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

---

[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.

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.

PBP Week 28-29: N—Names: Magical and Mundane

I spent the last six weeks behind. Now, I’m just plain ahead. But this was one that needed to be written anyway, so I’m going to forge forward.

According to my desktop countdown-timer (yes, I am *that* type A) I have 11 days to prepare for a workshop on magical names. You see, a member of the kindred asked that we do this project and I was happy to comply at the time. But the closer the day gets, the more I wonder–what business have I got teaching someone else how to form their magical name?[1] I’ve tried guiding my students to aspiration names and only two of seven have worked it out–and one of those had her name when she showed up. Ehsha is, as you likely know, my craft-name[2] and it was fairly thrust on me; it’s not something I worked on or thought about too much. See my post “A is for Apple” for the whole scoop.

I’m not going to give the technical points of the workshop here, but I will say that I have five plans of attack from which folks can chose to experiment. We will truly workshop.

Allow me a minor aside? Lately I have gotten questions about my teaching methods: pointed questions, asking my students for more information than is appropriate for them to dispense. As I say so often in this online, public forum—my approach is a resoundingly magical “STFU.”[3] So when I don’t provide all of the ins-and-outs of what I teach, there’s a reason. I do not dole out information to the uninitiated. Now, talking about magical names is pretty basic and one doesn’t need access to the deeper Mysteries for that. But I just thought I’d mention it. On account o’it’s sooooo odd to be asked really conspicuous questions. It’s a good thing I have taught my students to answer without answering.

For now, let me just have a little conversation about names of power.

Historically, divine names of power, the secret names of deities, were taught only to “masters of the art.” These masters were taught not only the vibrational vocalized name, but the art of wielding that name, the art of evoking and invoking the power attached to that name. Such power was released by the vibrating sound of a secret magical name. We know that vibrational sound is integral to creation; words and names are sound, sound is vibration, vibration is—in turn—wave. Measuring a wave will collapse it—I don’t know why, man; I didn’t do it. It just is. Therefore, speaking a name or word of power outside of the appropriate context can sap the power out of the name—and that’s the best case scenario; the worst case scenario is that the speaker could potentially release energies that s/he cannot wield.

For instance, Crowley’s “favorite,” the Headless Rite—assuming one is referring to the Mathers translation of Lemegeton—contains a number of “barbarous names” from Ancient Egypt, Greek Gnosticism, and Chariot mysticism (aka Merkabah Qabalah).[4] (If you want the older version, look at the Stele of Jeu. For a few good chuckles about Headless/Bornless, see this old post and don’t skip the comments. And if it’s your sort of thing, see this post about the difference between Headless and Stele of Jeu and this one and this one about the 49 Calls–they aren’t particularly “better” than anything out there, just personal, recent, and on my read-list.) I do not recommend that my students perform anything that they do not understand and I do not recommend that they pronounce anything with which they are not familiar. I find it really odd that some folks start right-out trying to brandish popular rites (like Headless) because they are broadly published and available. What they don’t “get” is that available and accessible are not the same thing. Don’t get me wrong, I do not disallow the rite, it’s just that my students get a thorough understanding of it all before I encourage them to start calling forth the Barbarous Names of Evocation. This has a lot to do with the changes made in the names over several translations. This in consideration of the Chaldæan Oracle  which charges: “Change not the Barbarous Names of Evocation, for these are names in every language which are given by God, which have in the Sacred Rites a power ineffable” (Verse 155). A lot of new magicians try the evocation and feel unsuccessful and I can’t help wonder if it isn’t just because they haven’t accessed the true meaning of all those sounds they are vibrating.[5]

And vibrating in terrestrial languages that one doesn’t understand? It’s not like speaking-in-tongues. At all.

But that’s far more than I would discuss in an “open” workshop—meaning there will be plenty of non-initiates in attendance. I might mention it, but that’s like opening Pandora’s panty drawer.

I was really only planning to talk a little about the vibrational qualities of names. I will likely talk more about names as identifiers. Then we’ll get to the real workshop business of workshopping. A magical name is more than just a pseudonym, nickname, or alias that we use to protect our mundane identities. On the most basic level, like Baker, Smith, Taylor, Farmer, Archer, etc., we can be known by the magical work we do. On a higher level, a magical name can be used to shift consciousness.

It can even be a statement of our understandings or aspirations—these names are called “mottos” or “aspiration names”—which we use to remind ourselves of our beliefs, remind ourselves of our better qualities or to build on those qualities. For instance, William Butler Yeats, one of my own favorites,[6] took the magical-motto-name Daemon est Deus Inversus[7] when he entered into the Golden Dawn. These names don’t have to stay the same—as you attain one goal (as marked by attaining a new level of initiation in most cases), you may set a new one and, thereby, adopt a new name to reflect that goal. I ditched “The Bad Witch”—a sort of hypocoristic—and embraced “Ehsha” only. Of course there are “Craft Names” (I was taught to refer to these as eke-names) that don’t reflect a motto so much as serve as a symbol of devotion or, like “Stormborn,” to tell a little about oneself.[8]

Yes, there is a Name Root.

This is likely where I’ll focus.

Of course with the caveat that some of our names might only be shared particular people—or no one at all. Also, it’s totally fine if you don’t want a magical name at all or if you want to use your given name as your magical name.

After the workshop, I was thinking about a little something. If, like we said, sound is vibration, why not take advantage of all that vibratory power and create a range of wavelengths by creating a ritual in which the whole tribe intoned their magical vibrations (names) as a bonding experience. Because our particular focus, this would be a great thing to work in conjunction with an oracular rite. I have seven students who are a level away from completing what most of you would refer to as a first degree (around here it’s different). Wouldn’t that be a lovely element to add to an elevation ritual?

As I work it out, as ever, I’ll let you know.

Wæs þu hæl!

~Ehsha

Addendum: My FB friend pointed out some of the difficulties he has had with name development. Of course, no everyone is “handed” a name in clear and unobscure tones by the divine–thus the rationale for having a local workshop.

There are some things that defy language; I talk about this a lot, so I won’t launch into a Derridian tirade just now.

Sometimes we have an “idea” of what our magical name is supposed to be but there is not a word for it in our language–or any terrestrial language. This is the case for my “secret name.” I recognize it when I am called from the aether, but I don’t know a word for it. I mean, I understand the concept it signifies, but the “word”? Um, no.

It’s best to just approximate rather than stressing over something as human as language. We have shortcomings; the divine can handle all that falls through the cracks.

Addendum, Part 2: Per Blau Stern Schwarz Schlonge’s comment below, I see another hole in my post. Thanks BSSS! Names definitely *should* change as they indicate who and what we are–and we should always be in a state of becoming, not in a stagnant or bull-headed state. I love nothing so much as seeing folks “rebrand” themselves to embrace the new things they have learned and the um, education–we’ll go with “education”–given them by the universe. As for me? I’ve had my share of names from childhood names (which I won’t share as these are family things), to Lámh Mór-ríoghain in my 20s (dark, I know) to Ehsha Apple and The Bad Witch in my 30s (a little tongue in cheek) and the 50 shades of witchy in between. Having put a little dent in my 40s, I think it’s time to reflect my “new growth” with a new name–or at least a new motto. But like so many of you, I’m strugglin’.

---

[1] The issue is that for about a year now, I’ve been toying with the idea of taking an aspiration name. But I still can’t decide what I want to be when I grow up.

[2] My mundane name is Angela–not that there’s nothing to live up to there, eh?

[3] And every once in a while a smattering of y’n00b followed by a healthy helping of kthx.

My teenagers don’t let me use Tumblr.

[4] Originally, this was used for exorcism, but the Mathers form is typically used to attain Knowledge and Conversation of the Holy Guardian Angel. Either way, it should be preceded by a solid LBRP.

[5] I’m not judging those who do the evocation and don’t get the expected results as “unversed.” I’m just saying it’s one possibility.

[6] Speaking of names, my first Online profile name was YeatsFreak.

[7] Something like “a demon is a god reflected” or “inverted.” Have a look at Blavatsky’s The Secret Doctrine Vol. I, Part XI: “The Mystery of the Seven Thunders.” 

[8] Some of the more famous of these are Alex Sanders, Verbius; Jenine Trayer, Silver RavenWolf ; Miriam Simos, Starhawk.

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/)

A Note on Walpurgisnacht

I got a question on Facebook concerning the Heathen celebration of Walpurgisnacht. The question was something along the lines of, “If this is a holiday named for a Roman Catholic saint, why do pagans celebrate it?”

The short answer is that Northern Europeans celebrated the coming sun on May Eve, though no “original” name remains. There were likely all sorts of various tribal names, but we don’t have any strong evidence for a singular name for the festival.

The name for Walpurgisnacht, when fires burn (even still in Scandinavia) to usher in warmer weather, comes from a saint, yes–but she was also a female mystic. Of course, the RCC claimed her for themselves and beatified her on a day to coincide with the pagan celebration.

Prior to Saint Walpurg, there was a great seeress named Waluburg who was commemorated on or around May Eve. Therefore the Catholic (female mystic) “saint” Volborg/Walpurg was Beatified near that date in order to subsume the holiday, like so many others.

A Teutonic prophetess from the Second-Century Semnones tribe, Waluburg is historically known as having served as a Roman sibyl in Egypt. We have an inscription of her name that reads: “Waluburg, seer of the tribe of Semnones” (translated).

Her name means walu-“rod” from Indo-European uel-“turn” (Walus also derives here). Vǫlr  is the Old Norse term. Therefore walu-bera is “rod carrier.” Wand-carrier, völva-kona. This is the quintessence of the völva. The rod is an attribute and character of the “profession” and instrument of magic and mantic practices of the Germanic seers (Simek, Rudolf. Dictionary of Northern Mythology. Trans. Angela Hall. 2007).

So, tonight we celebrate the völva. We pay homage to oracular practice and seiðr.

Tonight the völur of my tribe will gather to dedicate a mound to the goddesses of seiðr, the völva who came before us, our sisters (and brothers!) in the craft, and each other.

Walpurgisnacht blessings and Beltane blessings to you all!

Wæs Þu hæl!

~Ehsha

P.S. I forgot to add that there is a legend that “hexe,” witches, gathered on Harz Mountain in Germany on Walpurgisnacht. Here’s a groovy article.

A roof in the Harz Mountains

Third Time’s the, um, Charm

This one is more personal than sex.

And while I’m great at theorizing sexuality and discussing sex in the abstract, I never do very well when the conversation turns real. I don’t want to know the intimate details—the, um, ins-and-outs—of my friends’ romantic lives any more than I like to talk about mine. I’m not prudential, mind you. I’m fairly game for accepting anything[1]—except that I don’t like talking about it.

And if you consider how I feel about talking about actual magical operations, I think you’ll see that this is a full-on personality trait. I will do many things; but when it comes to constraining the importance of those things to the limitations of language, I find that I am uncomfortable. It seems to me that speaking a thing diminishes it, disempowers the act, caps its potency, and imprisons it forever in a Derridian horizon of nominalism. To blog about such things seems to make “words on a page,” a formerly empowering phrase for me as a writer, turn into what Hamlet calls merely, “Words, words words.”

Thus, it goes against my grain to tell you what I am about to tell you.

So be gentle.

I’ve had one of those run-ins—finally with a Norse deity—that is hard to put into words. I’ve told you about the times Hestia and Megaera paid brief visits. But they weren’t claiming me; they were bringing me advice, comfort, instructions, whatever.

I’ve never been “dedicated” to a particular deity. I’ve had affinities to be sure, mostly Celtic and mostly dark aspects like The Morrígan and Ceridwin; though I have been lit up by the fire of Brigid from time to time and the combative spark of Scáthach. No one has ever asked for more than a dance or two, and that was just fine with me since I couldn’t imagine being “godatheow,” a godslave.[2] (Psst, you’ll wanna check out that footnote, it has a g-jillion links.) *I* obviously never chose a deity to which I “belonged,” that felt a little pompous or assumptive or something.

The Norse gods never bothered with me much. I liked the ethics and the lexicon and the culture of the Northfolk, but the pantheon just felt (as it should) like elder-kin. The lore always seemed (as it should) like literature. I am not saying that I never felt their presence, but they were more like onlookers—guests who stopped by to have a beer but not stick around too long. Admittedly, I kept them at an arm’s length. Loki scared the shit out of me and Odin just seemed like a pushy, domineering sort.

Odin on Sleipnir by spanielf on DeviantArt

Over the years, Odin would poke his head in and say, “Hello. Wanna go for a ride?”

I always declined.

Recently quite vehemently.

It was September of 2012 when I finally decided that I would formally align myself with a deity. I’m not sure how the other kids are doing it, but I did it this way. I was alone for the weekend and I had just gotten re-comfortable with my old practice of spirit-journeying. I had gotten to where I could drop back into a trance like I could in my 20s and early 30s. Just like riding a bike. And just as exhausting when one is older and not in great shape.[3] After what felt like an eternity of asking questions and opening doors and walking and walking and walking and talking to odd inhabitants, I was tired enough to throw my astral hands in the air and say the equivalent of, “Come and get me!” It felt almost like an offer to the highest bidder. I regretted it almost immediately: “That was a bad idea.”

Of course, I had a couple of scrubs come by and low-ball me; I expected this. But I don’t go home with deities that live in their mama’s basements.

Yeah, it felt kinda like being picked up in a bar.

I almost took this one offer but there was a weird little hitch that made me look at the fine print a little better before saying, “I’m sure you are very sweet, but no thanks.”

After that, things started happening, changing, improving, amplifying, and doing so pretty rapid-fire. I found myself asking, “Who do I thank for this? And who do I thank for this? And who left this present?” and generally shouting, “Thanks,” to the broader universe hoping my benefactor would hear me.

I knew I had settled on being a Heathen. I knew I was bound to engage with a Celtic/Anglo deity. But I kinda thought there might be a lesser-god/dess that would be a little less insistent than The Alfather. Yeah, yeah, I am a control freak. Who of us isn’t? And anyway, I don’t believe that going to the ultimate deity is the only way to go. I know lots of folks who have great relationships with deities that are not Zeus, Quetzalcoatl, Baal, Lugh, or their female counterparts. I thought a creatrix like Cailleach or Fairy Fand would suit me just fine.

Then, as you likely read, over the winter, Freyja came along and started making it fairly obvious to me that she was taking up housekeeping. I thought this was a little bigger than I expected but it seemed fine and dandy to me. I could handle a shapeshifting Vanic-fio-Asa-Goddess with cats, falcons, boars, and herons who just happens to be Queen of the Psychopomps.

Then Odin came back along—a little more strident than ever—and suggested that he had claim on me simply because I had agreed to Frejya’s terms a few months earlier.

“No.” I said. “And it’s not that I don’t like you. I really think you are groovy, but you see, you’re just not my type. You’re too aggressive. If you want to talk from time to time, that’s cool. But you have to stop leaning on me.” That’s how it felt—like he was always leaning on my like a possessive and dominant dog. “If you don’t stay on your side of my comfort zone, you will turn me off entirely and send me running to some more-passive wine-drinking Apollonian.”

He laughed his tell-tale laugh, made a polite acquiescence that somehow still insinuated, “But, I’ll be back,” and let me be.

For about two-and-a-half months.

In the meantime, I decided that I would go ahead and make a formal dedication to Freyja. Not a “godatheow” relationship but a reciprocal, “I-recognize-what-you-have-been-doing-for-me-so-thanks-let’s-wear-each-other’s-class-rings,” kind of dedication.[4]

It was nice. Just nice enough to be fine. Good. Fine. Nice.

And then yesterday.

I don’t even know how to tell you this without sounding schizophrenic. But I assume that if you are reading this blog, you have a modicum of knowledge about such encounters and will not seek me out to have me committed.

Yesterday.

Odin approached me for the third (serious) time.[5]

This showed up.

Last week when the kindred met to do that stav workshop, my Journey-buddy and I were making comments about “finding spirit animals” or fylgia. He mentioned that one might see “normal animals” three times in remarkable circumstances but that fantastic animals (should that be your animal) tended to appear everywhere all the time—on t-shirts, on TV, in dreams, etc. Last week I started seeing hanged men and gallows everywhere. It unnerved me. I wasn’t sure what to make of it until yesterday.

Yesterday when Odin poked his head in and said, “It’s time.”

This time, he . . . um, made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I don’t mean to say he was going to put a horse’s head in my silk sheets or my brains on a band contract, but that he made an offer so tempting that I couldn’t refuse it.[6] Not a carte blanche offer either, of course. This is a Norse deity who plays by the rules of Gebo. But a fair, good, solid, damned-attractive offer. And in the end, I get to keep my soul—such as it is—thank you very much.

We made a bit of a compromise, and I was even given the A-OK to tell y’all about it—most of it.

I have to give an ordeal.[7] No bloodletting, piercings, or body-hanging or anything of that sort, but not totally painless either—only because I am so indulgent. My detox period has been moved up. I normally detox for a week in April or May. I start on a nine-day near-fast on Monday: “No bread did they give me nor drink from a horn.” And there are other physical and non-physical sacrifices to which I am obliged. A little sleep deprivation, a little caffeine withdrawal, a little abstinence—alcohol and sex.

This showed up.

The ordeal of Odin is usually commemorated in August. Guess what? I detox every six months. After striking the deal it occurred to me—Guess what’s six months from now? August. And the fact that it’s Lent and we are talking about self-sacrificing gods making an exchange for Gnosis, hanging on trees, and transfigured resurrection, yeah. All that occurred to me too. After the fact.

I have to journey in each of the nine worlds and collect eighteen “things.” I guess I’ll know what this is when I get there. (This struck me as “random.” Then it occurred to me, duh: 9×2=18. I’m slow.)

Yes, I get something in return—I was given this information from Odin in his Oski aspect. And then as Svipal gave way to Gagnrath, he warned me that I wouldn’t get my return in *my* order, but in his.[8] This could be a Witch’s Duh moment–but I don’t think so. And once it’s all over and our accounts are settled—then I will be asked for my hand in, um, theowdom—we’ll go with theowdom. Obviously, it would be a shame on me forever if I decline.

To be clear–I don’t see this arrangement as “ownership” or “slavery.” Others may (I’ve read that they do.) This is not the tenor in which it was presented to me. To minister is already to serve–“theow” means is related to “thew” or “bodily discipline”–I’ll talk about that later too. After all, in the RCC, the Pope is called The Servant of Servants. (Go ahead, sing the Nirvana song. I’ll wait.) There is a physical discipline to journey work. We must commit to this loyally if we want success, no?

I wanted to talk about Ordeals and trees and Judas Iscariot but that will have to wait, I suppose. I also somehow thought I’d have time and space to cover “horsing” and such but that will have to wait too.

For now, let me just share with you a bit of the conversation I had with Odin. Keep in mind that prior to yesterday, I didn’t know that humans replicated Odin’s ordeal. I had no idea that folks were doing this sort of thing. It wasn’t until after this conversation that I thought to look any of this up. I have a ton of stuff to share this upcoming week. In the last 48 hours, I have had information and revelation dumped in my lap like an aetheric piñata has burst just above me. I may be a little too overwhelmed to make much else of it.

E: “I’ve told you, you’re too pushy. I don’t want to be owned by a man. You know that simply just doesn’t fit my worldview.”

O: “Ah, but you are missing the point. Men are the war-lords—women rule the hearth and hamlet. You are in charge of all else—I am the defender, the warrior.”

I feel like I’m trying to make a photo essay at fill in the language gaps–like John Berger’s Ways of Seeing–but with trees.

E: “But a ‘slave’? Naw.”

O: “Read the Hávamál: ‘I know that I hung on a windy tree, nine long nights, wounded with a spear, dedicated to Odin, myself to myself, on that tree which no man knows from where it’s roots run.’ See?”

I was beginning to see. In a weird apocalypses unlike any of those I’ve had with other beings. It transcends words.[9]

E: “So, what’s in it for you?”

That’s the part I don’t have any words for. I had this instantaneous understanding of things I couldn’t have imagined even existed.

O: “See. That’s how it works.”

E: “I can totally live with that.”

O: “See you a week from Wednesday.”

–Oh, I have to share some insights about Wednesdays too.

Until then, waes hael!

~E

---

[1] Doing is another thing altogether. I’m married to a dedicatedly monogamous man + I am loyal to my vows to him = transitive property: I am dedicatedly monogamous.

[2] There is a lot of controversy about this term and practice. It seems the Norse gods are very hip on “collecting” godatheow and Odin has more than his fair share of folks out there discussing the matter. Here’s a good one. This one gives food-for-thought. In a search this morning, I found my friend Aubs (SatSekhem) at this forum.  I haven’t had a chance to catch up with you recently, lady, how goes it with Sekhmet? Here’s a thread with a broad range of ideas.

[3] This was also the around time I decided to call myself “Völva” instead of “Witch” and to use the term “Seiðr” instead of “Ceremonial Magic.” I haven’t gotten around to telling you just how I think I might maybe feel about the word “Shaman,” so let’s just say that this was when I *formally* re-made “spirit-walking,” “journeying,” and “pathworking” a part of my regular practice/life.

[4] My relationship with the gods is best explained in terms of dating, it seems. Married by 20, I have little experience with either.

[5] From what I’m learning, it takes a lot of folks three times.

[6] And I had just finished reading Needful Things, so I was in a wary state of mind. It was *that* good.

[7] One of the biggest controversies is that godatheow are conflated with BDSM. Not all servants are Ordealists. Not all Ordeals involve BDSM. If you are an adult, read this (and all of her ordeal posts, really).

[8] He was shifting aspects like a character from A Scanner Darkly.

[9] If you follow me here—you follow. If you don’t understand this part, it’s not for you to understand.

The Difference: Part 3 (Leadership and Gender)

I’ve been carrying on this conversation about the differences between Heathenry and Wicca for a week or so and I figure it’s time I get back to it. Actually, it’s a conversation about a couple of articles about “The Differences Between Heathenry and Wicca,” but whatever.

My last post was about leadership. There is a good deal more to say about leadership than I was able to cram into that last post.[1] You see there is a tempestuous relationship between a leader and those who choose to be lead. Especially when the group in question consists of both kith and kin. Imagine adding complex family dynamics to any situation and Things can get sticky. Nowhere are specifications concerning the nature of leadership more important. You know, just to avoid misunderstandings.

(I often teach Enlightenment literature—this includes Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s The Social Contract, which talks about the relationship between the sovereign and the subject. Of course Rousseau was talking about Eighteenth-Century France, so the term “sovereign” makes sense in his context. Here, I prefer the word ealda (or in my case ealde). The ealde of a kindred, the female leader or chief. According to Rousseau, one only becomes subject because one chooses to be subject to a sovereign. One is only led by an ealde, because s/he chooses to be led.)

One of the problems I have been running up against in trying to formulate the language for a post about leadership in the context of these two articles is that “Wicca” is used in pretty specific terms; the authors identify when they are discussing BTW and when they are not. Unfortunately, they don’t carve out the same distinctions between Ásatrú, Vanatru, Theodism, etc. Each of these very distinct traditions have different approaches to leadership. To assume that they are all the same—to paint all of Heathenry with an Ásatrúar brush—would be a grossly parochial simplification that illustrates nothing if not mis-education. So, I will try to clarify a few things as I go along—but it is not the project of this post to point out those differences.

If you don’t know the difference between Ásatrú and Vanatru, look at this old post. If you want to know about Odinism and Wotonism see this old one. If you need to know more about Theodism, look at the links I give in the next paragraph.

Firstly, Heathenry is a very egalitarian tradition. Heathen traditions tend to be libertarian—your rights end where mine begin. According to Wednesbury Shire (based out of Columbia, Missouri), a Theodish (or Þéodisc) organization, “all have freedom of conscience. . . folk can be bond together by oaths and blood into a tribe.” This means that oaths are not used to manipulate the will of the members of the kindred—they are used to express freely adopted bonds and then reinforce the trust necessary in a kindred. What’s more, if a kindred are bonded to one another, each member can count on the support of all other members of the kindred, no matter what. (Well, except in terms of betrayal and treason—that’s a whole ‘nother story.) What’s more, we tend to spread responsibility across the whole of the kindred rather than localizing power.

There are two historical exceptions, only one of which is commonly still in use. There were War Lords and there were Sacral Leaders. The War Lord tended to be male while the Sacral Leader tended to be female. (It’s a bit of a joke around here that I have a sixth lumbar vertebrae–an extra sacral bone.) Since we don’t really need War Lords (since our only wars tend to be puerile Witch Wars these days[2]) we are left with only the concept of Sacral Leadership. Sacral Leadership, or Sacred Kingship, is not priesthood, per se. The sacred leader of a kindred was/is responsible for warding, or guarding  the Luck, or spiritual well-being, of the kindred. This is done through rituals of feast and blot, honoring the gods most closely connected to the kindred. The sacral leader, is the representative of the kindred, to the folk as well as to the gods. The sacral leader petitions the gods for reward on behalf—not of him/herself—but for the benefit of the whole kindred. The sacral leader makes sacrifices (these days in terms of time and energy as well as food and drink) on behalf of the whole kindred. This means that the sacral leader takes on all of the responsibility in return for good luck for the multitudes.

The kindred, in turn, owe unwavering frith and loyalty to the leader—but, like I said, these are bonds of oaths taken willingly, not ones imposed through manipulations.

“Volva” by Valentina Mustajarvi on Deviantart

The sacral leader is also imagined to have the gift of ræd. Because s/he has the ear of the gods and ancestors, serving as the folk’s representative to the Ése and Wen s/he is privy to advice from the gods. According to Swain Wodening’s chapter on sacral leadership in Þéodisc Geléafa “The Belief of the Tribe:” A Handbook on Germanic Heathenry and Theodish Belief: “They do this in the same way the kings of old did. They take omens, read the runes, watch for signs that what they are doing is right. They fain and blot regularly, and interact with both the Gods and the folk.” To me this seems that to question a (good) sacral leader is the same as questioning the gods.

Wodening adds, “They learn to organize gatherings, and to conduct public relations for the tribe. Finally, they learn to be good managers, appointing the right people for the right jobs, and making sure everything runs smoothly. Being a leader of a theod is not an easy task, and it takes a very special person to do it.” Once a kindred finds this kind of talent, they should thank their lucky stars.[3] Someone who is able to be both a sacred leader and a community leader? Hell yeah. You’re gonna wanna nail that down.

Now, if the person who has been elected to be the sacral leader of a folk fails, s/he can be deposed and replaced. This is certainly preferable to having a leader and questioning his/her motives and/or actions—and not likely something a failing leader would contest. I mean, I know I hope that if my kindred finds me or my actions lacking, they’d step up and become better leaders themselves rather than leaving me to wallow in a mire while doing all of the sacred and community work on their behalf. That’s just not fair to anyone, right?

This is not entirely unlike the role of a Wiccan High Priestess.[4] (I really intended to talk about gender roles a little more in this post, and I’m trying to get to that. But, bear with me while I just talk about the sacral leadership of HPs for a minute, OK?) High Priestesses, like ealde,[5] have obligations. You become an HP by fulfilling these duties, not by simply choosing to call yourself by the title. Being an HP means not only being a group leader and ritual leader bit it means performing energy work on behalf of the coven. Sacral leaders not only have to have skills in organization, ritual performance, event coordination, business management, conflict resolution, and teaching; but she has to be skilled in channeling and aspecting the divine. No leader worth her salt would refuse to act as conduit for the divine in a coven setting.

For any reason.

As far as gender roles in leadership goes, Wicca imagines “perfect couples” where male and female are perfectly balanced. (The female seems to me to have become objectified in the name of “veneration” in the process.) The God and The Goddess are imagined as two halves of a whole in Wicca. Not so in Heathenry. There is no sense of polarity or dualistic identity in Heathenry. I like to say, “Gender is a spectrum, not a binary.” I mean, look at the problems that come of sectarian Wicca when separatist female groups like Dianic Wiccans impose gender binary-opposition.

The article by Arlie Stephens says, “Like Wiccans, there are many different groups of Heathens, each with different beliefs and practices. On the extremes, Heathens may be as different from each other as (e.g.) lesbian seperatist feminist egalitarian Dianic Wiccans are different from hierarchical initiatory Gardnerian Wiccans, or as either of these are from eclectic humour loving Discordian Wiccans.” But there are a good number of similarities. While “neither religion is monotheistic, Heathens tend to be much more strongly polytheistic. Heathens see the gods and goddesses as individuals; Thor and Odin are no more seen as aspects of the same god than Tom and Joe are seen as aspects of the same human. (Wiccans, on the other hand, often see all gods as aspects of the Horned God, and all goddesses as aspects of the Great Goddess.)” This is important because, “Many Wiccans also see polarity, especially gender polarity, as one of the key organizing principles of their worldview. In particular, most worship rituals include a symbolic union of the God and Goddess (athame and chalice). Heathenry does not include any such concept.”

I mentioned that the War Lord tended to be male while the Sacral Leader tended to be female. This is an “each to his/her own strength” sort of delineation. Dudes are better with the fighting and chicks are better with the sacral-ing—not to be essentialist. In my feminist opinion, it’s a cultural evolution thing. Wodening agrees when he says, “Women always serve the first horn in symbel as they are seen as having a greater connection to Wyrd, and therefore are holier. They also are more likely to perform spáwork as they are seen as being more adept at second sight.” In a review of Lady with a Mead Cup: Ritual, Prophecy and Lordship in the European Warband from La Tène to the Viking Age by Michael J. Enright (Idunna 84 (Summer 2010)),[6] Dan Campbell, author of The Articulate Ungulate asks: “What if I told you that the so-called ‘valkyrie’ is the pivotal role in the rite of sumbl and more important than that of Þyle? And that the role of ‘valkyrie’ is properly that of a woman owing to the unique power of women in Germanic society, not only as brewers and weavers, but as oracles?”[7] Even when women were not leaders, warrior or seeress, they were still held a high position. Under Germanic law, women’s position was clear. She could own property, she could inherit, she was leader of the house. Women held the keys to the household which meant that they controlled the wealth of the family (by way of food stores and valuables).

Unlike in Wicca, the male leader and the female leader in a heathen kindred need not be a “couple” (sexual intercourse has little to do with their leadership—at least not sex with each other). I kinda think it’s better to have leaders from different immediate families, checks and balances and all.

Even further than the idea about sex between the group leaders is the difference involving nudity in general. Like I mentioned in this post there are ethical reasons not to “get nekid.” The article by Devyn Gillette and Lewis Stead points out that “many Ásatrú[ar] are horrified by the social nudity and casual sexual ethics of Wiccan-based Neo-Pagan gatherings and some go so far as to view such gatherings as morally unhealthy places.” I wouldn’t go so far as to judge the gatherings that are clothing-optional, of course. And I do know the energy difference that occurs when clothed and when, um, unclothed. But I also have my opinions about “skyclad” rituals. But those are just my opinions.

Me? I like furry hats and warm cloaks. It’s the Northern-blood, I reckon.

I’ll get back to the rest as I move along. For now–

Waes Hael

~E

---

[1] You should read this article by Adrian Monogue from Georgia.

[2] Which makes me think that PR has become our new War Lord.

[3] He says that, “Both women and wermen are chosen as leaders. Women are especially liked for their intuition and their sacred innate ability to commune with the Gods and ancestors.”

[4] I read a funny bit on Wicca Spirituality: “These days, only a fraction of Wiccans come from initiatory traditions. So HPs has become easy to claim. . . . I have heard 13-year-olds who are just beginning in the Craft claiming that they are in training as HPs! . . . However, calling yourself an elephant doesn’t make you one.”

[5] Ealde can be Völva, but not all Völva are Ealde.

[6] You can read it here.

[7] Don’t be confused by the spellings symbel and sumbl—they are the same things from different permutations of language in evolution. The spelling can often tell of the tradition—those who use Old Norse see the tradition differently from those who use Anglo-Saxon spellings.

None of these is to be confused with the word “semble”—a French derivative meaning, “To imitate; to make a representation or likeness,” to “seem to be what something is not.”

Rounding Out the Year: 2012

I have been a little out of the blogging loop over the past two months, I know. In my last post, I told you about the health issues standing between me and my seemingly-bionic achievements. You should know by now (if you read this old post at TBWF), that I am typically “hyper-competent.” It’s not that I haven’t been able to get anything done, just that blogging took the backseat.

Let this post serve as a way to round out 2012, usher in 2013, and let you know what I’ve been up to–if you’re interested. I hope you are interested.

Thanks to some Yulemas gifting, I received some brand new fermenting equipment and made a fine batch of Cabernet Sauvignon. A second attempt at cat-free mead is next on the docket followed by some really complicated-looking beer. Practical alchemy at it’s finest. I’m designing the labels now and am looking for a name. When I last made beer, a former acquaintance suggested “Bad Witch Brew” but I’m leaning toward something more Heathen, like “Mímisbrew” with a joke about fermentation, head, and herbs–I donno, I have a few months. Of course, I’d be thrilled if you’d pass off some suggestions.

Oh, and I received some groovy drinking horns. One of this will fall under the magical powers of my dremmel soon! Can’t wait to use them in ritual in a few weeks.

I’ve updated my 2013 schedule of workshops and such. I posted it here and on Facebook. In doing so, I made a number of very helpful new contacts across the state. Looks like 2013 is going to be a banner year for Celestial Earth Grove. Visibility has become key to this old sorceress who formerly preferred to play close to her vest. That said, if you haven’t “liked” The Bad Witch Files on Facebook already, go ahead (it’s my old blog–but I’m keeping the FB page)–you’ll stay more informed that way. Also, I appreciate all out-of-state support for Celestial Earth Grove and, of course, Open Path Pagan Seminary. If you are game, go “like” those pages too.

In addition, I’ve gotten some work done on a few web pages. They are just “free” pages and are on the low-end of functionality, but they are fine for getting the word out, having a URL to post on adverts, and having a central locale for information (like this one with all the grove paperwork and school forms). Many of you have already seen the new webpage for the Seiðjallr group, Úlfarnir, that has formed here in East-Central Alabama. If you haven’t, go kick the tires–tell us what you think. It’s short on information at the moment because it’s a start-up; it’ll flesh in with time. Also, if the Pagan seminary page slipped past you, have a look here. We are all full for now, but are accepting applications for the regular term in Fall.

I have some wonderful students right now; they blow me away sometimes. They are real go-getters and self-starters who bring more than is required to the table. It’s a blessing to see a group of folks come together and teach each other. And everyone has a different background–one loves Aztec and Maya traditions, another is an Atheist’s daughter, another used to be LDS and now lurves Alchemy, another is a recovering Catholic and vies for the slot as “teacher’s pet” with all his might, yet another brings me copies of Goetic treatises and asks, “Can I read this?” (in fairness, she was kept “in the dark” by a prior teacher). I can’t tell you about all of them except to say that they are all amazing in their own ways and I adore them all. We have a group elevation coming up at the beginning of February; and I’m thrilled at their progress. (Proud teacher moment.)

One of my brilliant students has (not too subtly) reminded me that I planned to make digital audio pathworking files. I’ll get on that as soon as I can talk for more than five minutes without coughing. I’ll show you how to access those as well. What’s more, I promised you the video of the presentation I did last November. I haven’t forgotten. It looks like I might be doing the workshop again publicly (a little closer to home this time) in May. Let me know what you’d like to see–if I can oblige, I’m on it!

I had a look at my “long term” plan yesterday and I’m surprisingly on task. I’m a little ahead of the game on the Seminary game-plan and a little behind on the brick-and-mortar store/Pagan community center than I’d hoped, but all is moving in the right direction again after last year’s political tomfoolery. There are a few changes that promise to get everything back on track by spring. Everyone whisper a little spell for “removing obstacles” for this little Deep Southern town’s Pagan community, would ya? I know that I know that if you do, all will be well.[1]

The grove is moving along swimmingly, picking up solid new members with each monthly meeting. We have our financial ducks in a row and the leadership is really stepping up to the plate. We stared out small but strong and healthy–that’s the key to longevity, right? Rather out of the blue and unsolicited, a neighborhood merchant contacted me and offered to display our flyers and schedule of events. That was a real morale boost that I’m sure will make a big difference in 2013. This means that a lot of decisions have to be made in the near future. Wish us the best of wisdom?

I received my DNA results back from Ancestry.com. There were no surprises–well, one small surprise: percentages. My DNA is *FAR* more Scandinavian than Central European.[2] I knew about how much Native American to expect, but I really expected that there would be less Northern European DNA and more Central European DNA. Looks like this blue-eyed red-head comes by it honestly. Though my ethics will always be Anglo-Saxon, I’ll stop ignoring Norse-folk-ways as way I have been. I’m much more than half Scandinavian by blood, so I should pay attention to that factoid.

Now I’ve got 3rd and 4th cousins contacting me from all over tarnation. It’s awesome.

Here’s wishing you and yours a prosperous 2013.

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!
and gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught,
for auld lang syne.

Wæs þu hæl!

Ehsha

---

[1]  I know something will hear us.

[2] Actually, one of my female ancestors has been on my mind. Soon, I’ll be able to tell you more about Gretje Jans (not the one mentioned in Scandinavian Immigrants in New York, 1630-1674 by John Oluf Evjen), my seventh-great-grandmother who emigrated to New Amstel, a semi-autonomous Dutch settlement on the Delaware, in 1658.

Xolotl, Sort Of

I’m really just using the X word as a springboard to get where I want to go. Forgive me? (That will be funny, perhaps, later.)

Lightning god , associated with Venus and the underworld, is sometimes said to be the dark twin of Quetzalcoatl.

Light and Dark Aspects

Xolotl, the dark aspect of the morning sun—Venus—is not, I reckon, unassociated with Lucifer. Fun, eh?

You know the Evil Twin Dilemma? I sure do. Typically there is some sort of prophesy that accompanies such a pair in fiction—one must destroy the other, however, if one dies so does the other—or at least the other transforms (usually in an undesirable way). Think Harry and Voldemort.

The Man in the Iron Mask.
Cain and Able.[1]
Bad Superman and Bad Spiderman.
Jacob and Esau.
Soap Operas.[2]
I always think of this horrible 1990s Drew Barrymore film, Doppelgänger.

I had (have?) an older sister that thought (thinks?)—or at least always said—that I was her “dark-half.” Given the family resemblance, she said that I was her evil twin. Here’s the kicker—I always saw her as devious and a little cruel, so what did that make me? If I was her dark-half? Feck me! I was (am?) a decade younger and idolized her to some extent. Wanting to imagine myself as part of her in any way, I embodied the persona of evil-sister, bad-seed, wicked-witch so that she could wear the “white” robe. I did this for far too much of my life. I even went so far as to adopt the designation “The Bad Witch.”

WDE! Spencer and I share an Alma Mater

I once indicated that some find it easy to season Octavia Spencer Pie, but in fairness, I guess I swallowed my share of that  shite too.

This brings me to Shit Eaters.

A shit-eater, eater of filth, or sin-eater is a spiritual healer found in various traditions[3]; this healer uses a very specific ritual (typically revolving around food) to liberate the dying of their sins.[4] In this ritual cleansing, the sin-eater takes upon herself the sins of the people she serves so that they can go about their business unburdened by their own transgressions.[5] The sins are literally consumed through food and drink. The contemporary parallel to this might be the bartender. Face it; there is a bit of a ritual that goes with getting a drink at a bar—especially if you expect to pour your soul out to your server.[6]

Because they are the receptacles of all others’ shite, carrying around sins of others, sin-eaters are often imagined as necessary outcasts. We know to keep the septic tank a bit away from the house, now don’t we? But WTF would we do without a septic tank at all?[7] Wallow in it, I reckon.

Tlazolteotl, with whom I over-identified in the 90s (and 00s, and 10s).

Tlazolteotl, the great Aztec goddess of sex and childbirth, is also known as the Eater of Filth or Shit and Sin-Eater. Yea, yea. That sounds like a horrible thing with which to be associated. And it kinda is—if you’re human, which I am. But Tlazolteotl is a redemptive goddess. One would confess him/herself to Tlazolteotl who would absolve his/her soul of misdeeds; thus shriven, the individual is able to forego punishment. I have been the repository of many a soul’s dark secrets. I’m (unintentionally) like a cosmic bartender + hairdresser + priest + psychiatrist who has listened (sometimes, I admit, aghast) to folks confess crimes, dishonesties, sexual debasements (and I’m pretty open-minded!), violent fantasies, marital indiscretions (when monogamy is expected), and sometimes a combination of these shades of grey.

Back in the day, I had a really inappropriate relationship with a professor. Not that kind of inappropriate, y’all, though you’re not the first to think it. I became ensnared in a relationship where I became his Tlazoteotl—I became his confessor and absolver. He told me things that make my hair stand on end, even today. I adored him; he was my academic mentor. He introduced me to the middle-generation for whom I fell so hard. He should have been the one to teach me Jeffers—he would have understood. But he had a dark-streak. Who knows, he prolly still has it. And somehow, I ended up being the redeemer of his darkness. Until one day I said, Enough. Really haven’t heard much from him since.

But the relationship affected the way I thought of myself—as a Sin Eater.

Like being my sister’s dark half.

And now, a little later in life than it should have happened (but better than not happening at all) I have to come to terms with all of the shit I have taken from and for others. I don’t mind wearing the face of the dark mother but I don’t want to be the cosmic-hairdresser anymore. I find myself walking away when someone starts to tell a “gory” story. Merh. I’ve had my share.

I think this connects to my mid-life Witchy crisis that I mentioned earlier when talking about aspiration names. I mean, I ditched The Bad Witch Files and am ready to turn it over to Hazey come 1/1/13. I’ve turned a page on some family relationships and some community associations. My immediate family has taken on a new dynamic as well. I live with a bunch of grown and nearly-grown people who no longer need the face of the mother.[8] Funny, when I was young, I did the whole death-thing. Wonder what will happen now that I’m croning? Wonder who I’ll become this time.

And here’s a funny note—you know those people who make jabs at you for changing? For evolving? Funniest part is that those are typically the people who are trying to go backward, to regain a past (usually a romanticized nostalgic personal fiction), to relive something they should have outgrown.

Let them be. Let them jab. Become.

It’s time I take my own advice.

 

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/).

---

[1] I love T.V. Tropes and Idioms: “[The] one who Missed the Call gets overly jealous that the other has become The Chosen One. . . . now one’s the hero and one’s the villain, and they must do battle. Commence the angst.” 

And now I’m just clicking links, play along? Evil Twin > Evil Counterpart > Enemy Without > The Big Bad > The Big Bad Wannabe. Have I mentioned that I love T.V. Tropes and Idioms?

[2] Adam and Stuart Chandler of All My Children.

[3] The sin-eater, Tlazolteotl, is Aztec. There seem to be a number of Mesoamerican gods and goddesses to serve similar functions. Of course, there is the scapegoat. But, surprisingly (to me, anyway) I have found sources that point to the idea of a sin-eater as also associated with the British Isles. This surprises me because scapegoating does not really jive with Nordic and Bardic ideas of personal responsibility, the web of life, the afterlife/otherworld, etc. I can’t find a source to prove it, but I can only imagine that sin-eating must have come through the very early Roman Empire from the Jewish(therefore eventually Christian)/Middle-Eastern scapegoat.

[4] The sin-eater not only shrives the moribund of sin, thereby saving him or her from a trip to the bad version of his or her underworld, but because the sin-eater helps the dying circumvent the prospect of wandering the earth for eternity, the sin-eater helps the living as well.

[5] The Roman Catholic Church excommunicated sin-eaters, not because of the sins they carried, but because they subverted the power of priests who alone could administer absolution and Last Rites to the dying. Whatever.

[6] I’ve not been on either side of this exchange but I’ve watched it happen. It ain’t pretty.

[7] I used to say this about communal bodies—every healthy body needs a liver with which to filter out all of the shite. I am forever grateful for my community’s liver. I hope it never gets cirrhosis.

[8] And a ton of animals. More than I hoped left the herd in 2012 and more variety than I expected joined the flock this autumn, hmmm. And it looks like there will be a (well contained) constrictor of some sort to join the mix by summer.

The Helix and the Xiphoid

The xiphoid process is a small bit of cartilage that pokes out the end of your sternum. It gets harder as you get older.

Your sternum—not mine; I do not have one. Nor do two of my three children.

Missing a xiphoid process is a congenital oddity characterized by a visible “dent” in the chest. But it’s perfectly harmless—one will not die if tackled, wrestled, or punched; there is no threat of a death-fall from a low sofa. But it is kinda funny looking.

The word xiphoid means “sword-shaped” and it reminds me of the conversation I had over at The Bad Witch Files concerning the adoration of one’s “phalle.” Just like I have no xiphoid process, I also have no phalle:

One of the problems I have with the language we use to discuss female genitalia is that it truly serves to undermine our power as women and as Witches. . . .

[The female reproductive system] is the Freaudian “unseen.” The Lacanian horrible “lack.” Irigaray gets it (likely because she has one) that the multiplicity of women’s sex organs is confounding to the binary ontology which supports a patriarchal (misogynistic, predominantly) system. (The Sex Which is Not One. Trans. Catherine Porter and Caroline Burke. New York: Cornell University Press, 1985.)

This is the kind of stuff we talk about in gender theory, but it’s not the kind of thing we talk about in Witchcraft. Sure we have all sorts of “Mother Goddess” niceties. But that implies that our *wombs* are the sacred. What of women who choose (or don’t choose) not to reproduce? Do we only worship The Mother? (And perhaps The Maiden because she still has “potential”?) What of The Chrone? Seems she only gets lip-service. [Yes, I meant to say that.]

We have a concept of “reclamation of the female divine”; this is all good. But I don’t feel like it’s enough. I certainly don’t want to go into an enclosure and be separated from men, but there has to be some way to engage in a patriarchal culture and retain a sense of female sexual power without getting into a muddle where female sexual power is just a (false) metaphor for male power.

Think on’t: in practical life (ladies), what do you call your whoo-ha?

Not your womb. That’s where the baby grows.

Not your va-j. That’s where the penis goes (and why it gets top billing).

Not your “Mound of Venus.” That’s not even close.

The whole thing. The whole enchilada.

Clitoris, labia minora, labia majora, and skin (don’t forget; that’s an organ too). Vaginas get all of the attention. And everybody feels so proud when they remember “clitoris.” But [like boy-parts] even the clitoris has a g-zillion parts to it: corpus cavernosum, glans clitoris, clitoral crura, vestibular bulbs. And it’s huge. It’s not this cute little shrunken-penis-button, it’s a complicated structure that is like an iceberg – what you can see is pretty amazing but what you can’t see is where the magic lies.

. . . .

When we perform The Star Ruby, I’m sure [men] have no problem valorizing [their] phalle. But even if I were to exalt my ketis, that’s not exactly right, now is it? . . . I do not want my ketis (limited as that term is) to be a phalle. Never did. Never will.

It’s a false-metaphor. One of those metaphors that serves only to draw a connection between “what is true” and “what I’d like you to believe was true.” Which, in short, makes it a lie. Do we want to keep lying to ourselves?

IMHO, the way we talk about female sexuality in a post Freudian world has leached into our magical lexicon and created a phallogocentric imagining of female anatomy. We see it in medical practice, we see it in psychological studies (the very fact that we do not see “medicine” and “psychology” as one and the same is phallogocentric), we see it in fashion, we see it everywhere. We aren’t surprised by it, we say, “Yup. Damned patriarchy.” But what about our magic? Do we want to see it in our magic? 

I charged my readership to come up with a better word and we all had some funtimes in the comments section for a lil bit. Then I settled on “Vesica.” It implied multiplicity and complexity—but it couldn’t be used as an adjective to counter “phallic.” Vesicaic? Vesical? Vesicaish? Vesicaish-Fish? Oh, gawd.

Then—I donno, a while later, it struck me like a bell.

Helix.

Helixic.

Helical.

Though the OED only says that a helix is, “Anything of a spiral or coiled form. . . [or] the curve formed by a straight line traced on a plane when the plane is wrapped round a cylinder,” I like that the word begins with HEL.

The Online Etymological Dictionary (which admittedly makes leaps from time to time), calls a helix, “a spiral thing. . . related to eilein ‘to turn, twist, roll,’ from PIE . . . *wel– ‘to turn, revolve’ (see vulva).” It also suggest that helix is, “from Gk. Helikon, mountain in Boeotia, sacred to the Muses.” Makes sense when vulva is from volva [the Latin form, not the Norse or Old English form, Völva, which means “staff (or wand)-carrying woman”], “lit. ‘wrapper,’ from volvere ‘to turn, twist, roll, revolve,’ also ‘turn over in the mind,’ from PIE root *wel- ‘to turn, revolve,’ with derivatives referring to curved, enclosing objects” among these being, “eilein ‘to turn, squeeze,’” and, “Goth. walwjan ‘to roll;’. . . [and] O.H.G. walzan ‘to roll, waltz;’ [and] . . .Welsh olwyn ‘wheel.’”

I like the idea of the Muses and of squeezing and of a wheel and of “turning [something] over in the mind.” I really like the double-helix of DNA and all the implications therein. Not so crazy about “wrapper.” Only because the vagina has been seen for too long as “housing” for the penis, as a sheath for the sword—the helix for the xiphoid.

No kidding?

As soon as the much-awaited editions of the book length treatment of this topic come back from the editor, you’ll be the first (or, like, third) to know.[1] Until then, I’ll try to keep from posting too many spoilers.

Wæs þu hæl,

Ehsha

[1] I know it’s the insane publishing season—no pressure; only, I’m excited. It’s my first book about magic and whoo-has.

I was told December—so that means, what? Imbolc?

 

 

 

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/).

Looking For a Sign

Every time I think, “If only I could ask for a sign,” I remember the sage words of John Mellencamp (always John Cougar to me): “it’s a vain generation that looks for a sign; don’t you think we could make better use of our time?”[1] I figure the universe is going to have her way with us, you don’t need a sign to know that. But, I really had the impulse to ask two questions. One philosophical, one practical. (1) If ancestors “feed” off of our memories of them, what happens to one’s ancestors if their stories do not get told—or worse, if they get told in a gross distortion? (2) Is Ulfarnir what I’m being called to do? It’s pretty “out there” and unlike anything going on in my neck of the woods. And Wolves at that. To what deity would we dedicate? Loki, the Trickster? Just my luck, right? So in a fit of pique, I said something like, “Just tell me if I’m on the right road—and don’t send me any tricksters as the messenger.”

One does not simply tell Loki to stay home.

I got herons and hawks and a giant boar to tell me about Freyja. I wondered if White Fang would show up at my door this week.[2]

I also wondered about using “Apple” as my surname now that I’m ditching The Bad Witch persona. I mean, that’s no more my family name than Cantaloupe. I started wondering, “What does one do with a pissed-off ancestor?” If I hang on to Apple, does that deprive my actual ancestors of the attention they deserve? I mean, Ehsha is derived from my grandmother’s name (a version of a word meaning “horse”), but Apple has its own story.

A few years back, while trying to climb my way back from Hel, I dressed as a Phoenix for Halloween. I went to this party where we all sat on haybales around a fire and—well, there was no “and.”[3] There was a woman there dressed as a hedgewitch or a kitchen witch or something involving aprons and a wreath-crown. She was actively trying to get a rise out of me—something it took two more years to finally happen[4]—and passing out apples to “all the good witches.” Of course, she snubbed me. I thought of Maleficent of Sleeping Beauty. As she tossed the apples to her “chosen” ones, I proclaimed “Hail Eris!” into a crowd that no more understood chaos magic(k) than—well, cantaloupe. And then I left.

About a week or so later when I was signing up for a TBW tweet & bookfacing experience, I needed a last name.[5] I giggled to myself and entered A-P-P-L-E and made my avatar a golden apple with “kallisti” carved into it.

Snicker-snicker, right?[6]

I don’t usually recycle my costumes but this year I did. I had spent a bit of time on that booger and ended up wearing it for all of an hour. This year, The Husband and I went to a slap-down-drag-out dressed as Ice and Fire—like good Heathens. We stayed more than an hour this time. (And there are photos on TBW on FB if you’re curious.)

To me, there is no irony in the fact that I realize that my ancestors have claims to me and that I am ditching the Apple nom du plume in the same feathered outfit I wore when I first donned the fauxname.

Because, what does one do with an angry ancestor? What does one do if one perverts a family history? Eek.

I don’t have to feign memories of childhood, y’all; I have a ton. Some lovely, some—not s’much. I don’t have to concoct myself as a Fauxcahontas a la: “I’m not really from The Old lineage but I stayed at a Holiday Inn Express last night.” But then again, I don’t claim to be preaching and teaching as a native. I don’t even claim to have a tribal card. But just because I have no rights to government-issued advantages does not mean that there are no benefits for me. I mean, I know my ancestors and know their stories. And that’s benefit enough.

And I’m beginning to realize how important fact-checking and retelling these stories is. Just like when my Cowboy Cousin came to town, I find that the more stories I learn, fact-check, and retell, the more stories I am given.

Cave treasures.

It’s like this. The Northern European concept of the soul and the Southeastern Native American concepts of the soul (and perhaps even other tribal areas—I donno—I don’t pretend to know) are similar. You know what happens when a burial mound is disturbed or discovered in North America, right? Everything stops. We do not disturb the resting places of our dead. Not my Native ancestors, not my European ancestors. This is partly because we believe that the soul has a few parts. I won’t get into a lesson about the afterlife just now, but let it suffice that there are “parts”—one that goes to the Other Camp/Himinvanga/Heafon, etc. and another that remains or returns to its place of burial. Both sets of cultures believe that telling stories about our ancestors (and this requires that the stories be true) nourish the souls of our departed. If we don’t tell stories—or if our stories are lies—the souls of our ancestors will wither. They may even come back to “haunt” us—whatever you think that means.

Like I said, I know my stories. Wanna hear one? I found one today on my family’s FB page that told of my third-great-grandfather who hid his wife (who had come with him from NC to Echota in the early 19thC) in the hills of North Alabama during the “roundup.” (His family had already taken part in a settlement treaty, but the US didn’t recognize her as a registrant.) But the story isn’t “cool” because it’s “native.” It’s cool because it’s mine.

My European kin have cool stories too. Regicide, espionage, revolution, exploration, even a little bit of persecution for promiscuity! To me, that’s the treasure. I wouldn’t trade one family story (and the joy I feel when I find documentation that verifies each story) for someone else’s acknowledgment of who I am.

And the documentation is important to me. I have seen folks feign a heritage that’s not theirs. It ain’t pretty. Especially when all the censuses show “W”—“W”—“W”—“W”—and not an “I” to be found.[7]

All I have to do is see a turtle and I remember. I remember wanting to know what they felt like strapped to my knees—but that’s a story for another day.

But it’s a good segue into the next part of this post. You see, I brought my kids to a local fair in a place whose name, loca poga in Muscogee, means roughly “place for obtaining turtles.” My youngest talked me into buying her a dang turtle.[8]

And I ended up giving in to a year-long request from my eldest to have a pet rabbit. There was a lady who had purchased a rabbit that was already pregnant when she brought it home. Yup, you bet. I adopted a cufe and brought her home. Eldest has vague memories of me going to school with her, both in Chicago and Alabama, when her history classes would “teach” Native American history. (I always told cufe—Trickster Rabbit—stories, my favorite of which involves Rabbit riding Wolf like a horse. This factoid is going to matter in a minute.) Eldest doesn’t have to contrive her knowledge of her ancestry either. Even though she is more German than anything, she knows where she comes from on all sides (and has visited their sacred burial places and taken the most hauntingly beautiful photos).

Eldest imagines herself to be a “nondenominational Christian.” I don’t even know what that means. I’m pretty sure it means, “We live in the Bible-Belt and I want to be popular.” But when put to it—she is the most Pagan Christian imaginable. In her ethics, in her politics (which are just forming), in her aesthetics, in all ways—‘cept the Jesus part. (And you all know that Jesus is just alright with me, so there’s really no conflict.) She doesn’t talk to me about Witchcraft and Heathenry anymore—she did when she was younger, and she’s had two years of training-up and still does very magical things on a regular basis. See, you can’t escape your real roots. Your background will always show through, no matter what you try putting on for popularity’s sake. But that’s all to say that I have not really discussed Ulfarnir with her—at all.

When we all got home from the fair, I asked Eldest what she had named her bunny.

Lovella—the little shewolf.[9]

So I had two questions: Is Ulfarnir the right move? and What happens when an ancestor feels snubbed?

The rabbit, Trickster, told me both.

I can’t tell you how I know, but I know that I know that this is an answer to both of my questions. My girl could have picked any name—and it could have been “wolf” in any language. But she picked that name. Of all names. There is a meaning behind this that I cannot share openly; but let me say that I interpret as meaning that one who has gone before is assuring me: “My story will be told.”

(And I feel a lot better about all those wolf pendants I just bought for my growing group.)

---

[1] Mellencamp, John and George Green. “Another Sunny Day 12/25.” Dance Naked. Mercury Records; 1994.

[2] He hasn’t—but it bears noting that the French film, “Brotherhood of the Wolf,” showed up in my mailbox. I hadn’t ordered it.

[3] I was really embarrassed because I had invited a poet-friend and she was bored stiff and kept pointing out how pedestrian everything was. She was right, of course—but I defended my host nonetheless.

[4] There are all sorts of interesting stories circulating about how, precisely, this went down. Take the most boring account you hear, cut it in quarters, and you’ll still have hyperbole. It was a non-event, I assure you.

[5] It’s hilarious that I’m getting Catfished again, btw. Coz, that’s not juvenile at all.

[6] Now there’s somebody out there who thinks she’s talking in clever code when she calls me The Bad Apple. Does one think that was unintentional on my part?

[7] Ask me about censuses. I can talk about this shite forever. Until the Civil War only white men were recorded in full—slaves, women, and minors were enumerated. Natives were counted on a separate census. After the Civil War, the census bureau invented the “I” designation (without tribal affiliation) and then the “C” for Chinese—meaning all Asian immigrants. There’s more to it, of course.

[8] I also do not claim to have spoken Muscogee in my home as a child. Because that’s ridiculous. I started teaching myself in my late 20s from the resources of those within the tribe who want to save the language. For me it is an academic tongue, like Hebrew. This does not diminish the importance placed on knowing the language. In the language is a piece of the soul of the culture. This should never be sullied by fabrications that one “speaks” another’s language. That’s like colonialism on crack—cannibalism of the most repulsive sort.

[9] Lovella—from the French “lou”=“wolf”+“el”=“little”+“a”=female