So a piece of the piece of the That Læ-ing Loki Project ended up being separated and fleshed out. The goal? I was going to submit it to the Heathen Journal, but when this slice of the slice got too big I turned to the Saga Book. Well, I’m a member of the Viking Historical […]
Because I’ll tell you another very important secret. You can see him as fire, smoke, or a block of cheese but it’s not going to actually change what he is. Only he gets to do that. There’s this guy who keeps trying to make me more Western than I really am. He hasn’t succeeded, for all he chooses to view me that way. It’s like that for Loki. That’s how the cookie crumbles – unless Loki’s shoving it into his mouth.
I spent hours and even days pondering what was going on, trying to reconcile, to not be a bitch. That only worked a little. Between all the forces pressing against me, I found myself pushed into defending my territory. And that meant getting arrogant when I should never have.
But the biocentric part of me says that humans are also not the center of the universe. It means understanding that the spirits, the land, the animals, and the Wyrd all have their own sovereign agency. You respect their domains. You don’t walk into someone else’s hall and demand they cater to you—like I learned the hard way with Bragi. You respect the ecosystem.
The old tales, especially with Ireland, talk a little bit about what happens to the bard that makes it back. They’re filled with longing for the green place. Their music is never the same – either it becomes hauntingly gorgeous but unbearably sad, or they can only speak the truth so that their songs become lays of prophecy. Touch the earth, they may age but a hundred years. They’re never the same again, and so for all they walk among former friends, family and lovers they’re still apart inside. Forever.
Odin wasn’t telling me to build a time machine, which is great because there’s no way I could’ve. I’ve realized that one thing he meant was for me to personally go back to when shamanism was the spiritual path no matter the spirits I encountered. It means I throw out the temples, the chains. It means going back to a time when we sat around the fire or hearth and the shaman was your entertainer.
An article link talking about the shamanism of the Ulcha, their shamanism definitions and, yes, touching on some in my shamanic lineage.
The truth is, the best solution is to fall silent. Gender aside, they feel the need to lecture and have me quietly listen as if we were in a Chinese classroom or university study hall. I’d listen better if I didn’t feel the need to defend myself so often. But why am I defending myself? Oh, yeah. Because I desire connection, and being accused of things alienates. Being “put in my place” also. That.
We of the West live in a world where shamanism has been making a quiet comeback. Michael Harner in The Way of the Shaman outlined some of the reasons why. It’s offers a (usually) safe drug-free way to touch the divine. Holistic health method work well alongside the path. The spiritual ecology at the time the book was published provided fertile ground.
I’ve been making things from scratch, but during the days I played with making and selling soap (that everyone does so I left them to it) I realized that the donkey milk soap base you get makes simply *the best* soaps for my purposes. It was 40% off today, so I got a big block with a simple goal: gather my oil blends and make a liquid soap face wash.
It’s a deep statement which cuts right to the heart of my own rocky beginnings in this mess. It’s been nearly a year since I was thrust into this, and for much of it, I felt I was being pushed into becoming something I didn’t like. “Embrace the darkness,” a voice once told me in the middle of an attack. I kicked back hard. The thought of becoming something dark and unforgivable was not an acceptable outcome.
After another two minutes or so of this, I literally felt something depart from my womb area. (I’m given to understand that’s where the Sacral Chakra is, my creativity.) It fled. My whole body shuddered, like an energetic purge. And suddenly… I felt… different. Settled or balanced somehow. I can’t explain it.
This isn’t me deciding last week things were fantastic. This is me having always lived the fantastic, and sometimes being confused when people who pray to their gods or cast a spell can’t go as deep into it as I am or do. Do you believe in your gods? I have asked. Yes or no. Do you believe in fairies? Yes or no. Turns out that for many it’s no, they just don’t accept it about themselves.
DO NOT STOP STIRRING! OR THE EGG DRAUGR WILL RISE! Their brains are scrambled and they will want yours! The safety of the nog depends on it!
Okay the word is out and I can speak. My friend. The author I published. My mentor in music and a bit in magic. Leslie. She’s very sick. She’s a stubborn lady, and her stubbornness gave her a long life. In the end, it knocked her down. Watching the ingratitude around her, the outright attacks, […]
This post seems to go hand in hand with my podcast talk about feeding the spirits. As the Midwinter Nights lonely festivities progresses, my hobgoblin husband makes his preferences more and more clear. I know the lesson is layered. On the one hand, most people offer him candies and cakes. They put fireballs in whiskey. […]
I started my first shamanic classes ever this week. “Be an exemplary student,” I heard as I stood by Grandfather Shortlegs’s altar. I will, I responded. The teacher clearly didn’t like me – no surprise – and she showed favoritism to students who had psychology profession backgrounds or loved Jung. But yesterday it came to […]