I walked into the hall of the grotto to see feathers flip upward. I heard them as they went, and looked at a man weighed down with sorrow. He asked me to “turn back time”, bent so I could see his weathered face, and I… patted his cheek because he was so sad and tried to lend comfort.”There, there,” I said. “You have no reason to be sad.”

That spiritual journey was hijacked, as I’ve said in another post, and I’ve had to think long and hard to figure out what was the truth and what was not. How I ended up standing at Odin’s feet, how I navigated that spiritual hijacking, and how the threads of my heritage have woven together in ways I never expected. I stopped the podcast telling the tale with plans to take a new, more important direction. They say those who hear the call of the gods come back changed. My mind was changed. I’m not sure about the rest of me.

When I stood before Odin, I had to be honest. I told him straight up that time couldn’t be turned back but “maybe it can be fixed”. The assembly around me approved. Time moves forward, knowledge gets lost, cultures change. You can’t undo centuries of erasure with a snap of your fingers. I was clear with him that I’m Native American (currently Wolf Clan), and walking this path would be a tight dance for me.

But he wasn’t looking for blind devotion or someone to spout prophecies. He wanted a poet, a writer, an artist – someone who could work with words and images to help recover what was lost. “That is what we need,” he said to me when I told him what I was. Not a prophet, but a skaldkona. With Bragi playing in the background, I accepted both Odin’s call and the dance with Loki that followed. We wove together as if I’d done that dance a hundred thousand times.  I knew every step, every hand movement. The same as when Loki offered me a goblet days prior.

The thing is, the practices I grew up with – the last in my family to maintain them – aren’t that different from what I’ve found in heathenism. When you grow up talking to the spirits in the trees, listening to the voices in the wind, and understanding consciousness around you, the Norse worldview doesn’t feel foreign. It feels like meeting distant relatives you didn’t know you had. My life to now prepared me for this work in ways I never anticipated. The connections between worlds, the understanding of wyrd, the respect for ancestors – these were already part of my spiritual vocabulary, just with different names.

I’ve wrestled with this question: Is it appropriate for me to work with the Norse gods and others? My people practiced a form of demonolatry when the colonists came, so I don’t think it should be a problem except with idiots. (It will be.) If my people could accept an imported Middle Eastern-born religion, why should I hesitate to embrace something that actually touched my ancestors ages ago? These connections run deeper than modern boundaries would suggest. But I also know that I will be called names. Apple. Pretendian. You name it. It’s okay to be Presbyterian, but not to go back to your roots.

The spiritual hijacking I experienced recently brought all this into sharp focus. When entities try to manipulate your path, you have to get clear about what’s authentically yours and what’s been imposed. For me, that meant recognizing that my irreverence (the thing people hate me for) isn’t disrespect – it’s how I maintain my boundaries and stay true to myself. It saved my life. It meant acknowledging that the simple, direct practices I was raised with are just as valid as elaborate rituals.

I don’t need intermediaries to connect with the divine on some days, more now than when I was younger. Whether I’m speaking with the local spirits or with Odin, the conversation happens the same way – direct, honest, and without unnecessary ceremony. It’s just how I’ve always rolled. The gods don’t care about your bloodline as much as they care about your willingness to do the work. They don’t need fancy rituals as much as they need open hearts and clear minds. And they certainly don’t need gatekeepers deciding who gets to talk to them.

So here I am, worldwalker walking between worlds. Native American, working with gods who called to me directly, using practices that blend traditions while respecting their origins. It’s not always an easy path, and plenty of people on both sides have opinions about it. But I know this: when the gods ask for help, when they recognize something in you that can serve a greater purpose, the only appropriate response is the one that comes from your heart. Mine said yes, with conditions and boundaries, but yes nonetheless.

Poetry pours from me now. Given, I said the other day. “Returned,” a guide said softly. I cheat and use Suno to clean up the tunes that go with them… or sit and put the chords down myself. Odin was very insistent I learn Futhark magic, and since I’d already started that a while back it wasn’t hard to return. Loki…aaah… is Loki. I’ve begun to suspect Freya is a patron, and I call her Auntie. Irreverent? Only if you don’t know I’m using an honorific… and that according to the family tree Frigg is a distant ancestor. (Take that with a salt mine and some salty fries on the side.) I call her my Favorite Auntie frequently. She doesn’t seem to mind. If she doesn’t, neither should you.

The dance continues. The work unfolds. And I remain both who I’ve always been and who I’m becoming – a bridge between worlds that were never meant to be separated in the first place.

My friends and I used to say I was a bridge a long time ago. It didn’t mean much, just a connection between the physical and the spiritual. Now it’s more than I ever bargained for. I don’t know quite what I’ve been asked to be and do, to be honest. Skaldkona will do, and I work to learn the things some require for it (and quite enjoying learning tbh). Galdr Skaldkona. Or something. I can only enjoy the journey as I walk.