My Blog

316 Years Ago

Volva — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 17:10:27 GMT

Today I am remembering my ninth great-grandmother Rebecca Nurse, who hung as a witch on 19 July 1692 in Salem, Massachusetts.

Litha Greetings

Volva — Sat, 21 Jun 2008 16:27:53 GMT

Today is the longest day of the year, and the shortest night of the year is near. From this time one, the days become shorter and shorter. From this time on, the nights become longer and longer. Summer solstice. Photo Credit: http://www.sodahead.com/question/90797/

Hexennacht Greetings

Volva — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 14:42:06 GMT

My tongue wants to say "Happy Hexennacht," because it's alliterative. Then my mind tells my tongue, "But it's really not a happy day." Tomorrow will be happy, though, because the darkness tonight ushers in tomorrow's spring. Our kindred will be celebrating tomorrow, because I teach Wednesday evenings. On high holidays, we work seidhr. As I've mentioned before, this is a community rite, and I am including those on tribe in our extended community of wights. If you would like us to journey for you, please send me your query no later than sundown Thursday, May 1 (CST). If you would like to send a message privately, you can contact me at serpent.seidkona@yahoo.com. A word of advice about seidhr questions: They work best of put in the form of poetry. Not rhymes, but allusive language. The language of seidhr is poetry. Photo credit: http://freizeitpark-welt.de/freizeitparks/fort_fun/fort_fun_start.php?id=2

Weaving Stinging Thorns

Volva — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 17:18:30 GMT

For seven years, she wove the stinging thorns. For seven years, he pleaded for a word. He might have waited 'till she answered, "Yes," but he did not and he took her to his bed. She did not dislike the King, but he might have waited until her self-appointed task had been completed. For seven years, she wove the stinging thorns. For seven years, they pleaded for a sound. She did not speak. They read into her silence a witch's spells and sentenced her to drown. Sill weaving, weaving still the stinging thorns, she did not stop until they'd led her to the shore. For seven years, she wove the stinging thorns. For seven yeras, they'd waited on the water, her seven brothers, enchanted in the form of swans, looked up to see the crowd that brought her. She tossed the woven cloaks into the air, and then the King's men caught her hands to bind her. For seven years, she wove the stinging thorns. She wove her brothers cloaks to change their form from swans with strong feathered wings to seven men with strong young limbs. Flying, they caught the cloaks and slipped them on. Feathers and wings transformed to hands and arms except for one, who returns in the form of a man retaining one wing in place of an arm and a hand. For seven years, she wove the stinging thorns. For seven years, she had maintained her silence. The King and the King's men -- in their impatience and in fear of the woman's words that remained unspoken -- had led her to the lake shore before her task could be completed. Out of fourteen sleeves on seven cloaks, one arm remained unwoven. Now, one by one, the brothers advance to kiss her hand, thanking their fair sister for all her heroic hard work and personal sacrifice resulting in forced marriage -- rape, really -- and a death sentence nearly escaped in the face of astounding, transformative enchantment. The last brother, though, the one with the wing, just can't find it in himself to be grateful and bow. After all, he's the one condemned to live life as a freak. What gentlewoman will want him now, except a desperate one or one with a taste for -- shall we say -- the unusual? What gentlewoman will want him now? After all, this is his real life and not some fairy tale. Photo source: http://evghoul.bloground.ru/2007/02/

Dragon Mist

Volva — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 15:33:17 GMT

Our family has had a difficult time financially since last fall, and our savings are dwindling. We are steadily building our business back up, but this week we took another big hit. Clients that were supposed to pay my husband $30,000 took all the money for themselves. That would have been our income for the next several months. Right now I do not work outside the home, and I started by doing the practical things first ... working my network, filling out applications, dusting off and polishing up my resume. Then I journeyed. Usually the wyrm comes for me and takes me where I need to go. This time the wyrm came in the form of a huge dragon blocking my path. It's eyes were looking right at me, and its head was so large it filled my entire field of vision. Then it turned to lead the way. Although it appeared to be waddling awkwardly on land, it moved surprisingly fast and was soon far ahead of me. I followed the track its tail left on the ground until I came to a steep cliff. Spreading its wings, the dragon flew up to a cave high up in the cliff wall, and I started to climb. At first it seemed as if the climbing would be a prolonged struggle, but in no time I was at the top. Along the way, I had been accompanied for a while by a dark-haired girl child. She was looking down to pick her way up the steep rocky path. When I spoke to her, she lifted her head to respond, and I saw she had a dragon's face. She left me before we reached the top. When I was standing outside the dragon's lair, all was dark and still inside. Turning, I looked over the side of the cliff into a deep crevasse. The crevasse filled with mist so that I could not see the bottom. When I stepped toward the dragon's lair, I found myself floating in the mist over the crevasse. I was floating on my back, clothed only in the mist. When I struggled to get up, I was told to relax .. wait. Over and over again, I struggled to get back to the cliff, only to be told to relax ... wait. Still struggling, I managed to turn over facing down. Instantly the mist cleared, and I found myself plummeting toward the ground. But the mist still clinging to me turned to strong, white swan's wings. Flapping, I rose back up to the mist and turned over on my back, to relax ... and wait. The message changed to relax ... wait ... and don't look down. The next morning, when I awoke, I kissed my daughter's head as she was eating breakfast and called her "my little dragonlet." Turning her head up to me, she said, "But people can't be dragons." "Oh, yes they can," I told her. My husband had been terribly stressed by bearing the burden of all this financial trouble since last fall and especially this week. But after I told him the story of this journey, he has relaxed. We keep telling each other now what the dragon of the mist told us. Relax ... wait ... and don't look down. Of course, I'm continuing to work on the resume and job applications. He's building relationships with new clients, as well. Relax ... wait ... and don't look down. Photo credit: http://www.larsonweb.com/Bctry/TripReports/Climbing/Chamonix2.htm

Battle Hardening - Part 7

Volva — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 16:07:54 GMT

As I wrote in personal messages to some of you, life and the springtime called me away from the online community for a few weeks. But I wanted to let everyone know, we have sent the soap and the magickal spell and the protective enrgy out into the world. It should be reaching our friend any day now. If you would take a few moments to wish her well, say a prayer or light a candle for her -- whatever is most meaningful for you in your tradition -- we would appreciate it. Her name is Becky, and she is stationed in Baghdad. Photo source: http://www.mooseyscountrygarden.com/garden-mail-box/moosey-country-garden-mail.html

Battle Hardening - Part 6

Volva — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 04:05:18 GMT

One of our kindred studies rune lore and practices galdr. After long thought about what just the right bind rune might be to inscribe on the soap, he realized there was a simple answer: the helm of awe. Of course. [Illustration Source: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/6a/Helm_of_Awe.PNG/120px-Helm_of_Awe.PNG]

Battle Hardening - Part 5

Volva — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 03:04:19 GMT

Obtaining a diamond was the easy part. Just a little sacrifice of money was involved. Luckily we didn't need quality. It just had to be hard. As a diamond. Once we'd fired up the alembic and experimented with it, we deposited the gemstone in the pot and proceded to distill it. We'd done it. Distilled a diamond. Now what? I was concerned about mailing a vial of liquid through the mail overseas. What if -- after all the trouble we'd gone through -- the vial broke? And how to apply the diamond distillation? Briefly we considered suggesting that our friend ingest it. But this is supposed to be battle hardening. We wanted to protect her like a shield. Swallowing the stuff didn't seem right. You know what we did? Hah! We made soap out of it. Pure, white glycerine soap. No perfumes or additives. Just clean and white and permeated with the power of a diamond. Oh, and for a girly touch, I floated some rhinestones in it. [Illustration note: my photograph]

Battle Hardening - Part 4

Volva — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 23:15:50 GMT

"Distill a diamond." We finally realized the svartalfar meant exactly that. And we knew nothing about distilling. Come to find out, it's highly regulated everywhere in the United States. To own and operate a still, you have to pay thousands and thousands of dollars and obtain a liquor license. With one exception. Without a license, we could purchase a small distillation apparatus -- an alembic -- intended for the manufacture of essential oils. Perfect. Now all we needed was the diamond. [Illustration source: http://alembichealingarts.ca/~alembichealingar/tipe/pictures/alembic-still.jpg]

Battle Hardening - Part 3

Volva — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 03:32:15 GMT

"Distill a diamond." We wondered and imagined and conjectured at length at all the abstruse metaphysical possibilities this statement might imply. Until finally I realized ... [Illustration notes: http://www.bradleygoughdiamonds.com/pictures/diamond.jpg]

Battle Hardening - Part 2

Volva — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 20:51:48 GMT

So little of the ancient magical art of battle hardening survived in the lore. And certainly there has been no direct transmission of this knowledge from person to person. Which is why we used seidhr to search for what we wished to know. It was during the seidhr that one of the svartalfar told us that in order to protect someone in battle, we needed "to distill diamonds." To be continued ... [Illustration note: detail of early 20th century postcard illustrating a scene from Snow White & the Seven Dwarves]

Battle Hardening - Part 1

Volva — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 15:49:20 GMT

The story is told of Harald War-Tooth -- a legendary Northern European king whose lands may have reached as far as the Mediterranean -- that he carried no shield into battle, because a seidhr practitioner had worked an enchantment so that no weapon could harm him. It is further told that he lived to be 150 years old. And this is not the only known story of seidhr being used for battle hardening. Knowing this, when two friends joined the army a couple of years back, they asked our hired what might be done for them now. One of our friends is currently stationed in Baghdad. I'd be interested in hearing from anyone else who has worked magic in an attempt to protect soldiers in battle. And in my next blog I will share the work we took to help safeguard our friend. (Illustration Note: Harald War-tooth at the Battle of Bråvalla. Illustration by Lorenz Frølich in a 19th-century book [possibly Fabricius' "History of Denmark"]).

Happy Ostara

Volva — Sun, 23 Mar 2008 20:12:23 GMT

Happy Ostara wishes to all.

Did I mention ...

Volva — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 14:03:28 GMT

... that answers in seidhr sessions come in the form of dream imagery and poetry?

Vernal Equinox Journey

Volva — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 08:11:27 GMT

The serpent swallows me. Darkness swirling in darkness, a vortex forming. Darkness becomes water, sweeping me into the vortex. Surrender. I am standing in the center of the vortex, unscathed, not even wet. The water is still swirling around me. I walk through the wall of water. I am walking along a pebble shore. Neither land nor water. A liminal space. Here is an ancient tree growing on an island. A door forms in the trunk of the tree. The doors open. Inside I can see a seat in the center of a stone tower. I enter. I sit. Windows open all around. Through one window I see a sword bridge over a river of rushing water. Now I am there, standing at the brink of a precipice. I step onto that sword bridge. My feet are steady. The blade does me no harm. I am in no danger of falling. But I cannot go back, and there is a guardian on the other side. This guardian has the look of the roots growing from the earthen bank against which he is sitting. Perhaps if I offer a gift? I open a pouch to see if I have anything to give. To my surprise, gems and jewels come spilling out. They cover the ground all around him. He is neither friendly nor unfriendly. He will not let me pass. Two ravens fly down and grasp me by the shoulders. Or perhaps it is my helmet that has sprouted raven wings. We fly straight up. They deposit me back on my seat in the stone tower inside that ancient tree. They flutter about solicitously. Women are passing back and forth. I find myself in a hall of women. And not just any women. These are my disir, my kin. I try to stand and reach out to them. But they are ghosts. They pass through me. The ravens pull me down and call me back. They are fluttering about, calling me back to my seat in the hall. I am having difficulty focusing. Am I seeing the hall of my disir? Or am I seeing the hall in the stone tower? I see both at the same time, one image superimposed over the other. A double exposure. It is time to return. Pounding my staff on the ground three times, I sing my journey song.

Happy Vernal Equinox, Everyone

Volva — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 14:24:08 GMT

Unless you're living on the other side of the equator. In which case, Happy Autumnal Equinox. I hope you all have a glorious day.

Seidhr for Spring

Volva — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 16:42:36 GMT

Our hired will be celebrating the spring equinox tomorrow by holding a seidhr ceremony. If you are not familiar with seidhr, this is a ceremony performed for the benefit of the community. The seer journeys through the Nine Worlds seeking information and answers for those gathered. This year, we are offering this service to our larger community, as well. If you would like us to journey for you, please let me know what your question or inquiry is before midnight tonight (Wednesday, March 18, CST). I cannot guarantee an answer, but we will communicate any information we do find to you. We are offering this service free of charge as a gift to the community in thanks for the many gifts we have received in the past year.

Freya

Volva — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 02:43:22 GMT

from Chapter 4 of the Ynglingasaga Njord's daughter Freya was priestess of the sacrifices, and first taught the Asaland people the magic art, as it was in use and fashion among the Vanaland people.

Saint Patrick's Day Greetings

Volva — Mon, 17 Mar 2008 17:34:52 GMT

From The Tripartite Life of Saint Patrick by Saint MacEvan Patrick went to preach to Miliuc, as we have said, and took gold with him to prevail on him to believe; for he knew that he (Miliuc) was covetous regarding gold. But when Miliuc heard that Patrick had arrived, he wished not to believe for him, and to abandon the pagan religion. He thought it unbecoming to believe for his servant, and to submit to him. The counsel that a demon taught him was this: He went into his royal house with his gold and silver; and he set the house on fire, and was burned with all his treasures, and his soul went to hell. Artwork by Thalia Took from her Goddess Oracle Deck

Are You Causing Trouble?

Volva — Mon, 17 Mar 2008 17:18:10 GMT

Last night, my father's mother came to me in a dream. She was in another room of the place I was visiting, and when I glimpsed her through the cracked-open door, I went to see her. But she came out to me. She always did have a sharp tongue. "I hear you've been causing trouble," she told me. "Yes, I have been causing trouble," I responded. "Someone needs to cause trouble." My grandmother died decades ago. Shortly after her passing, she first came to my sister and me in dreams and gave us gifts. She allowed me to select any one of her possessions, which were laid out in front of me. But to my sister, she gave a different kind of gift. My sister always was one of her favorites. Grandma reached out her hand to my sister and said, "Here's what it feels like to be dead." And without any more warning, my sister felt her soul separate from her body. She was so angry with Grandma after that.

The Most Famous Story of a Seidkona

Volva — Mon, 17 Mar 2008 16:56:03 GMT

from the Saga of Eirik the Red At that time there was a great dearth in Greenland; those who had been out on fishing expeditions had caught little, and some had not returned. There was in the settlement the woman whose name was Thorbjorg. She was a prophetess (spae-queen), and was called Litilvolva (little sybil). She had had nine sisters, and they were all spae-queens, and she was the only one now living. It was a custom of Thorbjorg, in the winter time, to make a circuit, and people invited her to their houses, especially those who had any curiosity about the season, or desired to know their fate; and inasmuch as Thorkell was chief franklin thereabouts, he considered that it concerned him to know when the scarcity which overhung the settlement should cease. He invited, therefore, the spae-queen to his house, and prepared for her a hearty welcome, as was the custom whereever a reception was accorded a woman of this kind. A high seat was prepared for her, and a cushion laid thereon in which were poultry-feathers. Now, when she came in the evening, accompanied by the man who had been sent to meet her, she was dressed in such wise that she had a blue mantle over her, with strings for the neck, and it was inlaid with gems quite down to the skirt. On her neck she had glass beads. On her head she had a black hood of lambskin, lined with ermine. A staff she had in her hand, with a knob[ thereon; it was ornamented with brass, and inlaid with gems round about the knob. Around her she wore a girdle of soft hair, and therein was a large skin-bag, in which she kept the talismans needful to her in her wisdom. She wore hairy calf-skin shoes on her feet, with long and strong-looking thongs to them, and great knobs of latten at the ends. On her hands she had gloves of ermine-skin, and they were white and hairy within. Now, when she entered, all men thought it their bounden duty to offer her becoming greetings, and these she received according as the men were agreeable to her. The franklin Thorkell took the wise-woman by the hand, and led her to the seat prepared for her. He requested her to cast her eyes over his herd, his household, and his homestead. She remained silent altogether. During the evening the tables were set; and now I must tell you what food was made ready for the spae-queen. There was prepared for her porridge of kid's milk, and hearts of all kinds of living creatures there found were cooked for her. She had a brazen spoon, and a knife with a handle of walrus-tusk, which was mounted with two rings of brass, and the point of it was broken off. When the tables were removed, the franklin Thorkell advanced to Thorbjorg and asked her how she liked his homestead, or the appearance of the men; or how soon she would ascertain that which he had asked, and which the men desired to know. She replied that she would not give answer before the morning, after she had slept there for the night. And when the (next) day was far spent, the preparations were made for her which she required for the exercise of her enchantments. She begged them to bring to her those women who were acquainted with the lore needed for the exercise of the enchantments, and which is known by the name of Weird-songs, but no such women came forward. Then was search made throughout the homestead if any woman were so learned. Then answered Gudrid, “I am not skilled in deep learning, nor am I a wise-woman, although Halldis, my foster-mother, taught me, in Iceland, the lore which she called Weird-songs.” “Then art thou wise in good season,” answered Thorbjorg; but Gudrid replied, “That lore and the ceremony are of such a kind, that I purpose to be of no assistance therein, because I am a Christian woman.” Then answered Thorbjorg, “Thou mightest perchance afford thy help to the men in this company, and yet be none the worse woman than thou wast before; but to Thorkell give I charge to provide here the things that are needful.” Thorkell thereupon urged Gudrid to consent, and she yielded to his wishes. The women formed a ring round about, and Thorbjorg ascended the scaffold and the seat prepared for her enchantments. Then sang Gudrid the weird-song in so beautiful and excellent a manner, that to no one there did it seem that he had ever before heard the song in voice so beautiful as now. The spae-queen thanked her for the song. “Many spirits,” said she, “have been present under its charm, and were pleased to listen to the song, who before would turn away from us, and grant us no such homage. "And now are many things clear to me which before were hidden both from me and others. And I am able this to say, that the dearth will last no longer—the season improving as spring advances. The epidemic of fever which has long oppressed us will disappear quicker than we could have hoped. "And thee, Gudrid, will I recompense straightway, for that aid of thine which has stood us in good stead; because thy destiny is now clear to me, and foreseen. Thou shalt make a match here in Greenland, a most honourable one, though it will not be a long-lived one for thee, because thy way lies out to Iceland; and there, shall arise from thee a line of descendants both numerous and goodly, and over the branches of thy family shall shine a bright ray. And so fare thee now well and happily, my daughter.” Afterwards the men went to the wise-woman, and each enquired after what he was most curious to know. She was also liberal of her replies, and what she said proved true. After this came one from another homestead after her, and she then went there. Thorbjorn was invited, because he did not wish to remain at home while such heathen worship was performing. The weather soon improved when once spring began, as Thorbjorg had said, Thorbjorn made ready his ship, and went on until he came to Brattahlid (the steep slope). Eirik received him with the utmost cordiality, saying he had done well to come there. Thorbjorn and his family were with him during the winter. And in the following spring Eirik gave to Thorbjorn land at Stokknes, and handsome farm buildings were there built for him, and he dwelt there afterwards.

We are All Children of One Mother

Volva — Sun, 16 Mar 2008 19:37:58 GMT

None of us is the same. Everyone is unique. We rejoice in the diversity of our cultures. And yet ... We are all children of one mother. Everyone living today is descended from one woman who lived about 140,000 years ago in east Africa. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/African_Eve All hail the first Mother, our original ancestor!

From the Voluspa, The Vala's Prophecy

Volva — Sun, 16 Mar 2008 17:36:38 GMT

She that war remembers, the first on earth, when Gullveig they with lances pierced, and in the high one's hall her burnt, thrice burnt, thrice brought her forth, oft not seldom; yet she still lives. Heidi they called her, whithersoe'r she came, the well-foreseeing Vala: wolves she tamed, magic arts she knew, magic arts practised; ever was she the joy of evil people.

Walking on Stars

Volva — Sun, 16 Mar 2008 17:21:39 GMT

by the Volva I will take a walk on the Milky Way. Slide the Big Dipper over to serve as my stepping stool. I know the name and strength of each star, where and how to place my feet on the stairway of stars, stepping stones over a colder creek. I have made it the study of a lifetime and more. Who are we here to visit, and what are we here to see? Ah, here is the passageway I have been looking for, and here is the door. Here is the passageway I have been looking for. We have no choice but to choose it. It is impossible to refuse it. Release yourself to the tug and pull of the passageway. Let it take you in to the blackness and the fastness of velvet sliding in space. Up? Down? Does it matter? Let it take you faster and faster. Release yourself to the sheer joy of speed as the stars stream past you. Where we are traveling is an accident of time. Aiming anywhere you will find yourself hurtling toward the mesmerizing, pulsing, lustful attraction, languid satisfaction after asexual orgasm green light. Did I say "green light"? What is the green light? Nothing but something I cannot describe in the center of space. Propel yourself at the speed of light to meet the light growing nearer and nearer, clearer and clearer, so intense a sight that it almost has a sound, almost, and then it explodes. It's exploding. Shield your eyes. Is it gone? Oh, no. It is always still there pulsing, but you are losing the image just now in your mind's eye. Blackness is engulfing it. Perfection of serpentenite green light, no craftsman can carve it. Let it be your guide and your beacon in the night.