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.