Jotun Blood

"All this rage, and all this hate,
It burns me deep inside,
And still it is, the only thing, keeping me alive.
Dark ambition within my heart and it's aching to break free
The one true nature of my soul, the giant lives in me."

-- Amon Amarth, Deceiver of the Gods

I finally broke down and purchased a copy of Raven Kaldera's Jotunbok, partly out of curiosity to see what his writing style is like in full text form (I've read several online articles of his on the Jotnar, and liked it for the most part).  So far, I really like what I'm reading; it's very intelligently written and full of details from both peer-verified experiences and unique experiences of contributors, and contains a lot of comparative mythology.  I'm more than likely going to be posting a few reviews as I go, as the book is quite lengthy (at 539 pages, no less) and covers such an ambitious breadth on the subject (every family of Giant-kind gets some attention, as long as they have Norse roots). The first part that I want to address is the notion of Jotun-blood in humans, and in particular, in humans who are drawn to Jotnar deities.  This is a fantastic concept and an evocative explanation for many things, but there are a few issues that I have with it, which I'd like to get into before getting to the good stuff just to get it out of the way.

I've never been fond of the idea of Otherkin in the many pagan subcultures.  For me, the idea of identifying as something other than human (as opposed to identifying with something other than human) is doing a disservice to oneself.  Humans are so full of potential, and claiming to be something else just feels like a way of forgoing all of that potential just to avoid admitting to our shortcomings.  Identifying as something else just feels like a cop out to me, a means of escapism that doesn't really help resolve the reasons for seeking it.  Feeling that sense of alienation or a disconnect with other humans can be a very serious issue, and should be approached on a psychological basis first, and on a metaphysical basis as a last resort.  It's too easy to write off anger issues, depression, or hallucinations as a sign of some otherworldly influence in your life rather than face the very real neurochemical/behavioral issues that may be the real underlying cause.

That said, the notion of Jotun-blood is striking.  It is presented as a sort of closeness to the primal nature of the Jotnar due to some lingering spiritual energy in one's lineage.  Supposed Jotun-blooded individuals are more prone to outbursts of violence and rage, certain health conditions and mental disorders, and is made clear as something that draws the (more likely to be benevolent than normal) attention of the Jotnar gods.  There's something here that resonates with me, in spite of my reluctance to accept the notion of actual Jotun-blood.

I wouldn't presume to be descended from giants in any way, shape, or form.  I'll get that out of the way right now.  I'm human, and I know I'm human, whether I like it or not.  However, I understand and recognize many of the traits ascribed to the Jotun-blood as traits that I share.  I've previously mentioned that I have a tight rein on my temper due to understanding how volatile it could become if I didn't, so that point clearly matches up.  Feeling distant and unwelcome amidst most people, certainly fits there as well (I socialize only with a select few who I feel kinship with, otherwise, I stay to myself).  Moreover, the summaries of the groups of Jotnar and how they influence Jotun-blood manifestations make some measure of sense, as well.

By the summaries in the Jotunbok, I would most closely fit with the frost giants.  Somewhat antisocial, misanthropic tendencies, a distrust of others, a coldness of personality (I can be as warm and friendly as any other, but once crossed, it's like diving into an iced over pond), and a generalized lack of compassion (again, I can play the part, but I remain very distant and cold to the plights of others unless given a very personal reason to genuinely care).  Add to that the allegedly characteristic large, boxy frame (5'11" and 200 pounds, and with a bone structure more or less requiring it stay that way short of adding more muscle mass -- I'd look weird otherwise) and my general high tolerance to the cold, and it lines up quite well.  Now, as with anything else, there's a degree of confirmation bias to be expected here, and the same holds true when looking at the metaphysical as it does with psychological matters -- self-diagnosis is a terrible benchmark to rest upon.

Would I claim myself to be Jotun-blood?  No; just a flawed human being with a normal psyche who doesn't like people all that much.  My take on the matter is more or less that rather than those traits being what draws the Jotnar to the worshiper, that they are what draws the worshiper to the Jotnar.  It is said that like attracts like, that we call to ourselves the same energies that we put out into the world around us.  I know on a personal level, I'm drawn to the Jotnar because of those traits that are listed above; because I know that I have them, and they share them.  The Jotnar can help someone like me understand their nature and improve how they relate to the world.  It's a phenomenal benefit that these entities are out there to respond to people in similar situations who don't find that kind of kinship in the other gods.

For me, a much better term would be Jotun-spirit.  We share a sense of spirit, an essential energy of sorts.  We are one and the same; volatile, mercurial, elemental, and passionate.  That last one is the key.  We are creatures of passion, be it a passion for nature, for strong drink, for members of our preferred gender, for our families, for whatever we may be passionate about.  The Jotnar live life to the fullest, and people who want to live their lives the same way will likely find their way to their following.  There's a similarity and a sense of kinship and familiarity there, but for me, it's hard to really expect that bond to have a deeper meaning.

That's part of why I chose that lyric quote at the top, taken from a song written in Loki's perspective.  It's easy to turn those words sinister, and miss the interpretation that I would take from it.  While Loki is certainly often portrayed as an antagonist in the lore, consider his nature as a giant who lived among the Aesir.  He altered his essence and how he acted, restrained himself to fit in as a sign of his kinship with Odin as blood brothers.  Dark ambition doesn't have to mean an intent to overthrow anything or cause harm.  All it means in my eyes is that it is unashamedly selfish and self-serving.  This is, to my understanding, also true of the Jotnar essence; everything is done to further their whims and needs of the moment, and though loyalty to their kin is of the utmost importance, that desire for personal accomplishment is paramount.  Jotnar are proud and willful -- and so too are the followers from what I've gleaned.

Crossing Over

I won't lie; at one point in my life, I feared the idea of death and dying more than anything else.  It once reduced me to tears as a child, to the point where it became difficult to sleep properly because of it.  The very idea of my own mortality was so much of a concern that the thought of it would nearly paralyze me.  Most kids consider themselves immortal and invincible; they never consider death as something that awaits them, they never think if something may wind up ending their existence in this life.  And yet, there I was, the odd child that realized everything physical is finite and limited, and would inevitably end.

It's worth noting that as a child, raised in a Catholic family, I believed in the idea of Heaven and Hell.  That being a given, death should not have been so terrifying.  Be a good person, go to Heaven, nothing to fear there.  Yet at an age where other kids were playing with their toys in the sandbox, I'd find my mind drifting to what would happen if I were to stop drawing breath and pass on, and was in abject fear of what would lie beyond for me.  I never thought of myself as a bad child, deserving of eternal damnation.  Looking back now, it's still a mystery as to just what had me so shaken.  It wasn't even limited to myself; when a beloved pet would die, I'd have the same shaken feeling as I used to with thoughts of my own mortality.

Now, I can look back and understand it a bit more clearly.  I've always had a certain sense for the other side, particularly around spirits who had suffered before death.  I've walked into places completely unknown to me and been able to describe in perfect detail what horribly violent things had happened there in the past, simply because of the physical pain that I would feel as a remnant of that past (for example, when visiting the Spalding Inn in New Hampshire, I was able to pinpoint the events of a room not mentioned in the documentaries, and had this confirmed by staffers shortly after).  I would venture a guess that my fear of death came from that perspective that hadn't yet become something I understood, glimpses of how painful some transitions could be.

Even with that understanding, there's still a sense of uncertainty in death for me.  I know Heaven and Hell to be a false dichotomy; there is no universal paradise or damnation.  I believe in a variety of possible fates, and in reincarnation (I've done too much work with past-life regression and experienced too many sense memories to doubt in rebirth).  To be overly brief about it, I don't know what to expect when my time comes.

For a time, when I was still dutifully paying lip service to Odin, I aspired to enter the Golden Halls of Valhalla amongst the great warriors of the past.  I knew that mine would have to be a more modernized warrior path, as I refuse to join a military organization on personal principle, and that one based on defense of personal convictions would be just as glorious as any other cause to die for.  I soon realized, however, that I would never enter Valhalla, even if the noble death would come.  My years as an occult practitioner would bar those gates for me, as seidhr is unmanly and goes against the warrior code, despite Odin's own practices.

I do know that the Otherworld awaits me with open arms, but I expect that returning to the Otherworld of my Irish ancestors will require a struggle on the path to rebirth.  Why?  Well, it's just a hunch, really.  The whole notion of rebirth is a cyclical journey, and to me, it doesn't make sense to simply flit from one life to the next, or to be absorbed into some greater mass of spiritual energy only to be spat out whole again when there's an available/compatible body.  No, that doesn't do at all.

So, then, what awaits me?  Currently, I expect it's a trip to Helheim to dwell among the Jotnar there and the dishonored dead.  What better way to wait out the time between rebirths than living with the failures, victims, and dishonored dead?  What better way to learn how to live life to its fullest?  In being surrounded by those who failed to gain that ephemeral glorious death, you see exactly where things went wrong, and you get a better grasp on how to set them right.  I've grown rather fond of this idea.  I've come to like the notion of walking up to Hela's gate, greeting Mordgud and Garmr with solemn acceptance, and taking up residence in the halls of the unwanted.  I find some measure of comfort in it.

The Otherworld will come to me in time, and I will start again in a new life, I'm sure.  Finding comfort in the in between does wonders for alleviating the uncertainty of what comes first.  Makes living in the moment so much easier.

Relating with the Fomori

The relationship between the primordial and the divine is showcased in the Fomori perhaps more intensely than in the other mythologies I focus on.  Certainly, the Jotnar are intermingled with the Aesir and Vanir, but there's a sense of immediacy there; most of the mingling that's focused on is portrayed as present-tense (and granted, the concept of chronological archetypes and the Odinic Paradox technically makes nearly everything present-tense).  With the Fomori and Tuatha de Danann, the intermingling is multi-generational.  There exist figures like Neit, who is both one of the Tuatha and the grandfather of Balor, one of the better known Fomori in Irish myth, and is married to Fae and either Nemain or Babd, depending on the version you're reading.  Other examples are plentiful, to say the least, so I'll leave that bit to independent research.  On to the meat of this matter in my spirit-work...

Working with the Fomori is different for me than working with the Jotnar, and there's a very clear and precise reason for that: I've yet to encounter a Fomori in my spirit-work that I freely identify with the way that I have with Angrboda's children.  It's not that I haven't made a connection with them as a group, because they very clearly have shown themselves to me in my spirit-work, they just haven't really sent out any forerunners.  I know that a number of them are present as robed individuals when the Morrigan holds court during meditations on the high festivals, and that Neit will provide knowledge when I am able to continue refining my swordplay, but none have really jumped out and said "Work with me, for we are kin".

That being said, I've encountered more spirits that I would estimate are Fomori in nature than Jotnar.  I would theorize that this is because when I undertake spirit-work with Fenrir and his siblings, I'm meditating on a very specific place in my mind/spirit/Otherworld, and that place being the personal domain of that entity.  The Fomori on the other hand are everywhere.  If I'm meditating just to clear my thoughts, I find myself drawn to a very calm, pastoral landscape with megaliths scattered across fields and forests or craggy hills on all of the borders.  No one lays claim to this space, and it seems any spirit that I work with that is mobile tends to show up there if they have reason to.  There are those who stay on the edges, of course, and those who lend a hand to whatever mental task I'm taking on at the time as well, but not many make much of an effort to be "sociable".  They're kind of like me in that regard, I suppose.

The thing about the Fomori is that their energy is very distinct from that of the other as-yet unnamed spirits I encounter during meditations.  I regularly encounter the Fair Folk, and they always feel frenetic and unpredictable, but somehow restrained by their bans and oaths.  The Jotnar feel static and ponderous, slow to act and slow to change.  The Fomori are different.  There is a sense of wildness to them, a potential for savagery and destructiveness, and yet much like nature itself, there is also a certain gentleness and sense of providence from them.  If the Jotnar are the spirits of the elements, then the Fomori are the spirits of the plants and animals and living things.

This is almost certainly why the Fomori haven't really sent any spiritual envoys out to me.  I'm a lousy druid when it comes to dealing with plants and animals in spirit-work; I get along well with animals and respect plants, especially in natural settings, but I just don't connect with them.  I tend to be more interested in the strength of stone, the warmth of a flame, the movement of shifting winds, or the sound of running water.  The elemental I understand on an intrinsic level, but the rest is just... impersonal.  It's still important, and it's still ever-present, but it stays at arms' length.

As a result, the few recurring Fomori that I've encountered in my spirit-work are known by title, rather than name, which I'm sure will change in time as my focus changes from internal (which is currently more important for various sanity reasons) to external (can't focus on helping others when I'm distracted by my own frustrations).  The two most frequent beings are the Houndsman and the Treetender.  The Houndsman fits the typical description of the Fomori; taller than the typical spirit, muscular to the point of being grotesque, with a head covered in shaggy hair and a thick beard.  He almost always has crude leather armor on his forearms and legs, and a wide kidney belt that carries various bags and tools.  His purpose, befitting his title, is to tend to a pack of wolf-like hounds that roam my spirit-work and typically cooperate with me in will-working as well.  He's a very quiet, gentle fellow; we don't interact much, but I appreciate what he does.

The Treetender is a bit more unusual.  He's about the same height as the Houndsman, but his skin is green and mossy, and his hair is matted and run through with twigs, leaves, and other forest debris.  He's not very big, despite his height, more reedy and wiry, and favors a simple kilt of dark brown wool.  He's also considerably more distant, in that he spends all of his time in the forests carefully removing dead branches from the trees and ensuring that the forests can grow strong and dense to support the wildlife within.  I've only heard him speak a few times, and he's got such a thickly dialectic accent that even though it's the same spirit-speak that I can normally understand during meditations quite well, it all seems garbled.  Likely an aspect of plants being further removed from me, spiritually, than animals; I'm hoping that when I turn my attention toward plant meditations that this will break the language barrier, because I'm sure there's a lot to learn from the Treetender.

There are others, but they've shown less of a visible significance.  I'm sure that once I'm less preoccupied with what the Jotnar can teach me, I'll be able to do more Fomori-centric work in the near future.  One step at a time, like anything else worth doing.

The Morrigan

Ok, so I've been debating on this one and how to approach it.  On the one hand, I've considered addressing the Morrigan as part of my upcoming post on the Celts, but on the other, I've been leaning toward doing a post solely on her role for me.  Given how much I feel the need to bring out about her, I think giving her a solo-post is going to be the most productive option.  One wouldn't really be out of line in questioning whether she or Fenrir are the dominant patron figure for me, and it's something I ponder from time to time as well, simply because of how consistent the Morrigan has been over the years.  Ultimately, I look at it as the Morrigan having taken on the role of guiding my spiritual growth and fostering much of what I've learned over the years, while Fenrir has a much more direct involvement as a source of guidance and kinship.  The Morrigan remains distant and observant, while Fenrir can be so close at times that the meditations feel as though his pulse is my own.  That difference is why I consider Fenrir my primary patron, but the Morrigan is no less important to me.

The biggest conflict in defining the Morrigan for me has always been how mutable her nature as a composite figure is in terms of who composes the trinity.  I've seen dozens of variations, and even the suggestion that "the Morrigan" is more of a titular name than a personal one, which would suggest that it is more of a rank than an identity.  I've never been overly fond of that notion.  There are so many other variations, from the maiden/mother/crone triumvirate, to three sisters, to a woman and two blackbirds, and everything in between, that it becomes difficult to pin down an overall canon beyond her role.  My take on it?  The Morrigan is a composite deity that forms when any combination of the three will it so, and these combinations change and shift depending on the worshipers.

The Phantom Queen is a goddess of war, death, fertility, prophecy, and mysticism.  This is universal.  For me, she has always appeared as a tall, red-haired woman in her physical prime, neither young nor middle-aged, who wears armor of bronze and leather, paints one side of her face in spiraling patterns with woad, and is framed by large wings of black feathers.  Sometimes, a leather mask like a raven's head is worn as well, and she typically carries both a sword and a spear.  She's always been there when I've needed to perform spirit-work over the years, and was the first that I connected with.  I can't pin down a function, because she provides so much for me.

The tricky part kicks in when trying to define the trinity for me.  She has never appeared as anything but her aggregate form, and if her aspects have shown themselves to me, they have not announced themselves as such.  The only hints that I've been given thus far are their voices.  During Samhain this year, the Morrigan appeared in full battle dress before me and though her mouth did not move, I heard three voices, clear as day, coming from all around me with no visible sources.  It's difficult to really identify them, as I couldn't single out any voice as one that I recognized immediately from other spirit-work.

That said, I do have some guesses based on how the Morrigan tends to interact with other figures in my meditations.  Given my hybrid pantheon, the Morrigan that relates to me certainly has a stronger connection with the valkyries than the role that ravens in Irish myth share with the Norse figures.  This may be a controversial idea, but I strongly believe that one aspect of the Morrigan in my workings could prove to be Angrboda herself, through the identity of Gullveig (who is described as a witch/shamaness, shows a connection to death and rebirth as a central theme, and is sometimes considered a parallel to Freya, who shares Odin's role as hosting a hall for the honored dead).  It is highly unconventional, I'll admit, but sensible to me, as the Morrigan is the sole figure that has interacted with both Celtic and Jotnar figures in my spirit-work with equal ease and comfort.  Further, Angrboda fits with the role of the Morrigan related to fertility and family, particularly as she relates to the rest of my personal pantheon.  Further support comes in the varied forms the Morrigan has taken on in various myths and legends, including those of a wolf and an eel; Jotnar are known for their ability to change shape, and Angrboda's metaphysical bloodline certainly shows an affinity for unpredictable forms for her children.

The second most likely candidate is Babd-Nemain.  This is another case of what I consider to be a composite entity, due to extremely similar roles and confusion in the traditional myths.  Representing the chaos of battle and the frenzy that is said to have spurred on so many great warriors of the tribal age, these goddesses both provide the aspect of influencing the outcome of warfare.  As both goddesses also appear as ravens or crows, they would both fall well with the usual signs and portents in meditative states where the black birds appear.  Their connection to the war god, Neit, would also help to reconcile the ease with which the Morrigan works with both Celt and Norse entities, as Neit was ancestor to both the Tuatha and Fomori of Irish myth.  As when the Morrigan speaks as an aggregate, I typically hear two sets of crow-calls with each word, the inclusion of Babd-Nemain seems quite likely.  Another possibility is that the two trade off as aspects of the trinity, or even hedge out Angrboda from time to time, as a means of keeping me uncertain on the specific details; as a figure of mysticism, the Morrigan would be unlikely to make it easy to sort out all of the information before the right time. (This would make the trinity, then, three-out-of-four entities, unless Babd-Nemain is a merged entity when forming the trinity -- nothing quite as much fun to sort out as composite divinities!)

Third (or is it fourth?), I would look toward Anann.  Her role as a death goddess, including the prediction of death in battle, fits in quite well with the aspect of prophecy and mysticism.  As a given name for the Morrigan, Anann's inclusion seems a foregone conclusion, and just makes sense.  More importantly in this case, however, is her role as it relates to cattle, and by extension, to wealth, sovereignty, and agriculture.  Every time that the Morrigan has manifested during my spirit-work, the setting has been in some remote clearing, surrounded by forests on all sides.  These are the meditations where I feel the strongest connection to the land and the natural world as a whole, as opposed to a connection to a single part.  There is a sense in my spirit-work that the Morrigan is simply stronger than the others that I work with, and while it would be easy to write this off as her nature as a composite entity, inclusion of an aspect tied intrinsically to what used to represent wealth and temporal power adds considerably to that claim.

As I said, this is all speculation based solely on my personal spirit-work, and certainly not intended as an interpretation that is viable for everyone.  Whether these theories will change or not with further meditation remains to be seen.

Rokkr Revisited

A previous post here mentioned my growing affinity with the Rokkr/Jotnar of the Norse mythology.  As should be expected, that connection has since grown considerably, and expanded somewhat into the Irish-Celtic side as it relates to some of the Fomori. Within a month of Loki reaching out to me in meditation, I felt two now very much familiar presences do the same, advocating a more broad connection with the Jotnar as a whole.  First, a chill went through the very core of me, followed by a sensation of a massive weight settling on my shoulders.  Jormungandr and Hela had made their presences known, and I've begun to work with them as freely as with their brother, Fenrir.  I've come to understand the reason that the Rokkr appeal so much to me, and these three in particular, so let's take a few moments to explain how I view these much maligned entities.

Fenrir remains my most important connection, as an equal to the Morrigan (I'll get to her in another post when I revisit the Irish side).  In addition to his association with having restrained aspects of myself that I don't like, I've grown to recognize the principal aspect that ties in with Fenrir.  I have perhaps had more issues with anger and my temper in life than any other psychological matter.  I meet with opposition and I force myself to stop before letting my temper voice an opinion that I may want to reword and express in a more calm manner.  I hold grudges for inordinate lengths of time, and let them stew and froth long after I've forgotten their original meaning.  Fenrir represents that sort of anger, but through my bond with him, I feel a greater control over my temper than I've ever had, simply out of understanding.  Fenrir was bound because his nature caused fear for the potential destruction he could bring about, much as I've bound my anger.  The more I'm able to do wolf-meditations and connect with Fenrir, the calmer and more relaxed I become, even if it gets a little tense right before the cyclical devotionals begin.

Jormungandr's binding is very different, and one that I can relate to in so many ways it's uncanny.  As the World Serpent, Jormungandr is foretold to bring about the end of the world when he releases his own tail from his jaws.  Reverse that statement, and view it from the eyes of the serpent, and you have his significance: If Jormungandr ever ceases his suffering and removes his fangs from his own flesh, it means the end of the world as everyone else knows it.  The immense weight on my shoulders that represents his presence is the weight of my world, and the sense that if I ever let that voluntary burden fall, it will mean some form of catastrophe.  It's something I've been guilty of my entire life, that sense of irrational responsibility and self-imposed urgency to be this stable and unwavering constant.  I understand it all too well.  I'm still trying to find the best way to approach spirit work with Jormungandr, but I'm hoping it will help ease that burden a bit.

Hela's (and worth note, I use strictly Hela to describe the goddess, and Hel to describe her realm in Niflheim) situation is one that I consider quite... sad.  Not monstrous in form like her brothers, she presented no similar threat requiring that she be bound beyond the reach of others, and yet, her form that touches both life and death was exiled to a seemingly noble end, ruling over the land of the dead.  I use the adjective seemingly for a reason, here; she was not to take in the glorious and proud warriors that would go to the gods.  She was sent away from the light of the world, away from where all mortals aspire to go, and to her halls would be sent the shamed, the sickly, and the old -- those deemed unworthy or denied the "glorious death".  I can understand that sense of isolation and feeling like the best in life will elude me, especially when that isolation sets in during youth.  I've done a bit of spirit-work with Hela, and while I doubt I'll ever get used to that chill that comes with it, I do see it's advantages in overcoming that sense of isolation.  Having close, reliable friends helps on a logical, social, and physical level, but that isolation on the spirit level lingers; Hela has already helped me alleviate some of it, and I'm sure that continued work will help that process in the long term.

Loki and I share a strained connection, to say the least.  I still undertake spirit-work with the flame-haired trickster, but I don't get any sense of familiarity or kinship from it.  Loki's purpose in my spirit-work seems to be more grounded in that of the challenger and the critic.  He has no hesitation in reminding me of my flaws, and forcing me to confront them.  While this is an incredibly valuable function, psychologically and spiritually, it's far from enjoyable or relaxing to be reminded of your mistakes or lack of forethought.  He also has a habit of poking his head in while I'm focusing on something else, creating a distraction from my intended purpose; I suspect this is part of the same refinement process that pointing out flaws presents, in that it should be teaching me greater concentration and focus.  I don't get any sense of comfort from him the way that I do from his children, especially since every time he shows up in a meditation, it means being reminded of something that I loathe about myself.

Angrboda has been very interesting to work with, but for reasons entirely separate from those of her children.  While not a Rokkr bound or cast out in any direct way, hers is no less familiar to me.  She is symbolic of the pain of watching a loved one suffer and being unable to prevent it, and more importantly, of carrying on in spite of that.  I see Angrboda as a mother who had three of her children ripped away from her arms and cast into lives of misery, and who in spite of her love for them, did what she had to do to care for her kin within the Iron Wood.  I support her association as an incarnation/facet of Gullveig, and link the two sets of myths into a single entity; as such, she takes on a second aspect of a target of unjust persecution, and of reincarnation (this reincarnation element links her closely with the Morrigan for me, and as the Morrigan has aspects that vary widely depending on which tribes your myths come from, may yet reveal Abgrboda to be part of the triumvirate for my personal work -- but again, more on that in another post).

Others have made brief appearances, but left no discernible impression on me.  Surt and Skadi have been on the sidelines, likely waiting for a reason to properly introduce themselves.  Thrym is in the same category, but his presence has been more felt than seen.  Overall, I certainly share the sentiment of many Rokkatru: the Jotnar are more akin to nature gods and forces of nature than the vilified monsters that post-Christian folklore would have them portrayed, not that that portrayal is a surprise.  They are remarkable entities, elemental and mercurial, and yet representative of fundamental parts of human experience.  I'm hoping that the five core Jotnar I've already interacted with will continue to provide fruitful spirit-work, and that the others may explain themselves in the near future, but in the meantime, it's off for this cycle's second devotional walk in about an hour or so.

Becoming One with the Wolf

I find it a fairly curious thing that I've grown to know when a full moon approaches without consulting a moon chart or looking into the sky.  It's just sort of become an automatic thing, either as a facet of my subconscious or an unconscious habit (I've heard varying statistics of 21 days to form a habit, or 10 weeks to form a habit; either way, I've been undertaking devotional walks on the full moon every lunar cycle since August of this year, so the timeline fits).  Predictably enough, two nights ago, I got that mental ping telling me to look up while walking home from work, and saw a very nearly full moon above; just early enough of a heads-up to prepare for this cycle's meditations.  As the standard ritual procedure is to invoke Fenrir, consume large quantities of meat, followed by large quantities of whiskey, followed by a long walk, the time to hit the grocery and liquor stores is a welcome boon.

At any rate, I take it as a sign that my meditative walks are having the desired effect.  By starting with tuning into the lunar cycle, the wolf-bond is showing the start of a stronger connection with the natural world, and that's definitely bringing a greater peace of mind.  Having stuck to the devotional walks regardless of weather (thus far only dealing with rain, winds, and cold November nights here in upstate New York -- I'm sure snow will be here for the next one), there's an element of accepting the things that you cannot change involved, and it's hard to ignore that lesson.  Simply acknowledging that certain things in life are inevitable and that struggling against them is pointless, is incredibly freeing.

What I find striking about the meditations is that each cycle has held a different focus, each one relevant to what I've been thinking about most insistently in the previous month.  In the first devotional, my mind was drawn to thoughts of setting right something that had gone terribly against how I would have liked it to (and I won't get into details here, because they aren't really necessary) about a week prior, and helped me form the words to at least make some measure of closure come about.  The second devotional was what led me to my previously mentioned "showdown" with my scourge-figure, who had been running amok in my subconscious and left me in a very negative headspace, and helped me overcome a lot of what caused that scenario.  The third devotional was all about reconciling why I'd felt drawn to certain divine figures that previously, I'd held no affinity for, and helped me to explore some of the deeper aspects of my slowly growing personal pantheon.  Thus far, there's always been a pattern, as well; the first night reflects past problems, the second shows the present situation, and the third demonstrates possible solutions.  Which brings me to last night's walk...

I'm going to preface this with something very important: When I set out on a devotional walk, I never have any set course planned out ahead of time; I simply walk out of my door, and let my path choose itself.  It varies every time, even if there are certain streets and paths I almost always take.  Usually, it takes about an hour to 90 minutes, at the most.  Last night's was different; it took two and a half hours round-trip, and wound up circling the usual spots twice.  I wound up walking by every place that I have lived in town, sort of a retracing my steps.  I wasn't so much thinking about that at the start of the walk, but it became obvious before long.  As with anything where a ritual trance is involved, there was a reason behind it.

I realized fairly quickly that the reason I was retracing my steps was because I needed to see all of the wrong turns I've taken over the years, and pinpoint how to start correcting them.  It isn't easy to take in your own mistakes, especially ones that you thought you'd accepted and resolved with yourself, but sometimes it's what has to be done.  The resounding theme was that all cases of thinking I could call a place home had been outright false.  I'd deluded myself into thinking that there would be any kind of lasting peace and quiet, and that I could actually set down roots.  That time hasn't come yet, and likely won't come for a while; I need to remain fairly mobile and able to leave this town in the future, and to wait until I'm in the right situation to choose where those roots need to find ground.  It also took a more personal and more direct turn in the second circle around town.  It sent me on a very specific path, one that I've walked before and that actually laid some of the foundation of what started the devotional walks in the first place.  It was the same lesson, just with a different purpose.  I was looking for the wrong outcome in the wrong time.

Where tonight's and tomorrow's devotional walks will lead is difficult to say, but I'm thinking the theme appears to involve the notion of home and building my desired life.  Considering the amount of thought I've had toward my recent (albeit minor) promotion at work, and toward the potential for leaving my home town behind in the spring, and toward finding the right woman to spend the next phase of my life with... it makes sense.  The wolf knows where I need to get to, it's just a matter of showing me how to get there.

The Guardians, Gatekeeper, and the Scourge

Spiritual guides are a somewhat controversial subject among occultists and spiritualists alike.  While most who approach the occult accept at least some form of spiritual involvement in their lives, not everyone is ready to accept the idea of certain spirits having the primary function of helping them.  Even so, there are a few key spiritual figures that have become highly referenced, if not universally accepted.

Many occult authors have written about a "gatekeeper" spirit, a sort of primary guardian that serves to keep your life on "track" (whatever that track may be).  I find this concept interesting on many levels.  I certainly agree that most seem to have a singular spirit entity that watches over them, for good or for ill.  In some interpretations, this is manifest in the form of a spirit that only allows certain predetermined events into your life; in others, the spirit serves to hold those who would do you harm at bay.  I see the concept not so much as a gatekeeper, but as a guardian standing in a spiritual bottleneck; they may try to hold the line, but no defense is infallible, and some negativity is bound to breach their protection.  These spirits take up a sort of choke-point between your inner-self and the outer-world and do what they can to keep the two separated, but can be overwhelmed by particularly extreme situations.

Guardians are similar, but not singular, and don't have as much of a primary role.  They're still relevant, just not as highly involved, as their role is usually more situational.  If the gatekeeper stands in the bottleneck, then the guardians roam either side and try their best to help with crowd control.

The Scourge is what I call the "shadow", mostly out of my personal belief that shadow is not in and of itself in opposition to a benign and good life.  In all the talk of light and darkness, shadow gets a bad rap; people forget that shadow isn't darkness, it's just a dimming of the light due to a physical obstacle.  The Scourge still fits that idea, but with a heavier accent on the challenges that it presents us. The Scourge isn't a guardian per-se, rather it is a reflection of what we most fear and despise about ourselves and what we must overcome to improve ourselves during our lifetime.  It's possible to have multiple Scourges through the course of one's life, and it's important to understand that overcoming one will only lead to another surfacing; no one is perfect, and those imperfections will always turn up eventually.

Now, anyone with a passing understanding of psychology will notice a parallel to the Ego, Superego, and Id across the three spiritual guides.  This is far from a coincidence, and is in many ways accurate.  One that balances the inner and the outer, one that focuses solely on maintaining the sanctity of the self, and one that is ultimately selfish and unconcerned with anyone else.  Psychology and spirituality aren't that far off from each other on a functional level, it's all a question of how one chooses to look at and label these things.  Regardless of one's skepticism, anthropomorphizing one's internal struggles can help to cope as long as one keeps it all in perspective.  Inner myth and psychology go hand in hand, and this is no exception.

Part of that recent turning point of mine is coming to terms with the simple fact that I have been wrong in my interpretation of my personal spirits, in particular, I had come to view my scourge as my gatekeeper.  I make no secret in having had some very dark times in my life, spiritually and psychologically speaking, and having spent so much time in those darker states is likely what clouded my judgement there.  If anything, I had come to identify with my scourge so greatly that I forgot why I loathed those aspects of myself that it represented.  A few months ago, my perception righted itself and I saw the scourge for what it was:

It was a manifestation of my self-imposed solitude and my unwillingness to communicate my feelings and my thoughts (ironically, this was well after the end of a three-year engagement and not a contributing factor to why I left that relationship).  It was every single repressed thought and desire I'd spent nearly two decades stifling and silencing.  It was almost spiritually blinding when I realized this to be the case.  I'd gone so long thinking and treating this silent withdrawal from the world as the best way to protect myself that the truth was a major system shock.  I've since focused on overcoming that negative pattern of behavior and thought, but trying to correct 15-18 years of reclusive habit takes time.  Still, I've felt an immediate change in my demeanor and my attitude; when people say that admitting there is a problem is the first step toward solving it, they're right on target.  Recognizing that this was an issue was enough to start me toward making good on overcoming the problem.

For the first time in my entire tenure as an occultist, I can say that my scourge is subdued, if not defeated.  I know that another will take its place when the time comes, but for the moment, I will enjoy this victory and continue to assert myself over its legacy of silence.

Spiritual Lycanthropy

Going to discuss something a little more out there than contemplation of myths today.  Part of my increasing interest in the Rokkatru perspective, and in Fenrir in particular, has led me to look into some of the rites associated with the wolf from various cultures.  Naturally, this has led me to a lot of things dealing with the moon cycles and similar wolfish things, but this little gem stood out: Spiritual lycanthropy.

Now, obviously this doesn't mean literally taking on the form of a wolf in a physical sense.  That's just as impossible as any other sort of overt magic, and I'm not of the mind to further any sort of false idea of mysticism (again, you're not throwing fireballs or taking flight without a special effects crew, and you're not turning into a wolf either).  It's the mental and spiritual aspects of this rite that fascinate me.

Without getting into the small details (this isn't a how-to blog, after all), the short of the process is this:

• Seek out the mindset of the wolf.  Attitude, perspective toward others, contemplate the nature of predator/prey, consider pack mentality and hunting instinct.  This is a very important step toward understanding the wolf, and by extension, wolf-gods like Fenrir.
• Physically emulate the wolf.  Posture, movement, and mannerisms apply here.  This is as close to a physical transformation as you're going to get, so take time to get it right.  I'm not advocating going out and hunting as a wolf, because you're a human and don't exactly have the right equipment for it, but still ponder the idea and see how your behavior changes.
• Bring the two together.  This part is where being a solitary practitioner comes in handy, because combining the mental and physical emulations can be uncomfortable in front of others, and that can break the devotion to the rite.  All self-consciousness has to be set aside.  That said, if you've got fellow practitioners who are into the same thing and willing to go through it as a group, that's awesome; it can be a very powerful experience, albeit one that has thus far eluded me.
• Never let the wolf run so free that you forget where and who you are.  You should always be prepared to snap out of it at a moment's notice, as with any normal meditation, if not moreso due to the potentially volatile behavioral changes you may experience.  Self control is the key virtue here.

For obvious reasons, people in rural areas have an advantage here, as they can go outside with relative certainty of not being interrupted.  Inside towns, however, erring toward a lighter version is advisable, just so that you aren't shocked out of the mindset when an inevitable distraction comes.  Either that, or just stay inside.  I've attempted both methods, and for me, being outside is a huge advantage for the mindset.  Prime example of knowing which parts of town are busy at certain hours coming in handy if there ever was one.

I suppose the biggest question lies in what can be gained through this form of meditation.  Personally, I've begun to see a number of benefits ranging from stress management, temper management, slightly heightened senses (smell in particular, albeit only for brief periods of time), and various improvements to my posture and chronic joint pain.  Is it anything that can't be achieved through traditional meditation?  Not hardly, but that isn't really the point.  What you can gain through wolf-meditations is a deeper connection to the wolf spirits that are relevant to you, be it a totem spirit or seeking a bond with a lupine deity.

Granted, there are some out there who would view such a form of meditation as unsettling, particularly the part where you need to really consider predator/prey and instincts of that nature.  Admittedly, it's not for the feint of heart, and it's not for everyone.  Someone who already has boundary issues of that sort shouldn't be connecting with the wolf-spirits to begin with.  If you know who you are and how you relate to others, then you should know that no amount of meditation will change that, even if it is wolf-meditation and involves contemplation of the predator perspective.

What it might give you, however, is insight as to what it is that you really want in life and how to go about getting it.  Predator spirits, and wolves in particular, know all about finding weaknesses, and can help you identify and begin to correct your own.  They have a very critical point of view, and that can be invaluable.  For me, I've been shown that I'm far too passive in pursuing what I want.  Not something that's news to me, but still something that I had to have put in the plainest of ways.  For me, the next challenge is to overcome that habit.

Considering Rokkatru

For many years now, I've practiced a more or less split form of paganism focused on Celtic mythology and Norse legend.  For the most part, I've stuck to the typical gods and goddesses (or rather, the ones who have revealed themselves to me just happened to have been prominent divine figures -- we don't really choose our gods, after all, they choose us), but in the last few years, something has been building and building within me, and a curiosity in a third grouping of divine figures has really taken the forefront, especially in recent months.  I speak of the Rokkr, or Jotnar, depending on how modern you're feeling.

Naturally as with most mythologies, there is a natural force that operates parallel and in opposition to the gods of men.  The Jotnar are precisely that in most depictions, a primordial parallel line to the gods that seem farther removed from humanity and are thus easier to vilify and condemn, and so often become the antagonistic counterpoint to the protagonist divinities (you see the same with the Fomorians in the Irish myths, but I feel less of an immediate connection with them for some reason).  So while Odin and his family (the Aesir) are given the lion's share of the attention and shown largely as heroic figures (along with the Vanir), Loki and his kin are shown as deceptive or destructive.  Granted, much of this is the taint of Christianity on the written record, but that taint is hard to get away from when the original stories were never written down (or were destroyed, as with most records of the druids among the Gauls and Celts).

While I personally enjoy a very deep connection with Odin myself, and one that has guided me in many times of need, I've never been able to truly call myself an "Odinist".  Part of this is due to my divided loyalty to the Celtic traditions and druidry, particularly to the presence and influence of the Morrigan triumvirate in my life (never underestimate the power of a primary goddess who makes herself known so directly, and never question her guidance when given).  A much bigger part, I'm growing to realize, is because I have other divine loyalties to consider as well.  It's not as cut and dry as selecting one god and one goddess, nor should it be, but it's normal to have a chosen patron of each gender as a sort of "go-to" for your generalized will-working and prayer.  The Morrigan has never been in question for me, but Odin always felt more like a "default"; sure, I felt his presence and saw his wisdom for what it was, and I respected his warrior nature as well as his gift for magic, but he always seemed too... obvious, I suppose.

About two and a half years ago, I started to feel a shift in those loyalties.  Given my connection with the Morrigan, it shouldn't have been too surprising, really.  She's not exactly seen as a benevolent and kind goddess, after all.  When your primary divine figure is a war goddess with aspects dealing with death, madness, and fury, and a moniker of the "Phantom Queen", being drawn toward a path less traveled is to be expected.  Even so, it was hard to really prepare myself for what was to come.

It seemed simple enough at first, and I sort of dismissed it as an odd fit.  I had started to hear a howling wolf when I meditated.  After a time, I started to feel as though I had been chained whenever I would hear the howl.  Eventually, Fenris made himself known to me, and imparted some of his wisdom on the true duality of this world.  Nothing is as cut and dry as it seems, and just as the world needs light in order to be enjoyed, it needs darkness for that light to be appreciated.  Without that sense of balance, there is no understanding of why or how things are the way that they are; we're just taking things for granted.

My connection with Fenris grew every bit as rapidly as the wolf of legend.  I started to understand myself a lot better.  In many ways, I was Fenris; I had long since chained down those parts of myself that I found unpleasant and left them to fester and seethe, and that was a mistake.  By ignoring the problems, I had given them power over me and only made them worse when they eventually get out of hand.  There's a lot of wisdom to be gained by truly understanding these things, and the lessons of Fenris are really just the beginning.  This has led to me questioning a lot more in recent months.  As my own practice of will-working has grown, and I have transitioned from the strictly-solitary practitioner that I've been all my life to part of a three-member group, I've explored more options and asked more of my patrons than I had in the past, and all in all, the conventional gods have been found wanting.

Strange as it may seem, the Rokkr/Jotnar have been the most forthcoming when I've called upon them.  Odin was always there, but never gave the resonating appearance that Fenris has, let alone that of Loki.  While I certainly prefer the warrior-ideal presented among the Norse gods, the primal aspect of the Jotnar is undeniably something that fascinates me.  Nature isn't all puppies and kittens.  It's storms, it's unforgiving landscapes, it's predatory animals.  It's raw and it's dangerous just as much as it is delicate and beautiful.  These "darker" gods are no different.  Just because they're not sanitized and humanized doesn't mean they don't have something to teach us.  If anything, we can learn more from them because they haven't been pressed into a familiar mold; it's the differences that we spot most easily, and when they're as glaring as the differences between us and a raging wolf bound by an impossible chain awaiting the end of an era, there's a lot of room for growth.

Paradigm Shift.

There come certain times where one's beliefs are challenged by something that crosses their path.  Whether it's a particularly difficult loss, being confronted by some deeply resonant truth, or just having a curve ball thrown your way, these moments can completely change the way that you approach your immediate future.

I suspect that I have just reached such a crossroads, and have a few directions that I could take, should I so choose.  One rather important symbolic change has already taken place, a sacrifice of sorts to the gods as a sign that I am ready to do what must be done in order to improve my current life, but there are many others that await me.  This small (well, small to most, to me it's absolutely huge and frankly a bit terrifying, even though it was accomplished in a very short and decisive window of time) change is only the beginning, but indeed all journeys start somewhere.

This one started two years ago, unbeknownst to me, when I would cross paths with people who were of like mind and like opinion in regards to the spiritual world and how to best approach it.  At the time, I was with my now ex-fiancee, who would prove to be a massive source of conflict in the future, but I could already see that situation start to fray.  No, this isn't going in the obvious direction.  I would ultimately leave my fiancee behind and strike out on my own, with the help of my dear friends -- my true tuisteachta -- and get in touch with a higher spirituality, one that we all continue to explore and question at each turn to gain a greater understanding.

We have meditated on the gods, on the spirits, and on the nature of energy work, but one undercurrent remained constant for me.  Change must begin somewhere in order to reach my goals.  Well, so be it.  I have made the offering and devoted myself to this new path entirely.  Let's see where it takes me.

Reconciling Enochian

Sometimes having an eclectic pagan perspective can get a bit messy, or at the very least, tricky to keep track of.  In most cases, it's as simple as resolving one mythology with another; belief in Odin for example does not prevent belief in Zeus.  In other situations, however, there are a wealth of potential obstacles that come into play.

For me, one of the biggest obstacles in this sense is in my fascination with Enochian magic.  I have no interest in the concept of a single creator "God" figure being central to the world's origin (I personally prefer the idea of an inhuman entity that became the world rather than creating it, and that entity being either consumed or destroyed as a result -- tidies up the question of inaction quite nicely), and Enochian lore is so richly steeped in a so-called monotheistic tradition that it can be hard to separate the two.  Nonetheless, I was drawn to this conceptual system of ritual magic for various reasons I choose not to describe in detail here, and was confronted with the question of how to make the two seemingly rival elements of polytheistic paganism and the Abrahamic-"mono"theism of Enochian lore cooperate and coexist within my personal paradigm.

Enochian magic is an evocative idea: calling on ancient secret names and symbols to call forth primordial entities that tie into the nature of the world around us.  These so-called "angels" (or demons, depending on who you ask) are related to the world itself -- the air, the seas, the land, etc -- and fulfill a wide variety of different cosmological roles that suit their position and stature.  Enochian magic presents its own pantheon of sorts, despite the original texts of John Dee and Edward Kelley pressing forth such a heavily focused mantra of worship of God over all others.

It would be easy for me to dismiss this as the pressures of their era coming into play.  Written at the height of the Renaissance, it would have been tantamount to suicide for a person of any influence to go so heavily against the Church in such a direct way.  I'm not so quick to make that assumption, however.  In my opinion, the concepts behind Enochian magic work very well within a monotheistic world-view, albeit one that remains monotheistic by undermining the power of other divinities.  In many ways, the concept of a single higher-power is somewhat comforting amidst the vast depth of the system itself, providing a rock to latch onto if the metaphoric oncoming storm gets too strong.  It also cooperates well with polytheism by empowering those same entities instead, and giving them the proper respect and authority that they ought to be given.

I vastly prefer the polytheistic view.  I am a proudly Norse-Celtic pagan, who celebrates both mythic traditions as a part of my personal heritage.  I do, on occasion, pray to the gods in times of uncertainty, and have no qualms about calling on different gods or goddesses to suit the relevant situation.  Enochian lore falls much the same way, particularly as I have long equated the concepts of angels and demons from Abrahamic tradition with the pantheons of European pagan tribes; you have a wealth of specialized entities that relate back to the source of existence, each representing a certain facet of reality.  Pick a divine entity and extend your prayers, hope for a result, and carry on living.

Where it then gets complicated is reconciling how the two interact.  Enochian angel lists alone can rival the entire divine pantheon of most European tribal groups, so the room for overlap is immense.  Do you try to line them up and rationalize similar entities as the same individual?  Or do you try to pick and choose which entities are right for you from each set?  As with most of my theories on combining mythic traditions, I'd give the answer as "Whichever you prefer" and leave it at that.  Personally, I view the two as separate sets of entities and limit my lure toward the Enochian side quite heavily.  I don't call upon the angels when I feel the need or desire to pray, though I would not begrudge another to do the same, nor would I rule out doing so myself one day if the impulse felt right.

For me, the concept for Enochian magic just feels right.  I'm not suggesting that it turns you into a wizard or any such nonsense; no one is throwing fireballs or flying through the air without one hell of a personal special effects rig.  But the mindset that perusing lists of angelic hosts for one that suits your needs and then preparing and naming that angel correctly, with the full intent on what you wish to accomplish is one worth pursuing.  If nothing else, it demonstrates a higher-level of concentration and consideration in what is done in will-working, as what is will-working if not just another elaborate form of prayer?  The more consideration behind the prayer, the more productive you will likely find yourself being in seeking those goals.

Paths of the Ancients

I consider myself to be a bit of a revivalist.  While I certainly indulge in the modern world, part of me yearns for the simplicities of the iron age, when societies remained small and localized, ideologies accepting the idea of multiple divine presences and the greater whole of nature were the norm, and technology had not yet taken away our ability to do on our own.  Certainly, there are those among us in modern civilization that are not beholden to modern ways, but by and large we are at a disconnect with the seemingly more primitive way of life that helped bring us this far in the first place.

There is nowhere I'd rather be than out amidst the trees, moving from place to place with nothing to concern myself with than staying hydrated and carrying with me only minimal protection in the form of a hunting knife; albeit that last bit is only due to the odd looks a hiker gets carrying a sword.  Despite all efforts of modern comforts to get away from or to control nature and the elements, there is nothing that compares to simply being in nature and taking part in the flow of things.  From the smells of the plants and the soil, to the subtle shifts of the air, and the blissfully unassuming sounds of animals that typically go unseen in the surroundings, the trails -- both manmade and intuitive -- offer no shortage of simple joys that we take far too lightly.

When I speak of the paths of the ancients, this is what I refer to.  When I hike -- and I mean truly hike, not just venturing down a dirt road and looking at the scenery, but finding a way through natural terrain with no real goal in mind -- I like to imagine a stronger connection to my surroundings.  I like to envision what the ancients who walked the world before science went about explaining away some of the wonders that once filled our hearts and minds with truly heroic legends and stories about what might be just beyond the beaten path may have seen.  I lose myself in the path in hopes of finding something greater.