at all. But we do know that Samhain was relatde to the nights that separated the warm seasons from the cold seasons (either the beginning or the end of summer). Unlike the equinox, when the light half of the day could be measured against the dark half of the day with great accuracy, many scholars believe that Samhain was celebrated at a time of indistinguishable change in weather.

Such is the case in Heathen practices. Harvestfest, Winternights, or (in the Old Norse) Vetrnætr is celebrated on the days surrounding the last day of summer and the first days of winter. According to the Swedish runic primestaff, the Worms Norwegian runic calendar, and the Gudbrandsdal runic calendar, this falls on the 13th of October. However, today, given the pervasiveness of other traditions, Winternights is regularly celebrated on October 31^st in America.

Today Winternights festivals are held across Scandinavia, Germany, and New England and are marked by bonfires, tournaments, feasts, and arts and crafts vendors. But, originally, Winternights was far less sedate than it is today. Originally, Winternights marked the final harvest, a time when the animals that were not expected to make it through the winter, and therefore create a strain for the entire flock, were butchered and preserved for the winter months. But not everything was sacrificed; there is a common tradition of leaving the “Last Sheaf” in the field. There are a variety of stories that explain this tradition, but my favorite concerns The Wild Hunt. One of the most portrayed myths of Heathen legend, The Wild Hunt is the spectral apparition of Hel, Odin, and a horde of psychopomps; the Northfolk considered it a dark omen indeed if one were to “see” The Wild Hunt rolling through the dark winter sky. From Winternights to Walpurgis’ Night (May Eve), the roads and the fields no longer belonged gods, ghosts, and trolls. For this reason, the “Last Sheaf,” was better left as an offering to the riders of The Wild Hunt than harvested for human consumption.

Driving in the season of hunting rather than reaping, shadow in place of light, Winternights was, perhaps, seen as the last throes of abandon before the darkness of winter.  Winternights celebrations focused on divination; “seeing” omens to predict the hardships of the coming season was an important skill. The volva (female sorcerers and “seers”) and skalds (bards) were, I imagine, very busy this time of year!

Unlike the Celtic protoDruids, upon whose presumed traditions many neoPagan customs are based, we have plenty of written historical and archaeological records concerning Winternights. In The Heimskringla, we see a depiction of these festivals (Ynglingasaga, Chapter 8):

Þá skyldi blóta í móti vetri til árs en að miðjum vetri blóta til gróðrar, hið þriðja að sumri. Það var sigurblót.

[A sacrifice was to be made for a good season at the beginning of winter, and one in midwinter for good crops, and a third one in summer, for victory.]

Another difference between the Heathen harvest schedule and the neoPagan “Wheel of the Year” is that, given the range of difference in temperatures, the year was divided into three seasons: Spring, Summer, and Winter; Autumn was not a season for Northern Europeans. Tacitus (AD 56 – AD 117), the great Roman historian, says in his Germania (Chapter 26):

Nec enim cum ubertate et amplitudine soli labore contendunt, ut pomaria conserant et prata separent et hortos rigent: sola terrae seges imperatur. Unde annum quoque ipsum non in totidem digerunt species: hiems et ver et æstas intellectum ac vocabula habent, autumni perinde nomen ac bona ignorantur.

[They do not laboriously exert themselves in planting orchards, enclosing meadows and watering gardens. Corn is the only produce required from the earth; hence even the year itself is not divided by them into as many seasons as with us. Winter, spring, and summer have both a meaning and a name; the name and blessings of autumn are alike unknown.]

While the differences between neoPagan traditions and Heathen traditions are somewhat marked, one similarity between Samhain and Winternights is that the separations between the worlds (all nine of them!) were considered to be “thin” or more easily traversable. Further, though costumes were not part of the Winternights festivities, we do have evidence from archaeological remains that masks were used in Scandinavia. Rather than being about frightening the spirits of the dead away, the Winternights feast was a time to celebrate kinship (this can mean blood-bonds or friendship) with both the living and the dead. Heathens hold a great reverence for their ancestors and honor their ancestral spirits, and land spirits associated with the Elves: the álfablót or Elven blót. They would also pay homage to the the Vanir. These celebrations were led by the female head of a household—the ruler of the family and the entire domestic realm. We hold on to these traditions still today.

The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far. . .

As a heathen, it is very important to me to talk about my ancestors. And I don’t mean my distant-ancient I-don’t-know-their-names ancestors, folks who lived in Palaeolithic tribes in Europe; I mean my actual historically-documented, I-know-where-they-are-buried ancestors. I don’t mean to say that a slab of granite, a piece of paper, or a photograph mean more than DNA, just that I don’t like to romanticize my heritage or invent a background I cannot actually hang my pointy hat on.

Over the weekend, we held a workshop on magical names. It was great fun, great camaraderie, awesome food, and a “side of education.” One of our group started talking about her relationship to her birth name and told us how her grandfather had to change their surname during the Second World War because of ethnic-based bigotry. This loss of ancestral connection has been hard on her as it has on many folks. It got me to thinkin’ that I have been ignoring a branch of my family. Not on purpose, mind you. Just negligent.

I talk a lot about my father’s ancestral line a lot—Bavarians who left Germany to settle first in Pennsylvania, then the Carolinas, and finally at the foot of the Appalachians in Northeast Alabama. But I think it’s time I gave my momma’s family their due. My mother’s ancestral lines are equally old and equally interesting as my father’s. Let me tell you some of the highlights:

•           A good helping have been here since there was dirt.

•           The European branches arrived as colonists. Places like New Netherland and The New Haven Colony. There doesn’t seem to be any “blue” blood, but there are more than a fair-share of Quakers. (If you go back far enough there are knights and shite. But I guess that’s true of every family whose ancestors made it out of The Black Death.) This is interesting when you look at the migration of the families in times of military conflict.

•           My 4th Great Grandfather lived in Aberdeen and collected tea taxes for Great Britain during the 1770s. Wonder how that ended for him?

•           His grandson moved to the New World and lived in Alabama by 1845.

•           Speaking of Family Trees, I have an ancestor named Christopher Guest.

•           I also have an ancestor, John, with the surname Rolfe. Not the one you are thinking, but there are only 35 years between them and they seem to be cousins of some sort. I haven’t tracked that down yet.

•           My 3rd Great Grandfather was in the 1st Alabama Cavalry and died on the first day of the battle of Shiloh. I’m sure he didn’t mean to.

•           My grandfather was the youngest of 8, my mother was the youngest of 11, I am the youngest of 4, and my daughter is the youngest of 3. Being the youngest runs in my family.[1]

I know I’ve talked about Grandad Mac, the ornery Scotsman, so I’ll just glance over his story this time.

I grew up thinking that my family were Scots-Irish. Until I found out what Scots-Irish means–and until I found out who my family are and from where they hail.

There are two brands of Scots-Irish: American and European. The European Ulster-Scots of Northern Ireland, ironically, have no Irish ancestry as a general rule [2]. While Ulster-Scots tended to be Scottish, many of the Ulster “Scots-Irish” were not even Scottish, but were English and German from the Palatinate (like my dad’s kin) or Huguenot refugees from France. It’s like saying one is Anglo-Indian; this does not necessarily denote Indian ancestry but, rather, could indicate a person of British descent who was born in or is living in India. So these were Scots–living in Ireland, colonizing it, you know the drill.

American Scots-Irish were their descendants. Born in Ireland of Scottish (or German or English or French) ancestry and settled in New England–rather late as settlers go; they didn’t arrive until just before the Revolution. Later, because they wanted to segregate themselves from the Irish-Irish immigrants that started flooding New York and Boston, took on the misnomer “American Scots-Irish.” They started migrating south into the Appalachians in the late 18th century.

The Macs on my tree are neither the American Scots-Irish or Ulster Scots. They came from Aberdeen and Argyll. The patronymic line is from Aberdeen and the maternal line of Fishers come from Argyll. They lived in The Deep South before Ulster-Scots even arrived on American soil.

Funny thing: there is a second line of Fischers—different spelling, different origin, same name. The second Fischers are also from the Palatinate, again, just like my dad’s family.

But–yes, the story twists. I do have Ulster Scot ancestry. My fourth-great-grandfather on yet another branch was born in Ulster in the mid-18^th century. Antrim, to be specific. Antrim of the Islandmagee “Bean Eaters,” just near Ballylumford Dolmen—“The Druids’ Altar.” Of Scottish, German, English, or French? Given his last name, McMurtrey, I’m guessing Scottish. But—because I still have a little more work to do in pinning down his great-grandfather, I have to offer a second possibility. Of course, his family could have been indigenous Irish. You see, Mac Muircheartaigh is an Irish name dating back two-hundred years before my relative in question. This name became “McMurtrey” in the Ulster area. It could go either way. If I find out for certain, I’ll let you know.[3] Until then, Occam’s Razor suggests I assume Scottish.

This “[probably not] Irish” Ulster Scot-Irish family, landed square in Virginia without being part of the New England Scots-Irish migration. They moved south from Virginia in a different wave of immigration, in a different political atmosphere, in a different historical moment from the American “Scots-Irish.” The families likely merged into the same culture over time–I mean, I know I have (not so distant) ancestors that ‘stilled and clogged and played Dulcimers. But I’m just making a point about ethnic origins, not about where they ended up culturally commingled.

It might sound like I’m coming from a segregationist perspective but really, my whole spiritual perspective is that we are all human beings from different constructs of culture. In America, we all end up thrown together in a wack-a-doodle political crockpot and after we stew for a few generations, damn, don’t gumbo ya-ya taste fine just the way it is? But, I also like to be able to say, “Look I can identify some okra and there’s some Andouille and there’s even a bit of gator.” 

See where my metaphor is going? Metaphorical spiritual gumbo.

And I like being impressed when someone not only has the nerve to use a boudin–but makes their own!

It’s also good to know whether “a little more rice” or “just one more pinch of cayenne” would be better.

Follow?

And I get tickeld to know that, if I like it, I can use a jalapeño or–if I keep my acid right–a shot of red wine would fit right in even if it’s not part of the original recipe. And it gives me peace to know that, s’long as I know my shite, I won’t end up ruining five hours of roux-ing if I need to add frozen calamari instead of fresh shrimp at the last minute. 

Is my metaphor hanging together?

Even more than that, I NEED to know that bananas don’t belong in my gumbo. Bananas are awesome. However, bananas do not go in gumbo–unless you know a tropical fruit trick that I don’t. If I add bananas, I will waste all of my hard work and prove that I’ve learned nothing about the nature of gumbo.

Metaphorical spiritual bananas. Metaphorical spiritual ancestral gumbo. 

This is why it’s important to me to know not to toss New-Age neo-Pagan mango in my heathen crockpot. Unless, I plan to make Apple-pie, that is. Mango might just go nicely with Apple. But not the peels, or the leaves (those contain urushiol). But why would I make pie in a crockpot? 

Wait, now I’m hungry. Where was I?

Other lines (that emigrated at all, that is) were English. All of them. They came through New England dilly-dallied around Tennessee Amish country for a generation or two and then moved to northwest Alabama—parallel to (but on the other side of the state from) my father’s ancestral plot. I always thought there was a little more variety in my mom’s ancestral background, but it’s all Kent and York and Rutland and Linclonshire arriving in Puritan New England in the early 17^th century. None of the names even vary from Englishy-Englishness unless they are those problematical first names with no last names.

Of Native ancestry we have Creek most recently, Cherokee in two lines in the documented past, and a smattering of Iroquois and at least one Lanape according to church records. I mean, it was New England during colonization and before all-out genocide. No surprise.

By the end of the Civil War, however, my kin were all over Colbert and Sheffield Counties.

Why is all of this important to a Heathen? Well, aside from knowing my background and honoring my origins, I like to look at the ways my ancestors celebrated the turning of the year.

And I like gumbo–hold the passion fruit.

In a few weeks, while many  neo-Pagans celebrate Lughnasadh, I will be celebrating Lammas, or Hlaf-mas and Hoietfescht (the first harvest, “Haymaking,” or “Corn Boils”–which only sounds like a disease). For me, looking at my Quaker ancestors, my native ancestors, my Pennsylvania Dietsch ancestors, and my Scot ancestors, I get a profound feeling of Autumn being about gathering—if you will indulge my Protestant inclinations: “bringing in the sheaves.” Sure the bonfires are cool, but I like the customs surrounding baking—manifesting loaves from what were just small seeds in the spring, mystical pilgrimages to sacred wells (even if they are astral pilgrimages or figurative wells), giving the first of the harvest in offering to the divine wonder of creation.

My Urglaawe counterparts say that Hoietfescht is a time to acknowledge the marvels of our cosmos. A time to rejoice. A time to evaluate our accomplishments and reap the benefits of hard work (and perhaps reap the punishments of transgressions or indolence). It’s a time to salute and make offerings to the wights, or wichde, and cofgodas and give tokens of appreciation for their daily assistance in keeping our homes and land safe.

Thinking about what my ancestral folk would do helps me decide what it is that I want to do to honor them, to remember them, to uphold the values passed down to me through six centuries.

Family recipes, if you will.

Thanks for letting me share my pre-Lammas ancestor harvest gumbo ramblings with you.

Waes thu hael,

~E

P.S. My husband is German as well–his folk are from nearly the same geographic area as my folk. However, unlike my family, his IS Irish; and his kin are much newer to the New World than mine are. I think my husband feels more affinity to my ancestry than his own. Perhaps because he knows more about them since I have always told the stories and showed the pictures and named the names. And after all, my ancestors gave me the traits that attracted him in the first place. But, there are some cool stories in his, um, annals. I’ll share those stories with you soon. If for no other reason than to record them for posterity. But mainly to honor them as my husband’s family and the ancestors of my own children.

P.P.S. Today, having suddenly and unexpectedly lost a family member,[4] I am confronted with the dark side of the Lammas/harvest cycle and the knowledge that life is a temporary gift. A strange and wonderful gift that often doesn’t fit right, makes us itch, and regularly doesn’t match our shoes—but a gift all the same. A gift that, like family, we should appreciate for as long as possible.

When it’s no longer possible, well—that’s a whole philosophical question for another day.

 

 

[1] Go on, think about how ridiculous that is.

[2] Funny thing?

[3] I’m totally confused. A historical account of the McMurtrey family shows “a William McMurtrey came to South Carolina in 1777 from Larne aboard the ‘Lord Dunluce.’” But church tithe records show that *my* William McMurtrey Jr. landed in South Carolina from Ulster in 1772. I’m starting to wonder if someone misread a 7 as a 2. It happens all the time with handwritten documents.

[4] Right along with two of my darling dogs. Sheesh, when it rains it pours.

There’s Nothing New Under the Sun

“[A] symptom of enlightenment is that you encounter more and more meaningful coincidences in your life, more and more synchronicities. And this accelerates to the point where you actually experience the miraculous.” (Deepak Chopra)

A Common Hex Sign Design–Anybody from 9WK see what I see? Am I making it up?

I have pagan kin crawling out of the woodwork again. Over the past week, I’ve uncovered two more pagan cousins–or they uncovered me–or we uncovered each other, I donno.

The first and his wife live near Chicago where we all grew up together. Well, he grew up with my older brothers and sisters. I lagged them all by a decade. They are biker-folk who make chainmail jewelry; how entirely cool is that?[1] They were on to me when I posted a friend’s Ostara eggs on FB. I was on to them when I saw their jewelry–nothing specific, just an inking. This was confirmed when I saw a necklace with a spiral goddess pendant. I popped him a PM on FB and that was that. One of few cousins close enough to still call me names like “Squirt” and “Shrimp,” he teased me: “We aren’t exactly in the closet about it.”

*Sigh*

How do I keep missing this? Is it too close to home for me to pick up on the signals?[2]  I wish I had known sooner. I mean, growing up thinking I was “the only one” in my whole family was tense.

What I find most magical about all this is that during our Midsummer faining I honored my uncle “Jimmy,” this cousin’s late-papa. For no particular reason, just because I was thinking about my uncle who I loved so well. And then-pow-here’s a pagan cousin to play with. That’s how gebo works for sho!

In the last couple years I’ve learned that plenty of my kin are old-time root workers.[3] Yes, yes–Hoodoo is predominantly Christian, but still. It would have been good to learn more than “how to play an excellent prank” from these folk. All that “Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, knowwhatImean, knowwhatImean, saynomore, saynomore,” was lost on me. Or was it? Maybe the things I seem to know out of the blue are actually memories of things I learned and didn’t realize I was learning.

Wash the floor. Paint the fence. Wax the car.

Makes sense. We learn best by just doing.

Let me throw some Old Testament scripture at you, ones my mother always favored, and see if they stick to this narrative.

• “Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” (Proverbs 22:6, KJV.)
• “But if it doesn’t please you to worship [Y**H], choose for yourselves today the one you will worship: the gods your fathers worshiped . . . . As for me and my family, we will worship [Y**H].” (Joshua 24:15, Holman Christian Standard Bible, 2009.)
• “Impress [religious beliefs] on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates. (Deuteronomy 6:7-9, NIV.)

I keep thinking about these verses and the idea that Theodish heathen folk wanted more than anything to be reincarnated back into their own tribes. There was nothing worse than to die and be forever bereft from one’s folk. I’m starting to feel like the more I learn about my ancestors, the more I learn about my religious path. Like they go hand in hand. And that path? It’s not Christian. I feel as thought it is my ancestry that is bound to my hands and forehead and doorframe and gate–that I have chosen the gods of my “fathers” and that, in subtleties, my parents and aunts and uncles trained me up in the way I should go. Because the further I go down this path, the more I find that it’s an old path.

“What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.” (Ecclesiastes 1:9, NIV.)

Here’s the part where I tell you a bifurcated story that is related in my head and I just hope that I can translate that relation into your head.

Last weekend I was sitting on the porch with the husband and a student. We were talking about some sad cockadoody that has befallen a few of the pagan groups in the area. We concluded that some bad-crafter had slung some shite and it stuck where it could. It turns out that one of the people was a lot less practiced than we originally believed and another was a lot less ethical than we originally believed. The third–well, we’ve got their number. Always have. Anyway, I said something like, “With all of these folks getting caught with their drawers down it makes you wonder about the strength of their wards. For some namby-pamby bitchcraft to hit them like a ton of bricks,you have to wonder if they really know what they’re doing.” Then it happened. I continued, “I guess since we are totally unphased by all this, that must attest to the fact that I am the real-deal and that we are doing good work here.” I didn’t mean it as a boast. It was actually a realizing-something-and-saying-it-out-loud sort of thing. All of those years spent wearing the guise of The Bad Witch has taken a toll on my self-confidence. 

Add to that. I’ve been making the “syllabus” for next year’s magical training session. I’ve had these folks in my tutelage for almost a year now.[3b] And I keep wondering when I’m going to feel “caught up.” I keep teaching them things and thinking “there’s so much more!” I feel like I’m just scratching the surface of what I want to teach them. But I can’t. Like the Sufi teacher Idries Shah said, “Enlightenment must come little by little – otherwise it would overwhelm.” I kinda want to Vulcan Mind Meld them so that we can all be on the same page. But then again, I wouldn’t do that to anyone–all that initiation at once? That’s just cruel. 

As it turns out, at every turn, I am stockpiling more confidence in myself and my work as “the real deal.”[3c] And once again, I am excited to be taking a new turn in this ever winding path toward spiritual enlightenment. As Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh wrote: “One thing: you have to walk, and create the way by your walking; you will not find a ready-made path. . . . You will have to create the path by walking yourself; the path is not ready-made, lying there and waiting for you.” I find that I have family entrenched in the practices I’ve been piecing together from former training, from new scholarship, and from personal gnosis. The path isn’t ready made–but it’s not as untrodden as I feared. You see, not only does it turn out that I have relatives who study “shamanism,” relatives that do root work, relatives that run covens, relatives that (gee, I don’t even know what their practice is yet—the conversation is so new), I’ve just found out that I also have relatives that do something delightfully similar to what we do here at our hoff and ve.

When I started working with Bertie, one of the greatest attractions was that, among the South Side Irish, we had found kindred spirits from German ancestry. As far as I know, we are *not* related consanguineously; but our families traveled along the same route—hers picking up some Irish and Lithuanian along the way while mine picked up Norwegian, Dutch, Cherokee, and, with my momma, Scot and Creek.

Hang on to that info—it’s gonna come in handy.

Back in January 2012 I wrote a post about different kinds of heathenry and I said:

Urglaawe is new to me and I’m not sure how to pronounce it. But I think I likes it. It is. . .“a North American tradition within Heathenry and bears some affinity with other traditions related to historical Continental Germanic paganism [that] derives its core from the Deitsch healing practice of Braucherei, from Deitsch folklore and customs, and from other Germanic and Scandinavian sources. Urglaawe uses both the English and Deitsch languages.”

Deitsch, btw, is Pennsylvania Dutch.

My ancestors were New England Quakers, but derived from Bavarian Anabaptists or Hutterites and Palatine Mennonites. How they relate to the Dutch is a little beyond my (current) ken. [edited in:] I have since figured it out in great detail.

And since then, I’ve figured out even more.

• First, it’s oor-glow. Not glow like a glowing fire, but ow like damn, that hurt.
• Second, it’s Deitsch, not Dutch. We say Pennsylvania Dutch–but it’s German, as in Deutsch–only not.
• My ancestors were Quakers but none of those other things–they were “Fancy Dutch.” Who knew we started out Fancy!? I’ll explain that in a minute.
• I do have Dutch ancestry, but that’s purely coincidental.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one.

The hex symbol I made on a gut instinct back in October for my daughter’s rabbit’s “play-house.” You can read about it by clicking the image.

See also Jacob Zook’s: http://www.hexsigns.com/

This I knew: My ancestors come from a place called Oppau, in what was a Palatinate during the Palatinate Wars. They were anti-Catholic in a time when the RCC was trying to reestablish Catholic as the national religion in Germany. As a result, they jumped on William Penn’s coattails (via The Queen Ann) and headed to The New World. The settled in Germantown and lived there between 1732 and 1741 (at the latest) when the family moved to South Carolina.

This is new: Unlike many of their neighbors who were Old Tradition Mennonites, they were (this makes me giggle) Fancy Folk or Fancy Dutch. The Fancy Dutch are parallel to the Plain Dutch. “Plain Dutch” are those we associate with Kelly McGillis and Viggo Mortenson in Witness. Fancy Dutch are the Pow-Wow, Long Lost Friends folks–the ones who made/make the groovy hex-signs and get bad names from movies like Donald Southerland’s Apprentice to Murder (which I have pulled up in the next tab and plan to watch after I’m done here).

I new this part too: They lived there for about a decade after the Seven Years War , from which–according to a family historian–fallout made life untenable; they eventually settled for good in North Alabama where many, many, many of their descendants remain. My dad was there until he moved from NE AL to Chicago in the late 1950s.[4] For over 200 years, my kin have lived in this little pocket of caves and lakes and mountains. It’s magical there.

A photo my daughter snapped at our visit to the family cemetery.

I was doing some straight-up non-deliberately-magic-related genealogy when I started talking to a third-cousin in New England. When I did that DNA test with Ancestry, I was put in touch with literally hundreds of second and third cousins and even more “distant cousins.”[4b] It’s crazy-cool. This cousin dropped a few hints about speilwerk. She didn’t call it that at first but eventually she used more overt words. It started with the word, “healing,” when we were talking about—of all things—gardening. When I heard that, I wanted someone to smack me with an obvious stick.

Then I mentioned the Vé and our harrow to Hella. She asked, “Holle?”[5]

My heathen radar is currently dead broke, y’all.[6]

Anyway, long story short we’ve talked about Urglaawe for three days via email and Skype. Since she doesn’t consider herself a teacher at all, she gave me a book list, a blog list, a video list, and a homework assignment. HA! If that’s not teaching . . .

At first she asked me about my tradition and when I tried explaining to her that it was a syncretic heathenry, she said, “Yes, so are we.” I asked how it was syncretized and she talked a lot about Algonquin “medicine.” (Waaaaaay cool.) It’s not exactly the same as what little I know about what I think is passed on from Muskogee (who can really know the answers to chicken-or-egg questions) but it’s damned close.

I said something like, “Well, we do, you know, what they call ‘shamanic’ stuff too.”

Then she taught me the word “braucherei”—turns out that’s almost *exactly* what Bertie taught me–but without all the cool Deitsch lingo. I’m kinda feeling embarrassed that I didn’t ever pursue this line of practice. Mainly because I mistook it for Amish-ness. I mean, I like electricity.

Then I mentioned my interest in hoodoo. “Oh, she said, so you are a Hoodoo Heathen!”[7] An Urglaawe who moved to Appalachia and soaked up the red clay and mountains in her soul over eight generations? Yup. Hoodoo Heathenry.

Really it’s called “German Appalachian Folkways”[8] by bookish folk, but who wouldn’t prefer to be called a Hoodoo Heathen? Oh, wait–my mom. Dad. Aunts. Uncles. Nevermind.

There’s sooooo much more to the story but I have to go do a parenting thing followed by a beer thing and that movie I have open in the next tab. As ever, I’ll let you know more as I go. Whatever you do–don’t let me forget to tell you about Urglawee version of The Wild Hunt. Those of you who celebrated Walpurgisnacht with me this past year will say, “No. Way.,” “Spot. On.,” and “Too. Cool.”

Wæs Hæl,

~E

---

[1] That makes two friends who make legitimate chainmail.

[2] Or is it that I am looking for “Pagan signals” and when I see “family signals” and they look the same, I pass them off?

[3] Masons, I knew. Mason-jars? Hmmm. What was in all those “special” jars? My memory is that they look an awful lot like the mason jars in my winda’sill.

My current kitchen collection.

[3b] I’ve been teaching since 2008 but I’ve never had anyone stick around for more than their year-and-a-day. Not because we have a falling-out or because I don’t have more to offer. Just because, as it does in moments of initiation, their lives take turns that lead them away from my locale.

Right now I have one darling who is happily settled in Daphne; she and I spoke on the phone just this morning when she asked when I was going to go house hunting by her. Oooh, I’d love to be by water again. Believe it or not, one misses The Great Lakes. I have another who is watching the brouhaha in Brazil and sending me periodic texts to let me know he’s safe and that he’s found a Santerian mentor. Another who is entrenched in college life in FLA and not doing much more than advanced cellular biology. Of course there is the one that decided the pagan path was not hers and the boy who never writes home anymore.

[3c] It’s like when I first had my doctorate, I experienced what one of my teachers called “impostor syndrome.” I felt like I would be “found out” as a PhD poser. Then one day someone asked me a very technical question related to my specialism and I went on for a good while quoting folks and giving references and stating historical data right off the cuff. At that moment my confidence in myself as a gender theorist was born. That’s how it is now. I haven’t had many folks with whom I could spout *real* conversation points about paganism (in person, that is), so I could never test the waters, as they say. Finally it’s happening. And I am in my element.

[4] He moved back in the 90s and lives in NW AL now.

[4b] My family is huge; Mother is the youngest of 11 and Father is 5th of 22, yes he has 21 brothers and sisters (all live births, same parents, no twins, only one infant mortality).

[5] When I was learning German the teacher gave us gruesome children’s tales to translate. One of those was Frau Holle—a favorite. Look it up, it’s a common-enough archetype story. Like Cinderella—but with an underworld. Plus there’s the “good daughter” and “bad daughter” story line–the bad girl who ends up with her hair stuck to her head with pitch. Everything is coming back around to me now.

[6] Which is funny since I see “witchyness” wherever I look. We went to a bee-thing and I saw a tree branch and thought, “What a nice besom.” No. Just no.

[7] I made some sort of joke about going to pagan festivals and hawking our wares and the punch-line became “Hoodoo Hippy Heathens.”

[8] I had read this book by Gerald Milnes about Mountain sayings back in the day. Someone had given it to me with a book of Jeff Foxworthy jokes when I moved to Alabama. Turns out, he has another book: Signs, Cures, and Witchery: German Appalachian Folklore. She lent it to me on my Kindle.

“British Traditional Witchcraft: Bull-Crap”: a PNC look at Janet Farrar

I’m all hopped up on caffeine and homegrown honey this fine Independence Day.

I was invited to three cookouts today but given this tropical-whatever that’s making life wet and muddy and the lake too rocky for safe-sailing, two were cancelled. One was moved indoors–but with it’s oversized guest list–I’m thinking that’s too close for comfort. So, I’m landlocked with nothing planned but wood-burning, fun-reading, and Big Love. I think I might make a sundress since my Singer is already out and set up from the costumes I made for a Monty Python party this weekend (a gumby, a Spanish inquisitor–no one will expect that, a recovering newt, Sir Robin, and The Black Beast of Arrgghhh).

Kitticornbow

As it goes, I was reading this thing–which lead me to that thing–which caused me to cross-reference–and then I found one of those precious nuggets of wonderfulness that fill my mind with rainbows and kittens and unicorns. What makes a scholar with a cynical streak happy? Let me show you.

It’s almost a year old but a post by Zan Fraser at The Juggler (linked below) explores some revelations made at  “Progressive Witchcraft: A Lecture with Janet Farrar and Gavin Bone,” discussing “the Evolution of Witchcraft in the 21st Century.” (For a more, see Pagan Newswire Collective‘s recent interview with Farrar.)  Fraser, an “Eclectic Witch,” lends a refreshingly honest perspective to contemporary Witchcraft and Alexandrian Wicca specifically. His article reveals that participants at the Farrar/Bone lecture “were both kind-of amazed and delighted that these words came out of Janet Farrar’s mouth.”

I get the joy-joy-joy-joy-down-in-my-heart when folks tell the truth.

I’m particularly tickled by this article because it uses Farrar’s direct authority to reveal what many of us have known/suspected all along: “apparently Mr. [Alex] Sanders, in particular, would tell the most outrageous lies to American Witches about the ‘authenticity and antiquity’ of his Tradition, and then have a laugh over the ‘stupid Americans’ when they had left. The problem became, these Americans would bring these stories home, and apparently some of them are now enshrined in American Traditional Witch-Lore- this stuff that Alex Sanders ‘made up’ in a prankish mood.”

The kind of honesty Farrar engaged in during her New York minute really makes me wish that other “trads” would come as clean. I mean, if I were a flamboyant European (that’s polite; apparently, “Ms. Farrar and Mr. Bone described Sanders as a ‘complete whack job'”) with plenty of time on my hands and a scad of Continentals lining up to be jabbed, I might’ve just grabbed a pole too. I like a good prank as much as the next fella. But eventually, I’d like to give the world a big “JK!”

Given that since the 90s, when I first started studying paganism in earnest, witches in the UK and US have acknowledged the unlikelihood of Gardnerian Wicca being pre-War “traditional,” it’s no surprise to most of us. “[B]ut how bracing,” Fraser agrees, “to have it acknowledged so forthrightly by such a notable Elder in the Witchcraft Movements.” Fraser maintains that, “first Gerald Gardner, and then Alex Sanders, ‘made up’ a fictitious, non-existing ‘history’ of Traditional British Witches.” He says:

British Traditional Witchcraft is a “load of bull-crap.” Well, a load of bull-crap in the sense that, there are no British Traditional Witches to be found before Gerald Gardner, and certainly no British “Traditional” Witches to be found in the Witchcraft Traditions of British Culture before Gardner. (There are plainly British Witch “Traditions” to be seen in the British Isles before the 20th century; none, however, correspond to the Gardnerian- and subsequently Alexandrian- Traditions of Witchcraft, which again, as Ms. Farrar noted, do not exist prior to Mr. Gardner.)

And this is not to say that Wicca isn’t valid–just that it’s history is, um, muddled–we’ll go with muddled. You’ve heard me say it at least a dozen times. Any way to the divine is awesome as heck. But blindly following the path set forth by another is just daft. If you *like* Wicca or Wicca-based (and these are far and wide) traditions and they work for your spirituality–by all means, follow them. Just, please, try to *know* what’s actual history and what a group of folks invented for a lark.

Have a look at my post “Wannabeathens“–and don’t skip the comments; Cin makes a great statement from the Wiccan inside POV. It’s my prolonged argument that some “witches” out there “want to claim a non-Wiccan practice and yet temper all of their practices with the commodified tenets of Wicca. . . . If you [claim one tradition], bother to find out what [that tradition’s] practices and values are. Don’t be oblivious and think that you can just ‘substitute’ Wicca for [other traditions].” And that, “If you are Wiccan, practicing Wiccan practices and valuing Wiccan values, call yourself Wiccan, for pete’s sake. There’s no problem with those who choose that path. Owning it is certainly more respectable than hiding behind [another tradition] while deriding and yet perpetuating . . . Wicca.”

And for those few of you still resistant to reality, there’s no need to send me a message telling me that Gardner didn’t make it all up. I’ve already seen Jack Green’s comment: “As usual the basic logical flaw is Absense of Evidence = Evidence of Absence. Not True. At most it indicates rarity. . . . Janet is correct that most ‘trads’ out there are quite new and cobbled up and that sincerity is more important than historicity. But that is not the same as ‘all trads’. Even Hutton admits there were pre-Gardnerian practioners that we know so little about that no real comparison can be made.”) I will only reply (if at all) that there is evidence of witchcraft before Gardner–just not a witchcraft that looks anything like Wicca.  

Q: “What do you burn apart from witches?” A: “MORE witches!!”

And don’t take my word for it, try to get your hands on a copy of Ethan Doyle White’s “The Meaning of ‘Wicca’: A Study in Etymology, History, and Pagan Politics” from Pomegranate: The International Journal of Pagan Studies (Vol 12, No 2: 2010). If you have access to EBSOhost, here’s a link. You can use his list of historical resources–many of which are from the progenitors of BTW–as a decent place to start.

Here’s the link to the full article: “British Traditional Witchcraft: Bull-Crap.”

Enjoy!

~E

Niþing and Holmgang

I seem to be back to writing daily blog posts. It’s because I’ve been carrying all this around in my head all summer and finally have a chance to spit it out. Plus, I’m going through a thing: an ongoing domestic thing that has me living in my head. So I’m writing. A lot.

This past weekend, some of the kindred went to a beekeeping extravaganza together, followed by lunch and conversation. We mostly joked around but we did touch on something that I want to treat seriously for half-a-minute: beot, scop, skald, oathmaking/breaking, nīþing, and holmgang.

“Nidstang – A powerful curse: In the days when the runic knowledge was still alive, there was the curse Nidstang be extremely strong against the enemy. A rod that was about three feet high and was equipped with a horse’s skull, was erected against the sky direction in which the enemy was located. On the bar nasty insults and curses were inscribed in runic script and consecrated with blood ” (Translated from http://www.neuseddin.eu/nidstang.html).

The conversation started when we made some comments about last year’s sumbl and the break-out-beot in which we engaged. One kindred member admitted, “I haven’t been as fastidious at language-study as I said I would be.”

To this I teased, “Then we will have to nith you!”

In his defense, another said, “Don’t be too harsh. I was supposed to lose 30 pounds!”

The truth of the matter is that the point of beot in our tribe’s culture is to pronounce our goals so that we can support each other. Obviously, we haven’t goaded each other enough toward these goals. That’s a tough one for me to admit.[1] My uppermost desire for our kindred is for us to act in unison to hold each other to higher standards and then to lift each other up so that we can attain those standards. But that’s beside the point. Where was I?

A brief word-horde?

A beot is a vow, by way of the obsolete word behight.

Scop (like skald) is the verb for poetry-making and story-telling as well as the noun for the poetry and stories themself.[2] Scop became scoff and skald became scold.

That brings me to nīþ: in various forms meaning envy, malice, and villainy. According to Bosworth-Toller’s Anglo-Saxon Dictionary: “a villain, one who commits a vile action.” Contemporary use translates to “a coward, a villain; a person who breaks the law or a code of honour; an outlaw.”

A nīþstang is, therefore, a tool used for nīþing. More about that later.

And then to holmgang or “trial by combat.”

Historically nīþ (also nīð—both pronounced “nith”) was a social stigma indicating a severe loss of honor—enough so to denote the reputation of a villain. A nīþing or nīþgæst (denoting the “spirit” of the person) is perpetually considered lower (as in “’neath”—beneath) than those around him. Nīþings were ritualistically “scolded.” The folk would shout derogatory terms in an attempt to break any spell concealed thereby forcing the true nature of the nīþ to reveal itself. I reckon our ancestors saw the best in people and assumed that there had to be some overarching something that cause their kindred to act like arsehats. Their first line of fire was to try to remove the hex and free their kin. If that didn’t work, the nīþ was ostracized and, in extreme circumstances, exiled from the community.

The number of Rick Perry memes out there is astounding. The number of Rick Perry memes that include the word “vagina” is equally astounding. Go on, GoogleImage it, I’ll wait.

Aside from vocal scolding, folks could use deprecatory visual portrayals. Think of this as the same as our contemporary memes. We show our disapproval for social pariahs (or at least those we find to be scoundrels) by circulating disparaging images on social media.

The prominent image used to indicate the person being nīþed is a nīþstang or nīþing pole, a pole with a carved head upon which a horse’s head was impaled. Ew.

Curses.

They can get real gross, real fast.

In the case of a nīþstang, a the curse itself could be inscribed on the pole.[3]

Now, say for instance one is publicly nīþed and feels that said nīþing is unfair. In such a case, the nīþ may call for holmgang. A holmgang, trial by combat, could be fought to settle the dispute over honor, property, debts, or even vengeance.[4] Holmgang were originally a fight to the death but they eventually became ritualistic.  

It’s rather like a heathen Thunderdome—two enter, one leave.[5]

It seems to me that we should be able to take the premise of a holmgang challenge and apply it to today’s needs for conflict resolution.[6] I kinda love what Lucius Svartwulf Helsen had to say about the matter.  “People are more polite when there is a greater risk to being impolite. Back in the days of the holmgang, if you were rude to someone, you could literally find yourself putting your life on the line, and losing it.” No kidding. There are folks out there who act like arsehats—literally vilifying others with no cause. If there were to be a real penalty for effing around with other people’s reputation (something a more hard-core than a libel or slander suit), I think folks might hold their tongues (and keyboards) a little.

Then again, maybe not.

Assholes will be assholes after all.

But alas—and this is an important point. Though there was a trial by ordeal—a pretty horrible process, even for someone who sort-of-condones “The Ordeal” (depending on how it’s defined)—trials by combat were know only Germanic and Nordic peoples but they were not known to Anglo-Saxons (and Romans and several Middle-Eastern cultures).[7] Because we try to live by an Anglo-Saxon ethic, this makes holmgang, um, moot.

So what am I to do with this concept? It seems to have such promise, but I guess a fight to the death is too medieval at that. Better to just rely on the courts.

Nīþing is something we actually do in American culture—even if it doesn’t have the highly ceremonial component it once had. I think I’ll spend a little more time contemplating this over the weekend. I know that there are some groups that actively engage in formal nīþing; I’ll look at that in detail later and I’ll be sure to share.

For now, I wish you all a happy commemoration-of-writing-a-document-with-intentions-of-expelling-tyrannical-forces day. I’m celebrating one of my own.
Explode safely!
Wæs Þu hæl,
~E

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[1] Tis true. I am *not* the world’s best disciplinarian. On account o’ I’m the *only* disciplinarian in the house and I do get sick of playing bad cop. I was really good at disciplining children, but now that I have a household of adults? I’d really rather not. 14-19 years of setting the lines and making everyone tow them? Feck that noise. I’m done. Someone else’s turn.

[2] Somehow, I think there is a connection between beot and brag but I certainly know that Bragi, husband to Idunna of the apples, is the name of the god of poetry.

[3] Read this for more information about nithing and magic.

[4] Of course the rules changed from time to time and town to town, but here are the rules (according to the 13th century Hednalagen):

• The holmgang takes place where three roads meet.
• If you are the person who did the insulting (and was then challenged to prove your claim) and you don’t show up for the holmgang, the person you offended is considered right. As a result, you are no longer allowed to vote or swear oaths. In short, if you are indisposed to defend your claim, you have no honor.
• If you are the offended party and you do not turn up for the holmgang, it is concluded that the niþing was correct. In this case, you, the nīþ, could be called “outlaw” and perhaps exiled.
• You can let someone serve as your proxy.
• If both parties show up and the insulted party loses, this means the insult will be considered true.
• If the insulting person loses, it is deemed that the insults were false and then the insulter is considered the worst-of-the-worst.
• Stepping out of borders and running away means cowardice.

[5] The first rule of holmgang is “Don’t talk about holmgang.”

[6] As much as I’d love to see this happen with hand-to-hand combat, I don’t think that’s legal—even under Free Exercise. But what are we to do? Backgammon?

[7] Palgrave, Francis. The Rise and Progress of the English Commonwealth: Anglo-Saxon Period. John Murray, London: 1832. xviii.

PBP Weeks 26-27: M—Midsummer

Here at the hof, we just celebrated Midsummer. For some of you, Litha.

Last year at about this time I was experiencing a great deal of loss. There would be more before there was less. Nestled between losing my chance at a brick-and-mortar store, “Farewell Brother Larry,” a story about losing my childhood pastor, and “The Bad Witch on Getting the Long End of the (Admittedly Gnarly) Stick,” a story about how my–and inevitably my daughter’s–heart was rent indelibly in twain (and not long before “Crossroads“), I wrote “Life and Death and The Bad Witch: aka Litha is Coming,” a post about how my dogs got into my chicken coop and snapped the necks of all my babies but five.

During that period, my husband’s close-cousin/brother lost a teenaged daughter, I lost a twenty-something friend, and an elderly mentor.

In “Litha is Coming,” I said: “I have been trying to write a celebration of fertility and life for this weekend’s Litha celebration. . . . But I think I was concentrating too much on the sun and the light and not enough on why we value the light as we do. Because, in the end–Winter is Coming. Maybe this will be the darkest Litha celebration ever. And maybe it will mean more as a result. Maybe I figured out why we celebrate it after all.”

This year I have enough distance from The Apocalypse of 2012 to see some of what The Divine had in mind. Not that I claim to know the mind of god, I just think I “get it” a little. And, yeah, there are still losses. As a matter of fact, I lost two high-school friends in the past week. With our reunion just around the corner, this double-sucks. But I also realize the importance of being reminded of our limitations and mortality in this age of super-crazy technology. Here are some of the things I’ve learned won’t kill me after all.

• Poneh-loss—Turns out, I can live without horses. And so can my kids. They have made some awesome strides in maturation this year. With the loss of barn-time came awesome new, more stable, friends. Eldest even said that she blocked a lot of “barn drama” on FB. I know some folks pushing 50 who still like to kick-up drama—for an 18 year old to figure it out? I’m going with, “Cool.”
• Pagan Shite—Like the old PSAs about Joe’s liver told us, the liver helps carry away waste so that the rest of the body can remain healthy. I’ve learned that even a Pagan community has to have a liver. Clearing the system of poisons, drugs, and toxins so that the whole body can remain healthy is a gross job, but some organ has to do it. This is why I have learned to appreciate the livers of the world.[1] Sure, there are ugly by-products of a good liver. But I’d prefer to have a good liver around than a body that’s full of shit.
• Family of origin—My momma and daddy love me and I love them. I love my sisters and my brother with all my being. My nieces and nephews are always, always, always going to have a special place in my big-oversized-heart. However, I realize that I cannot spend any time with any of them. This is a fine realization. Kindred is all I need.
• My heart—I’ve always had an effed up bod.[2] Last year I was diagnosed as being in the early stages of heart failure. I thought that was the end of the world. This is primarily why, surrounded by all that death, I decided to jump on a ship and sail to Mexico. It was fun but it didn’t cure anything. I’m not better—don’t get me wrong, all the things the doctors said to watch for are happening right on schedule. But I’m not despondent anymore. My heart may be the reason I die but it’s not going to kill me.
• Being imperfect—I’m Type A, can you tell? My precious cousin (both kith and kindred, super-lucky me) told me something not long ago:

Her: How do you do everything you do?
Me: I do a lot but none of it well.
Her: I don’t think so. Maybe you have a vision of perfection in your head and when it doesn’t translate you are disappointed. However, for those of us who live outside of your head, what you create is a thousand times better than the nothing that was there before.

That may have saved my life a little.

• I’m OK, you’re OK–In attempt to be alright with where I am instead of where I was or where I want to be, I’ve been revisiting my old training—you know, this has been going on for over a year now. Part of that has been “soul-shard-retrieval” (this is the most common term anyway).[3]

Back in the spring I had an epiphany during my “travels.” I soooo don’t want to tell you everything about it (primarily because it defies language) but the crux of the vision was that I needed to be “born again.” This doesn’t mean what it means in a Christian sense; it means that I needed to reclaim a part of mySelf that had been lost and reintegrate it into my whole being.

A week later I went to a celebration with a nearby coven. At their ritual, they performed a “rebirthing” ceremony. I thought, “Ah-ha! This is just what I need.”

Nope. I had to bear that weight a little longer.

But to get to what this has to do with Midsummer, I have to make this long story even longer.

This Thursday marks the last day of magical teaching for me for a while. I’ve designated July and August as spiritual development months for my own s/Self. Last week’s lesson was on one thing BUT the week before was on Discordianism. My students found Malaclypse the Younger and Kerry Wendell Thornley so entertaining that we designed a pseudo-Chaos-Heathen Midsummer ritual.

Unlike last year when our ritual was geared around the balance of the season, this Midsummer was geared around reclaiming a path to our inner-child so that we might find him/her, heal him/her, and become more fully our true Selves. We played the most outrageous (family-friendly, of course) games, had face-paint, and ate and drank like we were ten-year-olds. We drummed and welcomed some mighty-fine Christian-folk in on the fun. We met a handful of new Pagan folk too and hope that they join us as part of Nine Worlds Kindred.

Because “That’s what it’s all about!”

Waes tu hael,

~E

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[1] Thanks livers—Thivers.

[2] I was always sick with tonsillitis as a kid and contracted varicella during puberty. In my 30s I was diagnosed with Lupus, a rather fun MVP, and ventricular septal defect.

[3] In the early 1970s, when I was just learning not to stick green peas up my nose, my mentor’s mentor was interested in psychospiritual integration which led her to Depth Psychology and Dr. Ira Progoff through whom she became a consultant, conducting innovative workshops in the U.S., England, Ireland, Scotland, and France. I reap the benefit of this experience. Having learned about “Shamanism” in the late-80s, and having learned to be a psychonaut in a specific tradition, I have a hard time articulating my appreciation for the core-movement. I have it, I just can’t express it very well.

I was taught how to integrate a Self for the purposes of psychopompary. Now I’m relearning to use the same methods—not to help people die better—but to help them live better.

I’m so effing inside-out.

 

This post is part of a year-long project, The Pagan Blog Project, “a way to spend a full year dedicating time each week very specifically to studying, reflecting, and sharing your spiritual and magickal path. . . . Each week there is a specific prompt for you to work with in writing your post, a prompt that will focus on a letter of the alphabet . . . .” (http://paganblogproject/)

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!

PBP Weeks 18-19: I – Idesa

Gaulish Relief of Triple Goddess

“Idesa” is the Anglo-Saxon term for the Norse dísir, or ancestral/tribal mothers. And the tribe to which I belong hails itself as “Dísrtroth,” faithful to the female ancestors. If you’ve read much of my blog, you know where I stand on issues regarding the divine female and how it’s been hijacked by Abrahamic patristic order and Enlightenment fecktasticness. I have tried to discuss female divinity with a few Pagans (although most “get it”) who just can’t get past the idea that I don’t mean “goddess worship” a la Gardner or even Budapest.

Worship of the idesa is about as “new-age” as wode.

Two things strike me as funny.

1.         As a heathen, we have the term “Forn Siðr”[1]—in Anglo-Saxon Fyrnsidu—which refers to our ways as “the old custom.” However, I find that many (not all) “forn” customs tend to be very masculine-centered customs. All of my studies have shown that true forn siðr were matristic[2] and egalitarian.

2.         I have trouble—real trouble—with the terms “the old ways” and “the old religion” given that folks often use these phrases to refer to imagined reconstructions of pre-Christian religions using post-Christian texts. For this reason, we typically call what we do in our tribe “inn nýi siðr,” the new custom. The real irony is that what I end up calling “nýi” is more forn than what others refer to as “forn.” (Translation: our idea of “new” is the really old version of “old” rather than the new version of “old.”)

Worshiping the idesa was common all the way through to the Roman period. Know how we know? We have evidence that heathen mercenaries built um, Matronae-harrow (altars to Dea Matrona (Celtic and Gaulish “divine mother goddess”)) along Hadrian’s Wall.[3] Must’a been important to them; I can’t imagine that builders would stop construction for that monolith to do something trivial.

There are two celebrations for the idesea. There is Mōdraniht (“Mothers’ Night”) celebrated at Yule-eve, which according Bede’s Historia was a clear celebration of the Matronae (triple goddess), and the dísablót celebration of the female ancestors, which traditionally took place at Winternights (October 31).[4]

Want an inside look at Mother’s Night? Here’s Sarah Lyn’s post from Walking With the Ancestors.

Here at our wēoh (sacred enclosure), we have a special place for the idesa, or dísr. Or, you know, we have one planned. Right now we have an area that we dedicated to the primordial forces, The Rökkr,[5] on Walpurgisnacht. But we hold regular dísablót and we are hosting one at a local festival at the end of the month.

Hey, I’m having a thought.

Given that there will be so many “kinds” of Pagans at this festival, I’m kinda getting the inking that it should be a blót to Dea Matrona, a “Mōdrablót.” You know, that might be more specific than dísr and yet more accessible. A blót to the specific deified being “triple goddess.” That’s a little pan-Pagan friendly at that, i’n’t it? Those who see her as the Fates, the Norns, the Erinnyes, and those who call her Hecate or Mór-ríoghain can all identify with the rite—and yet we don’t lose the substance of the blót by negotiating away any meaning.

Yeah. I think I’m digging it.

As ever, I’ll let you know.

~Ehsha

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[1] I’m not making comment about the Danish Forn Siðr tradition, mind you. Just the term.

[2] Not to be confused with “matriarchal.”

[3] Wanna know more? Go read Winifred Hodge Rose’s “Matrons and Disir: The Heathen Tribal Mothers” (http://www.friggasweb.org/matrons.html).

[4] According to Víga-Glúms Saga; the Heimskringla places it closer to spring.

[5] Don’t get freaked out. The Rökkr are “shadow” deities not Christianized demons—they can be chthonic and tricksters, to be sure, but not “devils.” We don’t really have those.

This post is part of a year-long project, The Pagan Blog Project, “a way to spend a full year dedicating time each week very specifically to studying, reflecting, and sharing your spiritual and magickal path. . . . Each week there is a specific prompt for you to work with in writing your post, a prompt that will focus on a letter of the alphabet . . . .” (http://paganblogproject/)