Toxicodendron Radicans (Poison Ivy) and Magic

It was just after writing this post that I realized the plant I had been pulling during the opening story in question was poison ivy herself. With my bare hands. When I didn’t flame up, I also realized I was one of the very few who are not affected by her. Nonetheless, I remain diligent and respectful. Just because she’s spared me in the past doesn’t mean I’ve earned a lifelong pass–right?!

Witchcraft From Scratch

As I write this blog, I notice that it winds around like a vine, wrapping itself around whatever it grabs hold of, climbing into crevices where I couldn’t have foreseen it would grow. There should be a joke about irritation here—but I’ll leave it to you to make.

The Wild Hunt by Peter Nicholai Arbo

As we were clearing land for the kindred hof and ve, my husband got into some poison ivy[1] and spent a week learning about cortisol while he was in Scandinavia. As we piled wood for the fire, we had to check to make sure we weren’t sending toxins airborne. Plus, a thing about poison ivy is that the toxin is carried in a non-water-soluble oil, so if you try washing the affected area with water, you will just spread the irritant further.

“What’s this got to do with magic?” you ask?

Nothing…

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Samhain and Winternights

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Isn’t That Already Over?

This happens to me at Eastertime too.

I get momentarily confused when our kindred has held their major festival for one of the major holidays and then I enter a retail center or grocery store and find it crammed with analogous secular celebratory goods. For just a second, I always think, “Isn’t that already over?”

I reckon I get so saturated with preparations for our celebration and ritual that I forget that the rest of the nation still lives by a Christian calendar. As I wrote for [a newsletter that I cannot recall at the moment], there are some differences between neoPagan and Heathen calendars: “Harvestfest, Winternights. . . is celebrated on the days surrounding the last day of summer and the first days of winter. According to . . . the Gudbrandsdal runic calendar, this falls on the 13th of October. However, today, given the pervasiveness of other traditions, Winternights is regularly celebrated on October 31^st in America.”

Kiddo, you are merciless!

This difference works well to our benefit. When many in our community adopt the 31st as their celebration date while we celebrate earlier in the month, there are fewer scheduling conflicts.

Personally, this means I get to both throw a great celebration *and* attend some bang-up Halloween parties. Win / win! (On account of I lurve a great Halloween party and kinda don’t see the point of a boring one.) And while last weekend may have been a main feast day for us, we totally dressed in costume.

Hazey even revived my Wonder Woman suit from 2002, a significant year for me (i.e. I moved to Alabama). I saw it as a bit of an homage–then again, she might have just worn it because WW is a bitchin’ costume.

I dressed as Astarte–the stone frieze version. As the night wore on, as often happens with complicated costumes, the stone wings and “chicken feet” became too much and I chucked them. This left me looking strangely naked (and cold). Some of the kin joked that I was dressed as being “skyclad.”

The Hubby embraced a recent compliment and dressed as an old-school gangster. Tommygun and everything!

It wasn’t just a party, though. We had a great ritual to honor our ancestors–the real reason for the season, as they say; we burned our land guardian, lest he be inhabited by a baneful spirit after his essence has flown-off with the Valkyrie on the Wild Hunt, and we safely disposed of the year’s ritual detritus–I’ll give you a post about the ritual itself later; and we initiated three promising newstudents–an auspicious beginning to the “New Year,” wouldn’t you agree?

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All that–and there’s more yet to be had! I am still roasting pumpkin seeds from my carvings and looking forward to a weekend partying pretty solidly for four straight days with various segments of my extended Pagan community.

I hope you are all blessed and safe and secure as you celebrate whatever lies in your path: be it Samhain, Halloween, Winternights, Allelieweziel, Dia de los Muertos, or Old Year’s Night.

Waes thu hael,

~E

PBP Week 5-6: C – Curses

I’m still catching up on my PBP posts (out of order, I know) while my brain rests up for night 4 of 9 of dates with Odin.

A few weeks ago, my son wandered out of his bedroom and asked me why in the world Jesus would curse a fig tree? He and I discussed the story in Mark 11 (also in Matthew 21) at length and then the conversation turned to curses.

In a back-in-the-day post, I talked to Maman Lee about justified Hoodoo enemyWork, .

There’s always a lot of talk about cursing—well, about not cursing—in our community. Threefold and

Ancient “Defixio” Curse Tablet

attraction and like meets like and Harm None. Well, I’ve never been of that mind. Just never was. And Kenaz Filan, one of my favorite Voodoo scholars, says, “the historical record suggests that ‘real Witches’ had no problem with casting curses.” He also asks:

Does our ‘forgiveness’ and ‘turning the other cheek’ come from our higher evolution or our cowardice? What is more frightening, being powerless or powerful? All these questions must be addressed by those who will work curse magic – and by those who will not. Cursing is not something to do for boasting or petty reasons. This is the magic we work in darkness and silence, the spells which we do to right the world. This is the responsibility that comes with wisdom.

Not that it’s directly connected, but—his statement makes me remember the first time I realized that power may reside in restraint. I was a reckless Witch in my late-20s; I cast for anything and everything. Like Rufus Opus (one of the first bloggers I ever followed–and the way I found Filan’s post), “my biggest problem with cursing is that once I feel justified, I’d start cursing everyone who pissed me off. . . . In the moment of my rage, I would feel perfectly justified calling up every spirit I know and sending them against whoever rubbed me the wrong way.” (Read the particularly useful comments section too.)

I’ve grown out of it, of course.

Mostly.

There was a particular incident where someone was in my way—I knew I could eliminate her as an obstacle. But for some reason—I honestly don’t remember the circumlocutions of my logic, though I remember it as being a profound moment for me, silly young girl—it occurred to me that having power over someone could be exercised by abstaining from action. Up to that point, I felt a little out of control of my magic; this new deliberation made me think, “What good is being able to do it if you can’t decide not to do it?”

So, yeah. She stayed an obstacle, I didn’t get what I wanted (well, not exactly the way I wanted it), but I learned about restraint. (Keep in mind that she hadn’t done anything to me ‘cept get in my way. I was a kid. Cut me some slack.)

Another layer of restraint that I have learned is how to “curse” with my thinking-cap on. Last year I wrote about my own version of sweet revenge. Kill them with kindness. Curse them with enlightenment.

But revenge is not really the same as cursing, is it? A “curse” is a pronouncement of judgment. Revenge is about retribution. Cursing seems to be the act of judging—vengeance seems to be the result of that judgment. Vengeance follows from the curse. Whatcha think?

So, because I am not God and because I cannot judge the weight of a wo/man’s soul, I started thinking about it this way: I leave psychostasia to the gods.

Not too long ago I had to permanently sever ways with someone who was trying to whip me into a frenzy. He’d say, “Help me!” But just as I reached out my hand he yelled, “Psych!” and slipped me a slimy eel instead of the formerly proffered hand. (And then had the nerve to tell me I was being “paranoid”—the time-honored male-chauvinist dismissive reaction to female censure.) Without even thinking about it I told him “farewell” and “may the gods weigh between us.”

Later I read a nearly identical statement in RO’s post: “‘May the spirits judge between us.’. . . By saying that, you’re basically putting your own ass on the line. . . . If I can go through with that in good conscience with no fear, it’s a go. . . . I’m never scared to ask the Spirits to judge between me and the other guy and enlighten whoever has their head up their ass.” It was a groovy validation.

In my mind I saw The Morrighan deciding which of us would go home on his/her shield. I saw the Valkyrie (wæl + cyrie = “slaughter + chooser”) picking one of us for Vallhalla, leaving the other for Niflheim. The classic Egyptian image is that of Anubis with the feather of Ma’at—I knew I wouldn’t become a tidy snack for Ammit.

I said it and I meant it. And it felt good to not have to carry the weight of judgment. If I have any sort of faith, I know the gods will weigh what I’ve asked them to weigh. And if I have confidence that I am in the right, they will weigh in my favor. If it turns out that I am in the wrong, no harm will be done to an innocent party.

Cool, eh?

I didn’t mean it as a “curse,” of course, and I had no designs on vengeance because I didn’t feel like I’d “lost” anything. But the feeling of utter release that came from not having to think about BS anymore was so great that I’ve started thinking of a method for “cursing” when it comes right down to it. Dark “shamanism” is not new, of course. And baleful seiðr is not unheard of (consider the Skern Runestone). There is a rich history of “spirit-walkers” engaging the assistance of malevolent influences in many cultures. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m developing an idea for a journeyer’s curse which, after a good deal of divination and soul-searching, the path-walker brings an issue to Hel to be weighed.

Let me finish putting it together and, as ever, I’ll let you know.

Wæs þu hæl,

Ehsha

 

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 . . . .”  

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

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[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.”

Valkyrie

Having just given several pounds of Skittles and Snickers to children dressed as Grim Reapers and angels, I think it’s a good time to reflect on the role of the psychopomp.

I have to admit that it took me a minute (and only a few years ago at that) to realize that the Valkyrie were the Northern manifestation of Hermes. Not just the wings, but as keepers of the liminal spaces: the boundaries, the transitions.

Like all psychopomp, as messengers of the Gods, both Valkyrie and Hermes (Mercury if you prefer) are cunning and are keepers of secret knowledge.

Only with the Valkyrie, there’s boobs. And mead in Valhalla.

It seems that I really don’t have to look for places where my Hermetic training fits in with my current path; the parallels seem to be falling from the sky.

Or is that just The Wild Hunt?

As if the past ten years of study have been a long gestation of everything manifestly bursting forth from my brain and spirit. Now I am positively fecund with the harvest–Jera–of everything planted in a past season.

But even as life comes, death rides along–shotgun.

Mmmmmm, psychopomps.

I love psychopomps and find myself very drawn to them; my first attraction being The Morrígan. And it does not escape me that among the Orisha, there is a a psychopomp trickster “spirit of Chaos” called Eshu.

It also doesn’t escape me that Polyphanes is blogging about Psychopomps this week too. I didn’t intend to be in such close conversation–but, there it is. What’s more, my Netflix queue is playing along with The Pagan Blog Project schedule. I got all nerdy the other night; as my family was leaving to go to a “Haunted Farm,” I saw a Netflix envelope in the daily mail. I don’t know about you, but I get tickled when movies arrive because I always forget what I’ve put in my queue. I squealed out-loud when I saw that it was a production of Wagner’s Ring. I’m not even an opera-fan, but the thought of spending the birth of November with Brünnhilde made me pee my pants a little.

Two of my students made elevations last night. I mention this because A) I’m tickled pink and proud as a peacock B) one of them made her first guided pathwork the other night. I mean, she’d done the work before, but not in a group and not for the purposes of seidr. She has a particular talent for traversing the crossroads, always has.

It takes a particular kind of person to serve as a guide to and from and around and in the afterlife and underworlds. Some of us are excellent conduits between the living and the dead, like my student–she can turn it on like a light, others of us are better guides for those crossing or those who have already crossed beyond but are wandering, some of us are good at both–though not typically.

I did my first body-easing when I was twenty-six or twenty-seven. I had been volunteering in a nursing home and was pressed into service by a daughter whose father was DNR and uncommunicative. Everyone knew I was there as “one of Bertie’s girls.” I had been trained but had never done it–the distance between theory and practice is often a chasm. I performed a few more in those years but never felt as effectual as I do in other practices. But then again, it’s an entirely different kind of flying altogether.[1]

There’s something profoundly different about releasing rather than drawing or manipulating energy. And not just releasing–absolutely releasing. I often felt like I died a little with each, um, — patient? I guess I did, one thing you have to do is bond a little with your subject and then allow them to cross, sometimes show them how to cross. Le petit mort–only not like an orgasm at all. Or–maybe I need to think about that again . . . Maybe it’s time for a conversation with Anaphiel (Haniel).

From pascalblanche on DeviantArt

As I pray under my breath: “Do not call me to do this again, do not call me to do this again, do not call me to do this again . . .”

I did the last body-easing a few years ago for a friend’s grandmother. The friend is devoutly Catholic but often sees the parallels in “what we do.” The grandmother was a Southern Baptist. The fear of death and judgement felt by some members of some religions makes the task that much more difficult. And the thought of spending one’s last moments with a Sorcerer at vigil terrifies some folks. I won’t play that game. This woman was unafraid, was respectful of my duties, and passed quietly in the night. She was ready to go and didn’t really need my help–thank goodness, because I had been grossly out of practice. However, my presence helped my friend. I believe that if the living hand on too tightly, it makes it harder for the dying to do their thing. I’ve often felt that my presence served as a buffer between the grieving child and the passing parent. The difference between, “Let go,” and, “Let them go.”

Dr. Laura Strong has a pretty groovy mostly-secular approach to psychopomp-ery if you are interested in this line of service. She says:

Certain people are born with the ability to help people cross over at the time of death, or assist those souls who need additional guidance after the transition. However, one should remember that psychopomps are not generally mediums. Their primary function is not to reconnect the living with the dead, but to help the spirit or soul of an individual cross over to a safe place after death. Some people are born with an inclination towards this work, while others find that it is a skill that can be learned. Either way, there is a great need in our modern society for those with psychopomp skills.

With that, I wish you a happy New Year–new Jera, indeed. Until Spring, listen for Sleipnir’s hooves, stick to the road, stay off the moors.[2]

Åsgårdsreien (1872) by Peter Nicolai Arbo

[1] Airplane! Dir. Jim Abrahams, David Zucker, Jerry Zucker. Perfs. Robert Hayes, Leslie Neilsen. (1980).

[2] An American Werewolf in London. Dir. John Landis. Perfs. David Naughton, Griffin Dunne, David Schofield. (1981).

Hey, did you know that the guy who played David’s friend–the one he calls “meatloaf”–is Dominique Dunne’s (from Poltergeist) brother? Fun fact.

 

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/).