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.
Monday, November 18, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
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.
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.
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.
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