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.

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

Ritual Protocol: Like the Hokey-Pokey, Only Not

Bohemian Grove pictures terrify me and crack me up at the same time.

Turns out I have three posts that I “Saved Draft” last week and never got back to. Sorry if I explode your notifications.

There are a lot of articles and resources for protocol during Wiccan rituals. But what about the various other traditions out there? How does ritual protocol vary from group to group?

Protocol among various polytheistic and/or pantheistic groups can vary as widely as protocols among Christian groups. I am a woman raised by a Native-influenced mother who attended an integrated charismatic Pentecostal church; but I was sent to an orthodox Catholic school until I became a witch and then a mom and then went back to (reformed) Catholicism after earning a degree in Religious Studies from a Jesuit college but before being a postulant in the Episcopal (really Anglo-Catholic) church and then finally running screaming back to pantheistic paganism. In the pagan world, I was “earthy” and then I was scholarly and then I was “really-earthy” and then I was really-scholarly. Then I was heathen—but retained my ideas about scholarship (as heathens do).

So—diversity among traditions? I understand this.

My best advice? When in doubt, ask!

Obviously, rules of common sense and civility apply to all religious rites. But sometimes what seems like common sense or courtesy may end up interpreted as rude and disrespectful. Most folks are willing to overlook minor faux pas, but major missteps or continued infractions often need to be addressed. If ever you are pulled aside by a group member and told, “Hey, you shouldn’t do that,” know that they are teaching you a matter of protocol so that you can be included comfortably in the whole group not calling you out as a matter of exclusion.

As a classroom teacher, I tend to follow the same pedagogy in kindred and initiate heuristics that I follow in the secular classroom. First I make a general announcement. (e.g. “For everyone attending this week’s blot, be sure to bring your own offerings to Frigg.”) Then—if that doesn’t sink in—I make a general statement to the “offender.” (e.g. “You might want to stand *there* during sumbl or refrain from saying *that* during beot.”) Then—if it still doesn’t sink in—I make a prescriptive statement to the member in question. (e.g. “Please don’t touch the ritual mead until it is handed to you by the mead-bearer.”) Hopefully, it never goes farther than that.

And I’m not a real hard-ass when it comes to “rules” of ritual anyhow. I’m a teacher, not just a gyðia or völva. For me ritual space is an extension of my classroom. It is a place of learning.

But I thought I’d touch a few points. Using the about.com article, “Tips for Attending a Pagan Ritual” by our about.com “guide,” Patti Wigington, as a springboard, I will address a few issues that I see crop up from time to time.

Wigington says: “For a non-member to be invited to a coven’s ritual . . . is a privilege and an honor. Part of that is showing up on time. Although you may hear jokes about “Pagan Standard Time”, which is the practice of showing up twenty minutes late for everything, be punctual. Typically, there’s an arrival time when everyone shows up, and then another time designated for when ritual will start. If you arrive too late, you might find the doors locked and no one answering your knock.”

Agreed. I do not ascribe to PST and find it infuriating to plan rituals around those who do. Yes, yes, sometimes things happen and we run behind. Often the universe has a timing to which we are not privy. However, as a seiðkona and Ceremonialist, timing matters. Twenty minutes can place the ritual in a different planetary hour or otherwise throw off weeks of planning. On the other side of the coin, arriving too early is discourteous. It says, “I demand your time”—time in which the leader is likely preparing for ritual or feast or class or whatever–for *you.* Most leaders are busy people and fill their lives to the brim, scheduling events down to the minute. If you arrive early, wait (perhaps reading in your car) until others arrive or until the ascribed time. If you are on *very* friendly terms with the leader—like you know where s/he keeps the spare toilet paper—you can phone or text, “I’m early. Can I help with anything?” If you don’t get an answer, it’s likely the leader has his/her hands full.

Wigington says: “When you do arrive, you may see people who [are dressed] different or downright unusual. . . .You should ask the person who has invited you what the proper attire is for the ceremony beforehand. You may be welcome to show up in sweatpants and a t-shirt, or it may be more formal than that. Ask in advance, and react accordingly. It’s a good idea, also, to ask if there’s something you should bring. You may be invited to make an offering, or contribute food for people to eat after ritual.”

Yes. Yes. And yes.

At our hof, there are different rules for different roles. Partakers are free to wear what they like so long as they don’t breach protocol for “signifiers.” We are a heathen crowd and do not practice “skyclad” ritual. (If you are interested in more about this, read here.) By “signifiers,” I mean that priests/godi and priestesses/gydia (sometimes) wear robes with appropriate “goodies.” The high priest/har-goði sits beside the high priestess/har-gyðia that carries a stav. Participants may wear ritual robes as long as they don’t mimic priestly attire too closely or wear ritual garb on a day where it’s been announced, “We will dress casually.” And no one should have a stav in the ritual circle aside from the völva (the har-gyðia and perhaps some of her priests and priestesses, depending on rank and training). Just like you wouldn’t walk into a Catholic church with a miter hat—even on a high-holy day—you don’t walk into a pagan ceremony donning the signifier of authority unless you have that authority. Likewise you don’t presume to light candles or fires or pass or pour mead unless you have been instructed to do so. These are all “roles” in the ceremony and have specific significance. If you have been initiated, you have learned or will learn these meanings. If you are not initiated. . . well, that’s a whole ‘nother post.

Wigington says: “If you’ve never attended a Wiccan or Pagan ceremony before, try to remember that for many Pagan traditions, joy and laughter is often a part of ceremony. . . . Wiccans and Pagans typically will tell you that the universe has a sense of humor, so if someone drops an athame or sets their robe on fire, it’s all just part of the ritual experience, and it’s okay to find it amusing.”

I agree. I often can’t not giggle when Tyr takes to tickling me.

Wigington says: “. . . don’t touch anything on the altar unless you are invited to. Second, don’t handle anyone else’s tools without permission.”

Aside from things being used during ritual proper, we don’t stand on taboos about touching ritual items around here. They are dedicated items and cannot be profaned by mere touching. I mean–Helfire, I had a sacred item burned to a near-crisp in an silly attempt to profane it—guess what happened? It released more power and ancestral energy than I ever imagined possible. The truly sacred cannot be blasphemed as blasphemy is the ultimate confirmation of the sacred.[1] However, once they are in an active ritual space, sacred items should only be wielded by trained hands. Not for the item’s sake but for the sake of the owner of those hands.

Wigington says: “Once the ritual is over, there are often refreshments and drinks. In many traditions, the High Priestess takes the first bite before anyone else may eat or drink — be sure to watch and see what everyone else is doing before shoveling any food in your mouth.”

We feed the ancestors first (when it’s just family, we feed the cofgoda). That’s a fairly “done” thing from what I’ve seen. Then we feed newcomers, then guests, then kindred. Our kindred have fairly standard recommendations for potluck—bring a full dish (unless you were “assigned” beverages or utilities), bring enough to feed three times your party. If booze is welcome, bring some to share. We might drink one thing at a time (we frown on folks hoarding bottles of wine as “mine only”) but rest assured, the leftovers will not be consumed by the host/ess in a Bacchanalian brouhaha[2] after you leave—it will be saved for the next what’s-it. Around here, I have been known to pop more than a bottle or two of my own mead or wine or absinthe and I do it joyfully. I just get a little crosseyed by folks who expect the hof to be an “open bar.” Plus, maybe limit your libations to mead, wine, cider, and beer–no hard liquor.

And illicit drugs are a no-no in any ritual setting.[3] That’s not to say I will judge what you choose to put in your body and how you plan to address the legality of it all. Hell, I am for the legalization and regulation of what Katt Williams refers to as, “. . . just a plant, [that] just grow like that. And if you should happen to set it on fire . . . .” But when I have professional folk, teachers, nurses, lawyers, military folk, youngon’s, parents, and other folk who are subject to drug-tests, I cannot, in good conscience, allow one or two of my kin to put others in jeopardy. The gods’ law is one thing, man’s law another; we gently tread the boundary between.[4]

“Make your paper, Boo-boo.” 

Yeah, I don’t know what . . . (Look Bob–more Jesus cake!)

I’m glad to say that I am surrounded by very conscientious people. But let me tell you, a few years back, I saw a clan where one or two members stomped all over the place like they were THE ultimate bag of chips. It was hard to tell who was in charge and what was appropriate.[5] And I say that as an egalitarian heathen!! From the inside it looked like, “Oh, that’s just so-and-so’s way.” From the outside it looked like, “Damn.”

Then there’s the other side of the coin—the kindred member who is so stifled by rules that s/he cannot relax for fear of transgression and just have fun. To this one I say, “. . . put your records on, tell me your favorite song / You go ahead, let your hair down.”[6] We love you. We love your company. To us, your presence is worth at least five or six major infractions[7]—more if the flubs are minor. And if you are getting close to your limit—someone will pull you aside. So relax—make mistakes—how else will you learn?

Speaking of ritual protocol, Imma go watch the Uppsala episode of Vikings now with my main-man and see how upset it makes me.

Cheers!
~E

 

---

[1] You can’t desecrate something if it hadn’t been sacred to begin with.

[2] How d’ya like that cultural crossover?

[3] LotR marathons are not ritual events.

[4] Plus, then we are back to the rules about potluck—bring enough for three-times what you will consume. And what you will consume after that.

[5] I never did quite figure that out.

[6] Rae, Corinne Bailey, John Beck, and Steve Chrisanthou. “Put Your Records On.” Corinne Bailey Rae. Perf. Corinne Bailey Rae.  EMI. 2006. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wkEeNpWMvgk

[7] I say this tongue-in-cheek as a way to rationalize the fear of offending me—me!!—for some of my more deferential kin.

PBP – Week 3-4: B – Berkana

This weekend is our first galdr workshop for the Ulfvolk seidr-group. We will work toward creating a galdr that we can use as we journey. One of the runes I’d like to work with is Berkana.

Some of the images that come to mind when I meditate on Berkana are:

The Birch Grove
The First Tree to Awaken in the Spring
Sanctuary
Concealment and Protection
Secrecy and The Mastery of Silence
Maternity
Life-Giving
Cycle of Birth, Death, and Rebirth
Enviable Feminine Power
Wisdom

I’m excited to see how we work together to come up with a galdr. Have I mentioned that I love Anglo-Saxon poetry? Kennings, alliteration, caesura, awesomeness.

If we get real brave, we may make an attempt at vordlokkur.

Wish us luck?

Waes hael,

~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

---

[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.”

Sticks and Stones

I have a few favorite words; one of them is “tristesse.” Most of my favorites are favorites not because of their definitional meanings but because of their connotation. Tristesse means “sadness.” But it is typically used to refer to the melancholy which attends the end of “involvement”: the end of a sweet love affair, the end of a travel-adventure, the post-climax denouement of a three act play, the feeling one gets upon selling a piece of art or successfully completing a writing project. Closing night of a musical. The day after the prom or a wedding. Selling a house and retiring. When the party ends and the last beloved friend goes home. Tristesse.

Yesterday was a big day around here. All of my favorite kith and kin gathered and made stav. There was wood, there was leather, there were stones and charms, there was wood burning, there was stain made out of coffee beans and dragons blood bark. Yeah, yeah, there were also sacrilegious jokes about “getting wood” for the “volva” workshop. But it’s bound to happen. I know The Ancestors enjoy a bawdy guffaw as much as we do. There was food-and more food!

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Then we learned the most basic of meditative practices in preparation for journeying. We have some members who are old hat at journeying, are on conversational basis with their guides, and can coordinate physical and mental states at will; some that have little to no experience with it at all. So we began with a brief tour of the wells of Yggdrasil. Simple? Well, a necessary first step. This was our “human initiation” phase and Ulfvolk welcomed seven members into the, um, pack. Those of us who have experienced such, shared some stories about our “astral initiations.” I sort of told you about mine a while ago in a post about “Wolf Warrior – The Ulfhethennir.” I can’t wait to hear about the new initiates’ experiences. It’s kinda like waiting for a baby to be born.

Following that (yeah, I know, we had to pack a lot into one night), we had an initiation and elevation ceremony. Three-quarters of OPS “Seekers” were initiated last night and 100% of our Neophytes became Advocates.

And with that, two-weeks of intense “involvement” came to an end and a sweet sense of tristesse set in.

This is not to say that I don’t have anything else to do, but that I have some breathing room, some reflecting room, time to really feel the moment that has just past.

Plus I had an epiphany. I was faced with two choices: push the rest of the book out by March 1 or wait until the next release date in late spring. My typical push-push-push-achieve-achieve-achieve personality took a nap long enough for my rational self to say, “Ten weeks? In exchange for sanity? And maybe a little better writing? We’ll take it.” (Boy-o, “Competitive Me” was piiiiiissed off when she woke up from that nap; but she’s being a lady about it. In exchange, she has negotiated a few episodes of Breaking Bad and new nail polish.)

Today, I am feeling Tristesse. (And eating leftover artichoke dip with my fingers.)

And, like I said: tristesse is one of my favorites.

Waes hael,

Ehsha

Hail Brigid: A Good Jera

Hail Brigid of the triple face
Who’s voice does rise on the lilt of grace
Who’s blossoms beautiful ever bloom
On the wings of poetry’s sweet perfume

–“Hail Brigid” from Songs for the Strengthening Sun by Sharon Knight and T. Thorn Coyle

Keeper of the healing light
Shine your love on us tonight
“Brighid” from Lady Moon by Kellianna

Pimpin’ some great Pagan tunes today. Enjoy!

Yesterday I spent the day affirming life and celebrating the onset of spring with some friends. Sort of new friends but not really. We have many mutual friends in common and have been in the same place at the same time on many occasions but were never meant to come face to face until yesterday.

This may be a lot like my post about visiting Mount Cheaha but with a different punchline. You see, a few months ago–November–I took one student to a gathering in Central Alabama to meet with some folks. This visit ended up really lifted our spirits by letting us know that not all of the Pagan community was out to burn this little set of “bad” witches. Yes, they had heard all of the rumors and lies about us but judged us for who we actually were, face-to-face, on that day. Amen?

Yesterday, come Helheim or high-water, bad brakes or “no-half-foods” (inside joke, sorry), we were getting our behinds to Pinson, Alabama for a lovely rite with an Ár nDraíocht Féin (A Druid Fellowship/ADF) group. T’wern’t just me and one student this time (though that would have been totally fine). There were two carloads of us that pulled up this time. And we had a blast.

Can I brag about it for a minute?

On the way down Hazey and I made one of Hazey’s cohort watch The Godfather for the first time. (“Wait, is this the one with the cocaine?” “Or is it the one with the ‘little friend’?” “Oh, is this the one . . .” “It’s the one with the horse head–now watch and learn.”) We quoted it back and forth so often that we confuzzled the poop out of the poor girl.

We pulled up in a yard where we were immediately welcomed like family, treated to the most amazing stories about Hawaii, Scottish lore (and actual history), and the funniest people we have been with in a long time. One note: while bacon purportedly makes everything better, salmon mousse with wine may be the exception that proves the rule. (Also an ongoing joke, sorry.) I got to meet a woman who’s been following my blog while I have been following hers–and we didn’t even know! (Go follow Journeying to the Goddess and The Journeys of a Nomadic Pagan, go on, I’ll wait.) I love when the universe says: “And *NOW* you will meet!” Seems she moved to my neck of the woods a few months back. (Welcome home, Daughter RavynStar; feels like kin already, don’t it?) And if that don’t beat all, we were given free rein to grab as many potential stav as we could for next week’s workshop. I may have walked away from that experience with some great sticks and a serious case of machete envy. 

Once again, I was treated to the chorus, “Oh, *you* are the Bad…hmmmwhatnow?”[1]

As much as I hate to disappoint, I never live up to the lies one might hear about me.

After a beautiful ritual, expertly executed[2] by my new soul-friend, Pixie (of the Pythons), we had the most luscious feast with Pagans who do eat meat and do not get sloppy drunk.

Tipsy, yes. Ugly, no.

Then we drove home in a reflective spirit, a joyous spirit, an exhausted and snoring within thirty-miles spirit. Fresh air, red wine, fun folks, energy galore, followed by The Godfather Part Two? Yup. I may have even drooled on the leather interior before Vito pinched the rug.

But in all seriousness, I was blessed profoundly during Pixie’s ritual. You see, last Imbolc, I thought I had turned a corner. I thought I had found good community with which to celebrate. I thought I could be a good Pagan among Pagans. I was wrong. My heart ’bout broke. The only thing I got right was a promise I made to pursue the *real* feminine divine. Last year’s rite involved far too much smoke and ashes[3] the blessing of “wish wheels”–we carved our intentions for the year on a green platter and then “cast” to internalize our intent. I carved a water symbol, a pertho, a something, and a something else.[4] All representing the female mysteries.

While I did not find the community I thought I found at Imbolc 2012, I did find the purpose. I struggled for a solid five or six months after that to figure out what I really needed to do to reclaim the female divine. Suggestions of Yoni Punja and of Dianic orders abounded–all which left me scratching my head.

But at Imbolc 2013?

Before heading out the door I pulled a rune for the day, as I sometimes do when the spirit moves me.

Jera.

I assumed that it was because it was a new spring, a new season, a new yadda-yadda. Then during the ritual Pixie offered us an opportunity to reflect on our own “work.” I sat on the ground flanked by brilliant students. I found myself breaking pine needles. One of my girls handed me a particularly “good” one. As they fell from my hands, I looked down: Jera.

There it was.

I nearly wept.

If it had been five degrees warmer, I likely would have allowed myself to wail without fear of tear-cicles.[5]

I looked up and saw that I was surrounded by people who love me—plus some new friends who think I might, in fact, be kinda OK.

Jera.

As we pulled out of the driveway and onto the highway to head back to Auburn, I asked my carload, “Damn, that was fun! Why don’t we have cool Pagans at home?!”

One of the girls perked up and remonstrated me: “Duh. We do. Look around, we are they. And there are, like, a ton of us.”

Jera.

Brigid, bright and fair,

Thank you for slapping me upside the head and getting my feet on the right path.
Brigid, whose hue is like the cotton-grass,
You kicked my ass right where it needed kicking.
Rich-gressed maiden with ringlets of gold,
Your wisdom is in the bounty of letting me “cut m’own switch.”
Oh, Mother Brigid,
Let this be as good a year as is begun.

May every last one of you be blessed!

Waes hael,
Ehsha

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[1] More than once followed by, “So, tell me more about Völva-craft.” Dude. Squee?

[2] Expertly executed–I don’t care what she says; when problems arise (as they do in this human life), you can’t fly by the seat of your broomstick like that unless you know your business inside and out.

[3] Which I took as a bad omen and then proceeded to push down, down , down.

[4] It didn’t occur to me until a bit later that I needed to form a helix.

[5] Eye-cicles?

Redneckognizing a Difference

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gillette and Stead agree when they point out that:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some other differences I plan to discuss are as follow:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ehsha

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Little More About Stav

Many of you have responded positively to my post about the völva, I thought I’d provide you a little more historical context. I hadn’t intended to turn this blog into an education center, but if a little teaching is called for, it’s what I will do gladly.

First, a little fun about the word völva. Though it is strikingly similar to the word vulva (and what Google always thinks you mean when you search around for more information about my subject—that and Volvo), the two words come from different stems of PIE (proto-Indo-European) languages. If you look at the chart below, you will see that Latin and Romance Languages and then Germanic Languages are on different branches. The word we use for female genitalia, vulva, does come from a word “volva,” but this Latin form of the word is also from where we derive “revolve,” as it means “to turn.” The Germanic version of the word völva means something entirely different. The word which translates more closely to vulva in Germanic languages (walwjan, wealwian, weoloc, and walzan) is more akin to spiral, roll, wheel, and waltz. About a year or so ago, I latched on to the term helix. Völva, on the other hand, with an umlaut[1], translates into “wand carrying woman” (in that it is a female word) or “stav carrying woman.” Therefore, the relationship between völva and stav is not new. As a matter of fact, as you can see, the stav is part and parcel with the term völva.

 

The term “stav” has a bit of a multiple meaning. “Stav” means both “stave,” the physical weapon or “staff,” and the martial art which employs the stav. It also means “rune-stave,” magical symbols carved into items—look them up, they are fairly Goetic-looking. It can also refer to a perpetual calendar (aka Runic Almanac) based on the cycle of the Moon over 19 years. See this for more funtimes. The term also refers to runic characters themselves. Stav meditations, that is to say meditations on the meanings of the runes, date back to circa 500 CE.

Further, meditations using stav are not new (and the relationship between völva, stav, meditation, and Yggdrasil alignments are not new–that is to say, these are techniques that have a deep and meaningful history). Like yoga, Stadhagalr (sometimes misnamed runic “yoga”[2]) is a technique of meditation which uses gestures and postures to reach higher levels of consciousness and enact seiðr (magic).

 

Many of these techniques were written down and codified by various practitioners—Stav by Ivar Hafskjold (who claims it is based on oral tradition preserved in his family since the 6^th Century) in the 1990s, Yggdrassil alignments galore (by the likes of Per Lundberg and a YellowPages search of “Yggdrasil Yogaskole” will yield a list of yoga classes across Norway that use Yggdrasil meditations), and Stadhaglr by F.B Marby, S.A. Krummer, and Karl Spiesberger in the early 20^th Century. However, they are centuries older than that—we just don’t have a formal manuscript to point to their origins. (We have a good deal of Medieval texts—a few earlier.) According to Sarah Lynn Higley in “Dirty Magic: Seiðr, Science, and the Parturating Man in Medieval Norse and Welsh Literature,”[3] The Book of Taliesin “show[s] a preoccupation with the hermetic and pseudo-scientific knowledge popular in medieval wisdom traditions. . . . [As] “Angar Kyfyngdawt” . . . list[s] supernatural attributes spoken in the first person by the Taliesin persona who boasts of his exploits, ordeals, secrets, and incarnations as animals and objects” (137). This is just to say that seiðr and its shapshifting element, in astral projection or “pathworking” or “journeying,” is nothing new—just that it is becoming “re-popular.”

I hope this clarifies a few things about the age of stav practices, the variety of stav practitioners, and the differences between traditional stav-work and contemporary applications of ancient practices. And I hope it gives the interested a few more resources to pursue.

I have magic-class tonight and one of my students is bringing me a behbeh kitteh that she rescued from under a shed. Starting tomorrow my posts may be much less academic and reflect how much “I really love cats”[4] in an eHarmony sort of way. All cats all the time.

Waes hael,

Ehsha

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[1] To denote a “front” vowel—the ö is the sound in early or burn.

[2] I feel about using “yoga” to define stadhaglr about like I feel when folks use “shamanism” to talk about journeying or spirit walking. Yoga : Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism and Sikhism :: Shamanism : Samoyedic / Tungusic Siberians and Mongals and their various descendants. I plan to write a post in the near future about the words we use to signify “altered states of consciousness in which we interact with the spirit world and the benevolent and malevolent spirits who reside there” or “entering into a trance state to practice divination and healing.”

[3] Essays in Medieval Studies 11.

[4] Of course, “I think about how many don’t have a home.”