Author Archives: jameybmartin

Spinning your wheels: Prayer Posture

Our great and noble ancestors knelt in prayer.

I’ve gotten a lot of “feels” over the decades, worthy of your most delicate snowflake, in reaction to pointing out the facts on this matter. But as for any actual evidence that our ancestors didn’t kneel, but rather stood in worship, I had to go out and do the footwork on that for these people; who themselves could only produce anger and insults and self-indulgence to defend their position. Maybe I will share my findings one day. But regardless, I did this because I’m not interested in “defending a position”, but rather I’m interested in understanding my actual  ancestors; as opposed to fabricated fictitious ones whose sole purpose is to bolster a fragile ego. In others words, ironically enough, because I refuse to bow to nonsense, no matter how many sheep bleat out the same slogans. And I have been surrounded by veritable herds of them, demanding that I bow to their imaginary ancestors. And these are, for the most part, the same “unbowing sheep” that spout their nonsense but, grudgingly or otherwise, then proceed to allow their boss, their government, their wife, their herd to periodically dry hump them.

But hey, you’re quite the stand up man for not bowing to your gods and ancestors! At least you “unfurl your sail of greatness” where you’ll get the most resistance and so prove what a champ you are.

At the end of the day, I personally don’t care how people choose to go before the gods. We go before them here, and so needn’t concern ourselves with such matters as go on there. There is however, a question of honesty and integrity in representing our ancestors involved here. And of course there is the matter of personal repute and obligation to challenge insults hurled, not only at ourselves, but also at the ancestors who’s beliefs and practice we have returned to; as Heathens who know what to give due respect to and what to never bend knee to; who know what is easy (ie. disrespecting the gods and ancestors) and what is difficult (ie. standing up to the peer group, to those in a superior position).

One need but look over to modern day Europe to see that some subordination to our indigenous gods and ancestors is in order; as opposed to blithely letting our governments and hordes of foreigners dry hump us. But then, we all have our priorities, don’t we? For some of us, it’s our gods, our ancestors, and our people. For others, it’s their ego.

Suffice it to say that the Germanic peoples were not alone in their practice of bowing in worship. I encourage all of the “stand-up men” out there — unbowed and unbowing as they helplessly watch their world crumble around them — to go out and try to make a slave of any of the people who bow in worship. Let me know how that works out for ya.

If your master allows it.

As for the rest of us, who have noted the evidence and extracted ourselves from the time-hole that is the “they did/they didn’t” debate; we are of course free to move on passed the threshold folks have been stuck at for some 3+ decades now, and sink our teeth into meaningful questions regarding prayer posture like why and who and where and when?

Incidentally, sheep don’t bow. Wolves on the other hand do. Guess who eats who? If you’re having trouble answering that, just look around the West.

Freedom

Freedom. It is an interesting word. A word that has been with the various Anglo-Nordic peoples since (at least) the dawning of Proto-Germanicism, which, like Celticism, was the only branch of the greater Indo-European tree that developed the notion out of a root (*pri-) that originally meant “beloved”.

This is the same root that we get the word friend from incidentally.

One might think of the development of the word free — from “beloved” to “not in bondage” — in terms of, say, who you would have as a room-mate in your home. Or who you would invite to home-sit for you while you were away on some extended trip. In short, in terms of who you would grant the freedom of your home to. And the answer is of course, to one’s beloved, to one’s friend/s, to those who are trustworthy and so can be trusted to conduct themselves as you yourself would; and who are thus free to “act as they will” (ie. in a beloved, friendly manner) within one’s home.

Certainly, one could argue that such a state isn’t exactly “unburdened by constraint”, but it is not a conscious matter of legalities and/or a check-list of criteria either. Friendship and the freedom that walks hand-in-hand with it are mostly organic evolutions, the unconscious attraction of like to like, such that among friends there is not a feeling, much less a manifestation of constraint. Each are acting, unrestrained according to their own habits of conduct, as they please. It’s just that the conduct that pleases one is also the conduct that pleases the other, eg. I don’t have to demand that you wash your dishes because you dislike dishes piling up just like me and act accordingly.

A common thew is shared between friends, and in a broader cultural sense between the free; thew being an Old English (and uniquely West Germanic) word that means “custom, habit, morals, conduct” and carries implications of “sinew, muscle, strength”, acting as what we today might call “social fabric”.

One could thus easily say that, like friendship and freedom, thew and freedom walk hand-in-hand; though again one is forced to acknowledge that thew doesn’t necessarily leave the individual “free of constraint” in any universal or objective manner, and contains within itself an implicit set of criteria which, if not organically met, will certainly leave a new-comer feeling constrained, a long-stander ashamed, and in either case, as the odd-one-out.

“Everyone! Look! There’s Johnny!!! He has no clothes on!!!”

Freedom it would thus seem is something of a relative state, that comes with implicit constraints that are most apt to be imparted and enforced socially, organically. Indeed, by the reckoning of our ancestors — in fact by the reckoning of common sense — freedom had no effective existence outside of social interactions and relationships, outside of human society, and was a thing that could only be achieved in relation to one’s fellow man.

To be free meant, to our ancestors, the freedom to take part in society; shouldering it’s obligations and benefiting from it’s privileges.

In contrast to the free, our ancestors had, not so much the thrall or slave, much less the young — both of which had no rights under law, but nevertheless benefited from the rights and freedoms enjoyed by their owners or adult relations — but rather the wretch, who, regardless of his degree of self-sufficiency, was left without either law or loved ones to shield him and secure his rights, to care for him in sickness and/or old age, and who was left to contend with the merciless tyranny of nature and any man or group of men that wanted to work ill-will upon him. And whose line would, at best, end with him, or alternately, produce offspring who would be damned to a wretched life of loneliness, hopelessness, and perhaps even inbred dysfunction.

As the Havamal poem says, “Man rejoices in man”. Likewise the Old English Rune Poem.

This freedom to take part in society, as a member of society, was imparted by our Anglo-Nordic ancestors at the tribal assembly, the (ahem) “state” assembly, as noted as early as Tacitus, who wrote,

Then in the presence of the council one of the chiefs, the young man’s father, or some kinsman, equips him with a shield and a spear. These arms are what the “toga” is with us, the first honour with which youth is invested. Up to this time he is regarded as a member of a household, after-wards as a member of the commonwealth.”

It can also be gleaned in the respect of the indigenous Germanic state for freedom and thew, as seen in it’s largely fine based system of crime and punishment. Their system of crime and punishment was itself a manifestation of Anglo-Nordic thew, representing one aspect of our shared customs and habits of conflict resolution; a thew evolved to deal with the inevitable sprains and tears in thew, which, as such, remained largely in the hands of the people and their locality, to be used or not used, used well or poorly, as the participants saw fit, and in which the state played little to no role. This led to the characterization of the Icelandic gothar for example as being “lazy” and/or (ahem) “too permissive” in regards to the conduct of their folk, ie. “too respectful” of their freedom. Only in the most severe of cases, such as deeds which threatened to undermine the collective trust, eg. secret killing, was the state empowered to mete out more familiar legal punishments such as flogging, imprisonment or execution. This attitude extended to military service outside of a certain distance from one’s own locality among the Anglo-Saxons. No law could be invoked to oblige a man to take part in his king’s call to muster or force a man to go aviking; though thew might well prompt a man to do so at least once in his youth. Whatever the case, as a matter of both law and thew no man would be forgiven for failing to rise to the defense his own locality and he would be dealt with very harshly, be it by law or mob, and understandably so I would think, by his neighbours within that locality for refraining to do so.

It can also be seen in the beliefs and functioning of the Germanic hierarchy as well; in which the free could fall into thralldom (play at dice anyone?), the thrall win his freedom, and being the firstborn of the reigning king vouchsafed one nothing. As the Havamal states, a king’s son, an uppity thrall, none should be so trusting as to trust in these. Unlike the caste structure of our fellow Indo-European belief system, Hinduism, the indigenous Germanic hierarchy was dynamic rather than static, and while ancestry certainly meant something, the ability of the individual was given it’s rightful due. And the right of even a thrall to self-rule — not to mention basic obligation of self-sufficiency — under his own roof-tree was recognized and observed; albeit by thew rather than by law.

The problem with freedom in this post-modern world is a lack of thew, a lack of common identifiers, and the self-regulation that comes with it. And it was toward the notion of thew in general that Tacitus was speaking when he wrote, “good habits are here more effectual than good laws elsewhere.”, and provide the real reason why, among the Anglo-Saxons for example, state executions were so rare (ie. based on an examination of felon graveyards).

Not strong laws, but strong thew.

Freedom flows upward, out of the soil, into the sole’s of one’s feet, and throughout one’s entire being. And only then can it, not so much descend, from “on high” as it were, from the state, as simply turn about, reflect and affirm, that which gave it life and upon which it’s continued vitality relies. Freedom does not come from political institutions, laws, or intellectualized social constructs or ideologies.

Freedom comes from the habits of a people. From thew. Or not at all. And thew cannot be all things to all people. It cannot be intellectualized and instilled. It evolves through local, first person interaction.

Heritage, the Swastika and Vilification

swastika

An Anglo-Saxon grave urn. The swastika was, next to the Tir rune, the most common symbol to be found on grave urns.

It would seem that the LARPers of British Columbia Heathenry are up to, well, their same old LARPing. I read a blog posting from their current headman, John Mainer, today that seemed to be in regards to the use of runic symbols on the sweaters of the Norwegian Olympic team and the vocal denunciation of their use as “hate symbols used by the Nazis”. In his blog entry Mainer took what at first appeared to be an admirable stance in defending Norway’s use of the runes. Unfortunately, it all quickly devolved into an entry on “racists” and how the swastika most certainly is a symbol of hate.

“Yes, some racists will continue to try to steal the glory and worth of the symbol for their own perverted uses, but it is clear they are trying to pervert something they don’t own. The runes are a part of our heritage. The Swastika is different. We lost that one.” — John Mainer, Swastika and Runes; Heritage or Hate

Let’s forget for a moment that this was written by a man who has explicitly stated, regarding an ancestral belief system, that he doesn’t care what the ancestors believed and is happy to selectively use the lore of Germanic belief as a rhetorical veneer to advance his own personal and political beliefs. The same man who falsely accused the Asatru Folk Assembly of trying to speak for all of Heathenry; when in fact AFA headman, Matt Flavel, had explicitly mentioned that his statements were organizationally specific and in reference to the AFA alone. And the same man that waged a veritable flame-war on the co-founder of the organization that he now stands as head of, the B.C. Heathen Freehold, for allegedly stealing from the organization, but when challenged on why he didn’t bring the matter up to the police, said that he didn’t want to make (B.C.) Heathenry look bad. Because apparently a year+ long flame-war all over the internet doesn’t make (B.C.) Heathenry look bad.

But yes, the swastika is lost. Because Mr. Mainer said so. And for all of Heathenry. Or you’re “racist”.

In his blog entry, Mainer states that the swastika, “… was not a major cultic symbol during the timespan our surviving lore was collected”.

In fact, the peculiar truth of the matter is that, despite the swastika being clear and present in enough early Indo-European cultures and cults (Hinduism, Buddhism, Persian, Greek, etc.) as to give the impression of Proto-Indo-European origins — and does in fact pre-date the Proto-Indo-Europeans — the only time span in which the swastika was a cultic symbol among the Germanic peoples was precisely “during the time span our surviving lore was collected”.

It’s use spanned the 3rd century AD to the Viking Age.

He goes on to state,

“It (the swastika) had been forgotten by Europe, by the turn of the last century, and it was exhumed in a most terrible way, and for a most terrible purpose.”

And to the extent that this is true, the same could be said for Germanic belief in general, and the runes in specific. And it often is said of the runes and Germanic belief. As such it might strike one as odd that Mr. Mainer wants anything to do with so “historically tainted” a belief system as Germanic belief, but of course, as already noted above, he doesn’t and, not at all unlike our glowing P.M. of Canada, is just playing at fashion and dress-up … and calling people “racists”.
As ever, these types are gifted at the art of projection, such as when Mainer writes,

“Those who are taking up the Swastika now are very much carrying on the vision of the Nazi party, and those working to “reclaim it” are either innocent dupes, or far more commonly, very cold calculating propaganda masters, with an overarching vision of transforming the identity of European descendant peoples through the conscious reshaping of national/cultural symbols and faith.”

Apparently, it is not enough for people to use the symbol in a form that is not contextually associated with the Nazi party. And so, according to Mainer, such people, rather than being, perhaps, “insistent yet sensitive” are “dupes”. Or worse yet, “calculating propaganda masters”; even though it is very clear the Mainer and his ilk are the only one’s possessed of “… an overarching vision of transforming the identity of European descendant peoples through the conscious reshaping of national/cultural symbols and faith.”

Nothing could be more apparent.

The swastika is still openly and proudly displayed on Buddhist temples throughout the Orient today. Even here in downtown Victoria, they can be found “tiled” into the floors of shops. It is a symbol that is thousands of years old, within the context of which, the Nazis are barely even a blip on the historical radar. There are those among us however who, for some perverse reason, would like to see that blip turned into a line that extends down through time and into future generations. Oddly, these perverse people are not neo-Nazis, but rather people who claim Asatru as their own; understanding of course that anyone can make a claim.

Personally, when I took up the proverbial relics of the gods, lost on Idavoll over the course of our historic Ragnarok, I took up all of my heritage — no, I haven’t performed a human sacrifice … yet 😉 — and not merely those aspects of it that meet with the approval of the politically correct thought police.

“(Memorial) Stones seldom stand by the road, unless raised by kin for kin.”
— the Havamal

Heathen Hiking and the Beauty of Gerd II

I was hoping to limit this blog entry to (the highlights of) our hikes for 2017, but noticed my last “Heathen Hiking” entry left off in September of 2016 and didn’t included the handful of hikes that rounded out the year. These included a return to East Sooke Park, albeit to the Aylard Farms area in the southeastern section of the park, a trip up Mount Brule in Sooke’s Sea-to-Sea Park, a father-son expedition up the Sooke River with a stop at the old resort ruins, our first trip out to Mary Vine Falls near the Sooke Potholes, and of course one of our most epic hikes to date which saw us on the ferry over to Salt Spring Island in a marathon 40 km hike that carried us up Bruce Peak on the southwestern portion of the island, over to the its west coast, and then looping it (which required some pretty crazy bushwhacking at times) north along the coast and finally back around to Fulford Harbour just as the sun was setting and a real west coast rain began to fall. Our thanks to little Domo the dog, who insistently befriended us as we moved into the thick of it and guided us through some of the more uncertain stretches of the hike!

There are so many good images to share from those hikes, but with 2017 still ahead of us, here at two. This first is from my “Sooke River ruins” hike with my son,

sookeruins

And the second is from atop the aforementioned Bruce Peak (elevation 709 meters),

brucepeak

It was cool to be up above the clouds and the fog bank that was rolling in … almost reminiscent of the prairies in that you could see miles upon miles of uninterrupted miles upon miles. But speaking of the fog bank that rolled; it was quite the sight to see and to be honest, as my imagination played on the imagery it presented — in an apocalyptic, natural disaster sort of way — it even frightened me a bit … the sheer magnitude of the phenomenon! But really, you would have had to have been there.

Such was the end of 2016.

In 2017 we went on some 22 hikes that carried us a combined total of 543 km (337 miles); which is about the distance between the city of Victoria on the southern tip of Vancouver Island here to Port Hardy, the last stop as one nears the northern tip! And the year began where it left off; with my (now) fiance and I catching the ferry over to Salt Spring Island to tackle its southeastern coast and then onward out to Ruckle’s Park at its eastern extreme.

We had spotted a fair share of bird’s of prey over the past year, eagles no exception, but all year I had longed to spot a bald eagle perched a top a tree for a really good picture. This was my “dream shot” as far as eagles went, but right at the beginning of the day, atop Reginald Hill, my fiance spotted two bald eagles about 200′ off, perched atop a tree the apex of which was basically eye-level with us! And you know, it really is like they say, “When something appears to good to be true … it can’t get any better!”

eagles

They have some really BIG trees on the Vancouver island here. This is not one of them.

bigtree

While we expanded our range this year, breaking new ground on Salt Spring Island, heading as far out west as Sombrio Beach and as far north as Mount Provost in Duncan, the hills and mountains north of Sooke are a gift that just keeps on giving. Being a mere hour bus ride and then maybe a 5km walk to the nearest trail head, the place is basically in our backyard and offers a vast expanse of official parkland and “unbounded” back-country to be explored.

sooke

Some bemoan the blocking off and tearing up of the old roads that used to run through these hills — and now serve as speedy hiking arteries for penetration into more remote areas — reasoning that such has limited access for families that might enjoy a day out at some of the small lakes that dot the terrain. I on the other hand appreciate the fact that, while there certainly are some very nice places that families have convenient access to (eg. Thetis Lake), there are nevertheless some places that there is no convenient access to; Sheild’s Lake for example (image below). The lack of convenience keeps those predisposed to convenience, to doing whatever is the easiest as a matter of habit, away, which in turn helps preserve the (certainly relative) “sanctity” of such areas. It makes a difference (IMO) when you have to actually work to get there, cultivating an attitude similar to “pride of palace”.

sheilds

Sheild’s Lake (no, I don’t keep mis-spelling that) is a beaut; nestled high up in the Sooke Mountain area, in fact due norther of Sooke Mountain, and hedged in by hills and mountains that rise up, amphitheater like, on all sides.

Lay the foundation for another Uppsala-style hof anyone?

Seriously though, it is a favourite spot for locals who, first, are actually willing to make the 10+ km hike in, loaded with gear and mostly uphill, and want to enjoy some back-country camping … away from all the rules to be sure, but all things considered, closer to common sense nevertheless.  We would return within the week, loaded with gear, to do exactly that.

sheildscamp

We would also return to Salt Spring Island, my son in tow, one more time in 2017 to explore Mount Erskine; due east of the town of Ganges on its western coast. The main attraction was the “fairy doors” that dot the park, built into the sides of random rocks and trees along its trails. The hike itself was only 13 km and thus a little on the slack side from what we are used to, but the fairy doors were interesting and in terms of the main viewpoint atop Erskine — looking north along Vancouver Island’s eastern coastline — it paid BIG for relatively little effort.

erskine

Our longest hike to date would have been the epic Bruce Peak (Salt Spring Isle) hike of late 2016 that I mentioned at the beginning of this entry. It measured out to be 39.9 km and carried us to an elevation of 903 meters. It was long. It was grueling. It was filled with uncertainty as the day wore on and the clouds grew ever darker. Man. Did I mention how much I appreciated that dog, Domo, who found us??? We made it back to Fulford Harbour just as the last light of day faded and the heavy rains began to fall; not to mention as the last ferry rounded the bend into the harbour headed towards the docks. Sigh. What an adventure! But in terms of at least distance, it was doomed to be outdone.

Around mid-May we decided to tackle what was less a trail hike and more a roadside marathon walk out to French Beach some 20 km west of Sooke; which itself measured in at 43 km over a 12 hour day. We saw some very nice sights as we hit a number of different points along the West Coast highway that day, but the sweeping vista …

french

The highlight of the day however was completely random and had to be marveled at with the naked eye alone or risk being missed out on altogether.  We were on the return journey back to Sooke and had decided to “pull off” the road and down a trail into bush for a brief rest-stop. A turkey vulture swooped into the trees from the branches above, and then was immediately followed by a golden eagle … within about 100′ of us! And let me tell you, this bird was BIG, making the turkey vulture look like a mere crow in comparison. Its wing span was well over 6′ and probably closer to 7′! It was SO big that, much like the aforementioned fog bank rolling into Fulford Harbour that day atop Bruce Peak, I actually felt a twinge of fear at the sight! Although unlike the fog bank, no imagination was necessary!

Oh! Speaking of twinges of fear, I mentioned in my last Heathen Hiking entry my confrontation with the Goldstream Trestle and the discovery that I had a fear of heights. Well, I finally made it over the sucker this year! I needed my fiance to hold my hand while I did it mind you (lol), but I made it over nevertheless! The old train-tracks carried on from there for a stretch until we came to a rock on which someone had written the words “turn back”. And so like all of the wise and intelligent people portrayed in your typical found footage movie, we “pressed on”. And soon after we came to a second (daunting) trestle. Word had it that some distance beyond this the tracks would pass through a tunnel, but in all honesty, I was already emotionally drained from my first trestle crossing and, quite simply, was not up to the (further) challenge. Which of course has the merit of leaving me with future challenges (of this nature) to surmount!

We’ll meet again Goldstream Trestles! And you ain’t seen nothin’ yet! 😉

Anyway, while French Beach had been the furthest westward we’d trekked on foot, we reunited with a couple of guys from our Heather Mountain hike of 2016 to hit the old Priests Cabin and from there hike from the seal grotto out to Sombrio Beach, some 36 km west of French Beach.

sombriogroup

As one of our immediate goals is to hike the Juan de Fuca trail — a 47 km coastal hike that stretches from China Beach near the town of Jordan River to Botanicla Beach in the west near Port Renfrew — this hike would give us our first real taste of the ruggedness of the coastal trails.

sombriotrail

While we have had plenty of experiences at this point with trails that turn into creeks with the onset of, ahem, “winter” and the associated mud-traps , the mud traps along this stretch of the Juan de Fuca were quite significant and entirely unavoidable.

Sombrio Beach itself was “recently” featured in a B-movie called “Dark Cove”, about a group of campers who head there for a weekend of fun and wind up with a dead body on their hands. They decide to hide in a crevice, the “Emerald Cavern”, that leads to a hidden waterfall.

Having watched this movie a couple of weeks earlier, it was cool to visit the spot and be, like, “Hey! This is where they hid the body!!!” lol

emeraldfalls

emeraldfalls2

With the opening of the new “Sooke Hills Wilderness Trail” — that runs northward from Mount Wells near Goldstream to connect Victoria with other regional trails further north — French Beach didn’t remain our longest hike of the year; which itself carried us along this new trail to the northern extreme of Shawnigan Lake, and from there east to the coast and then south again to the Mill Bay Ferry and which all tolled measuring in at 44.3 km. That said, the majority of the hike felt very tame, if still fulfilling in its own right. It also gave us a taste for exploration even further afield.

This led to a trip up island to the nearby town of Duncan, where we got a hotel room and tackled a hike out and to the top of Mount Prevost on our first day, and then a hike out to and around Stoney Hill Park on the next. The Prevost hike stretched some 31 km (19 miles) and carried us to an elevation of 788 meters (2585 feet) in temperatures that reach up to 32 Celsius (89 F). Fortunately we were sparred the brunt of the sun on our way up, but the effort was certainly worth the reward and it represented our second highest “climb”; though it still fell well short of Heather Mountain. And “Heather Mountain” is not likely to survive 2018 as my fiance and I head out to Valemount, British Columbia for our honeymoon and what promises to be some pretty spectacular hiking!

Anyway, this is Mount Prevost as seen from the outskirts of the town of Duncan …

prevost

And here we are at the top …

prevost2

And a better view of the, well, of the view …

prevost3

Those are the mountains of Salt Spring Island in the distance there, directly ahead of us and stretch off to the left of the picture. The smaller mountain in the foreground is Mount Tzouhalem. We would be heading out to the otherside of that on the ‘morrow bound for Stoney Hill Park; which I had spied on our first trip out to Salt Spring late in 2016. The park sits atop this wall of stone in the background there, which I wanted to go to since first spotting it.

stoneyhill

And now here’s the view from the otherside, dominated by Mount Maxwell with the stretch of shore I’m standing on in the last pic. a little bit further off the rightside of this pic. Erskine is a little further (north) off the leftside of the pic, fyi.

stoneyhill2

This hike stretched for some 34 km, a lot of which was on pavement and which, combined with the previous day’s Prevost hike, had me limping pretty well the entire way back to our hotel room in the 32 Celsius heat of the day!

I boast rather than complain!

Our next hike would see us heading back out along the “Rabbity Trail” that runs along the shores of the Gowlland Tod range back in the Victoria area. This was the site of our first and entirely impromptu over-nighter. This time we came prepared for the night and set up a crude little camp, under the stars, about 3 hours down the trail head from Mckenzie Bight beach and right on the water. Here we were greeted by a pod(?) of seals who could be heard splashing about and snorting as they emerged for the rest of the night. If not for the fire-ban the province was currently under, and a lack of water shoes to protect my feet, I would have jumped in and swam with them. And I might return next year or thereafter to do exactly that!

gowlland

Here are a couple of the seals that were so curious about us and our music. I counted at least 6 in total …

gowlland2

We would spend one more night camping out in 2017, only a few days later at Island View Park on the eastern shores of the Saanich Peninsula, but by that point the smoke from all of the fires burning in the province was beginning to drift over the island, kinda killing the appeal of “getting out there into the fresh air”.

Nevertheless, it was a good years hiking. In fact, 2017 became our year for eagle spottings. And it wasn’t just eagles. While we had an encounter with an adolescent black bear last year, we had an enoucnter with a big momma and her cub just this past November on our last trip out to Mary Vine Falls while heading back in, ie. going the opposite direction wasn’t really an option. Fortunately, it was salmon season and we soon ran into three other hikers who were themselves heading back in, and so mamma bear soon lost interest and wandered back into the bush with her cub.

sookebears

Some of the scenery from that same day …

sooke2

And of course, having mentioned Mary Vine Falls on at least a couple of occasions by this point, here they are …

maryvine

 

Musings on the Vanadis

freyja

It is often said of the Nordic goddess Freyja that she is a goddess of sexuality. While that might very well be the case, the notion is often carried out into the murky realm of whoredom which folk seek to rebut simply by trying to recast “bad” as “good”.  Lending to this notion of “Freyja as whore” folk will cite the Eddic lore that states that she has lain with all of the gods, her own brother included; that she is comparable to the mythic goat Heidhrun prancing about in heat, and of course the tale in which she lays with four dwarves so as to win the fabled necklace Brisingamen. Of course, the first two bits of lore come, within the stories, from the mouths of her detractors (Hyndla, Loki) and can hardly be taken at face value, while one of the Icelandic sagas, Njal’s saga I believe it was, relates how a Christian Icelander was outlawed for calling the Vanadis a whore/bitch. So, all we truly have in this regard, beyond some very questionable hearsay, is the tale of the Brisingamen, the precise nature of which we today are left largely to guess at.

My purpose however is not to disprove Freyja’s association with sexuality or, really, to wax at all academic on the matter. Rather I would simply shake up such conventionally accepted notions as surrounds the goddess and offer a perception of her that is not the product of those out to discredit and undermine her (and indeed out indigenous beliefs themselves as a whole) by an utter reluctance to see beyond the base carnal realities that all higher truth is rooted in.

It is that “higher truth” that we should be interested in.

As with all good lies, there may indeed be some kernel of truth to the words of Freyja’s detractors. Freyja may indeed have been regarded as having a strong sexual component. Rather than casting her as some two-bit mortal whore however, one might be inclined to say that she is the spirit of the passion that exists between lovers. And so that where there are lovers engaged in a “passionate embrace” there is Freyja. Following these carnal lines alone, one might say, in this regard, that highest expression of Freyja would have been more similar to Hinduisms Kama Sutra and certain Tantraic teachings rather than the “Girls Gone Wild” nonsense of the low-minded and uncultured.

Indeed, I have reason to believe that the magical art of seidhR, that is so strongly associated with Freyja, and was so “strongly opposed” by the early Church in Norway, was a cult that taught mysto-magical arts of seduction, ie. the generation of sexual energy and it’s use to manipulate the mind of other beings.

But as the spirit of sexual passion, to refer to Freyja as a whore is to misunderstand and cheapen the fundamental value of sexuality, the intense passion of lovers for one another, and to drive the very spirit of passion itself from one’s bedroom; a passion that extends well beyond the bedroom and into the higher realms of passionate devotion for one another as reflected in the supreme value the indigenous Germanic people placed on monogamy, and mythically reflected  in Freyja’s own longing for her absent lover OdhR (Mental Excitement).

But Freyja is more even than the spirit of sexuality, or even of passion in general, but also of sensuality and what my high school Western Civ. teacher would have called “the aesthetic experience”; which itself was basically a recasting of Plato’s hierarchy of thought. Freyja promotes a fine appreciation of all the better things in life, noting, indeed, relishing in their fine and subtle details, like the brush strokes of a painting, the subtle differences in taste of a fine wine, etc.

A stately connoisseur of beauty. A Lady. A Freyja.

Indeed, I would tend to think that much of Freyja-lore survived, after a fashion, and can be gleaned in Eleanor of Aquitaine and her so-called “court of love”, where the ideas of ideas of courtly love, chivalry and the troubadours were brought together; not so much as a pure expression of Eleanor’s native Germanic spirit, but as a reaction of that spirit to the increasingly rigid structure of NW European society that began with the absorption of southern European culture and the introduction of Abrahamic Christianity.

The knightly notion of the lady as muse, be it in battle, or as found re-expressed in the Renaissance, in the production of art.

The Law of Ymir

leowolf

 

“Not at all do we consider him to be a god. He was evil and all his descendants. We call them rime-thursar.” — Snorri Sturlusson, Prose Edda

By the indigenous worldview of our ancestors the present is an accumulation of interwoven *layers* that set the context of our lives, both individually and collectively (in ever expanding circles of relation out to all of humanity).

We see this in the evolution of the primal realm of Niflheim, formed by the layers upon layers of rime and frost that built up around the primal spring called Hvergelmir (Seething Cauldron), and we see this in the actions of the Great Mothers at the Divine Counsel of the Tivar in Upper-Heaven, as they “lay the layers/laws” (of Divine Judgement) into the holy spring of Wyrd. And of course we see it in the folklore and the appearance of the Little Mothers at a child’s birth who would set the baby’s “orlogR”, the “primal layer/law” or “basic context” of their life … which would of course be deeply influenced — wherever that stops short of “micro-managed” — by the “primal law” of the family, tribe, culture, etc. that they sprung from.

Layers upon (interwoven) layers. Laws upon laws. A veritable three dimensional tapestry.

This is a useful perceptual tool in approaching the “Creation myth” of the Germanic peoples as embodied in the Norse-Icelandic Eddas; that each event along the path to Creation (and forward) represents successive “laws” or “precedents” that set the context of human existence on a fundamental level.

And THE primal law of all existence is, arguably (ie. Ginnungagap), the “Law of Ymir” whose “offspring” it is said are all brutish and hostile, the very forces of hardship and adversity as inherent in nature and natural existence; to which all things, great and small, are and ever shall be subject too (to one degree of another).

There is no escape from this primal law. It is set. Indeed, if one can rely on nothing else in life, it is an undeniable fact that one can always count on hardship and adversity. It shall always be there to hurt you, to make you suffer, to kill you, and then to casually step over your broken form utterly heedless that you were ever even there to begin with.

And this is how it should be; a fact that one can most certainly argue against, in all futility, but which remains a fact nevertheless. And it remains a fact that has and shall prove itself, over and over and over again, and never show itself off as anything other than the cold, hard truth.

No malicious intentions necessary.

There are of course mitigating factors, mythologically speaking, in the form of the All-Nourisher, Audhumbla, the Tivar and of course in the the foundation of the “innangeard” or “in-group/community”. But that combination of adversity (Ymir) and nurture (Audhumbla) is what gave birth to the first of the gods, to glory, and the process of the cultivation of resilience, strength and excellence, of divinity, in which adversity is a key component. And in which adversity remains ever-present, regardless of one’s degree of strength, fortitude, and excellence.

The “Law of Ymir” remains ever in place.

Adversity is a given.

And the best life is had by the those who accept that, who look upon it as a challenge; by those who have an inkling of exactly how adverse life could potentially be without the buffer of the innangeard established by the gods and maintained by our ancestors since time immemorial. And this keen awareness also makes such people some of the most thankful.

“the hardships of the freedman mark the freedom of his condition.” — Tacitus, Germania

 

Courage and Wisdom

“There is yet another AEsir, whose name is Tyr. He is very daring and firm-minded. His counsels rule over victory in war, and so it is good for men of valour to call upon him. There is an old-saying, that he who surpasses other men and does not waver is Tyr-bold. He is also so wise, that it is said of anyone who is very smart, that he is Tyr-wise.” — Snorri Sturlusson, Prose Edda

The connection between courage and wisdom was, clearly, not lost on our ancestors … though many today are happy to attribute Tiw (ON. TyR) with great courage while over-looking the great wisdom part; for all that one only has to read the very next sentence

But it is not at all difficult to see the connection between the two … a connection made long before Aristotle was rediscovered by the West. After all, what is the essence of courage? Is it simply to face a danger? Well, that certainly is a manifestation of courage, but on a more quintessential level it is selflessness, the ability to place one’s own self aside, a trait well demonstrated by Tiw in the tale of the Fen-Wulf’s binding. One might be tempted, in terms of the cultivation of wisdom, to call it objectivity … the ability to see and judge a thing for what it inherently is rather than as one would have it be as a result of one’s own subjective hopes, fears, guilt, pride, preferences, etc., and then to act accordingly, no matter the consequences to one’s self.

There is a word for a man heading towards a war-zone that is all wrapped up in his own well-being. Coward. And how could it be otherwise? But one need not be heading towards a war-zone to demonstrate that most despised of qualities. Take the general reaction to U.S. President Trump for example, or the Left in general. All fear-based hyperbole and projection, done from within the safety of a mob.

“Courage is the first of human qualities because it is the quality which guarantees the others.” – Aristotle

After Death: Certitude or Mystery?

skeleton

The importance of the remains of the dead, their treatment, their burial, the tending of graves and honouring of one’s dead kinsfolk and heroes. It was an important aspect of the elder Germanic beliefs; with enough parallels in both the beliefs of their fellow Indo-European cultures and the associated archaeological record, to nail it down as a very ancient, very significant, and very enduring thing.

But was Hell simply the grave and grave mound? Was the soul truly and irrevocably bound to it’s remains? Was there in fact no Germanic “afterworld”, beyond life in the grave-mound, as more than one well informed person has proposed? And indeed if the remains of one’s ancestors were lost and/or forgotten so to were their souls to the kindred?

Well, I like this perspective. It’s something that began to dawn on me a couple of decades ago after reading Gronbech’s “Culture of the Teutons”; in which he drew a parallel between the cosmology of the Eddas and the physical realities of a tribe’s surroundings. And there is a lot in elder Germanic lore that certainly points in this direction.

However, while this understanding is a very good foundation — rightly shifting our attention, energy and emphasis away from the otherworld and on to this world, away from the goldstar we will get in some otherworld and on to the legacy we leave for the benefit of our community and descendants that remain in this world after we have departed, ie. world accepting — it nevertheless presents certain inconsistencies with other aspects of both Germanic and Indo-European lore; which, from subtle indications of language and elder figures of speech to ship-burials are suggestive of both a journey, and hence a destination, following death … undertaken from within the gravemound it would “certainly seem”.

For all of that, I still find that the Eddas, paint too detailed and too certain of a picture about such things. Who knows what lies ahead in that great journey taken after death? The dead … of which none of us are at this moment. As with the nature of the Tivar, I tend to dislike sharp and certain definitions of things a person doesn’t really know anything more-or-less about than anyone else. Certainly we have a sense of “life after death” … a sense that is of course the strongest in the presence of the bones of our ancestors, but if the ancient Greeks are any testament, a mound is a mound is a mound, each as the other a gate to Hades apparently, whether or not their ancestors or heroes were actually buried in “that” particular mound or worshiped at many different mounds in different localities. But no, certitude was never a promise or pretense of elder Germanicism, which was always happy to own it’s sense of things while happily letting those things be whatever they actually are apart from their sense of them. As can be gleaned in the following passage from Bede’s History of the English Nation, the elder culture knew how to honour to *mystery*,

“The present life man, O king, seems to me, in comparison with that time which is unknown to us, like to the swift flight of a sparrow through the hall wherein you sit at supper in winter amid your officers and ministers, with a good fire in the midst whilst the storms of rain and snow prevail abroad; the sparrow, I say, flying in at one door and immediately out another, whilst he is within is safe from the wintry weather. But after a short space of fair weather he immediately vanishes out of your sight into the dark winter from which he has emerged. So this life of man appears for a short while. But of what went before or what is to follow we are ignorant. If, therefore, this new doctrine contains something more certain, it seems justly to deserve to be followed.”

And in the poem Beowulf as it pertains to the death, funeral and otherworldly fate of Scyld Sceafing,

“Men do not know
truth be told, neither counselors
nor heroes under heaven, who unshipped that cargo.”

And in Book I of the Gesta Danorum,

“she drew him with her underground, and vanished… <snip> … purposed that he should pay a visit in the flesh to the regions whither he must go when he died. So they first pierced through a certain dark misty cloud, and then advancing along a path that was worn away with long thoroughfaring… <snip> … Going further, they came on a swift and tumbling river of leaden waters, whirling down on its rapid current divers sorts of missiles, and likewise made passable by a bridge… <snip> … Then a wall hard to approach and to climb blocked their further advance. The woman tried to leap it, but in vain, being unable to do so even with her slender wrinkled body; then she wrung off the head of a cock which she chanced to be taking down with her, and flung it beyond the barrier of the walls; and forthwith the bird came to life again, and testified by a loud crow to recovery of its breathing.

Did our ancestors believe in life after death? Certainly. But certitude about such things as no man can be certain about is not a selling point of the elder beliefs. As ever, truth is more about questions and less about answers. Beware the man who is certain about things no man could possibly be … for within him grow the seeds of evil.

Our Story

Indigenous Germanic belief was never so sharply compartmentalized a thing as we think of today when we think of religion. Certainly, our ancestors had their notions of what might properly be thought of as religious … those things “set apart” in dedication to the gods and their worship, and which were mostly the preoccupation of the tribal priests and/or head of household … but those beliefs impacted all other aspects of their culture. Language, poetry, mead, farming practices, battle formations, social institutions, tribal land masses, etc. were all ascribed sacral origins by our ancestors. There was no sacred-profane dichotomy, but rather a “trichotomy” of the sacred (wih), the blessed community (holy), and everything else outside of that (unholy, ie. not whole, not integral to the community).

While, in the past, Christianity came to replace the theological aspects of our indigenous beliefs, it did not mark the end of our beliefs from a properly heathen point of view. Ideology does not define our folk in the same way as it does universalists. The conversion was not the end of our story. Our languages continued, our folk cultures continued, our cultural perceptions and biases continued … not only to BE impressed, but to IMPRESS itself upon Christianity … and our blood continued.

Our story has continued, as ever, to grow and evolve in accordance with our historical experience … in accordance with our native notion of law, of precedent. Our Christianized ancestors of yore, for better and for worse (but mostly for worse), laid down a new precedent … and we have laid down other precedents since … the Eddic “laying of layers” … that have enabled us “heathens” to arise again and lay down a new precedent of our own, which is itself an old one … that recognizes our sacral origins as a people and the value of who we are. But it is all our story as the offspring of NW Europe. There is no Christian history or Heathen history. There is only European history, Germanic history. Our story.

Personal Reflections: My First Years as a Heathen and the Lessons Learned

My return to the native gods of my Germanic ancestors came back in 1983/84 when I was 12 years old, appropriately enough. I had fallen deathly ill for a 3 month stretch … in and out of the hospital on a weekly basis … test after test after test … the doctors at a loss as to what was wrong with me. The “geniuses” ultimately figured out, thanks in no small measure to my mother, that the medication that they had originally given me for whatever was initially wrong with me was in fact what was continuing to make me ill. But during that time, well, it was a lot of time to sit and ponder … a lot of different things, but most poignantly, my own mortality.

You know, a straight up and no-nonsense, “Am I dying?”.

Now, I was baptized a Catholic, went to Church with my father a few times before he carried on his merry way never to be seen again, was placed in Sunday school for, I dunno, a couple of weekends by my recently single mother, and went to Church on the very odd occasion with my maternal grandfather as a family thing. You could say I was “pop Christian” or “folk Christian”. I believed in a “higher power”, in God, and that being a good, believing human being pertained to one’s relationship with that higher power and one’s fate in the hereafter, but I was by no means “hung up” on religion … like some of the more hypocritical twigs of my maternal kindred — my grandfather not among them — who were the first to run to Church on Sunday and the last to do a good deed any other day of the week.

My religious worldview of the time consisted of various forms of Christianity, atheism, or “heavy metal Satanism”, incidentally. I had not even heard of Wicca, to say nothing of Asatru … a knowledge of which would not reach me until something like 1991, give or take a year.

So anyway, there I was, moderately Christian, 12 years old going on 13, wondering if I was going to outlive this illness or simply die a slow, completely miserable death. So, naturally one might think, I prayed to Christ … to be healed, to be saved, for mercy. I mean, I was a kid. I hadn’t ever done anyone or anything any kind of grievous harm. I was good-natured. And I was a believer to the extent that I understood it. So, why wouldn’t Christ heal me??? But he didn’t. And during this time I was also evolving a growing awareness of “the viking gods” as I called them at the time … enough to know that at one point in time these were considered real gods actually worshiped by men and not just … comic book characters or something. So I prayed to Christ “to find out”, ie. internal self-dialogue, if it was okay with him for me to pray to them. And in this internal dialogue the “pop opinion” came out as response; NO! And so as “prayers” of this nature continued over the days and weeks, moving through all that “it’s God’s will” nonsense, ie. that you suffer in your illness and maybe die from it, the threat of eternal damnation was ultimately introduced … and that was pretty well the straw that broke the camel’s back for this suffering little wretch. I’d had enough. It was wrong … this intimidation, this egotism, this sheer pettiness. And so, While I had by no means magically transcended the sheer terror of the threat of eternal damnation, which my long illness had given me something of a taste of, I was nevertheless resolved; and so I decided to pray to Thunor, whom I called by his Anglicized Old Norse variant, Thor, at the time. It was the same deal, this prayer, ie. internal self-dialogue, and I asked the Thunderer if I’d go to a good place when I died if I worshiped him. He told me, no … that one’s place in the hereafter has nothing to do with who one believes or does not believe in. And that only one’s deeds shall earn one Heaven or Hell. And on that note, still no more certain that eternal damnation didn’t still await me, I forsook Christ and swore myself to the native deities of my Germanic ancestors. And soon after, the cause of my illness was discovered and I began to get my health back in short order … though I milked the entire affair for the next five years so as to avoid going to school as much as possible … running with the tough crowd for the first few years, but going it more-or-less alone, as relative to my former “privileged” position, for the next few. Truth be known, I had very little structure and authority, ahem, “weighing me down” through it all and I ran as wild and as beset as a lone wolf; guided only by the warrior ethos of our ancestors as embodied in the myths (Eddic) and legends of our folk (eg. Walter of Aquitaine, Deitrich of Bern, Hrolf Kraki); which indeed, in hindsight could hardly have been more ideal in these modern times and those earlier years of the Reawakening. And needless to say perhaps, there were a lot of very important, very hard lessons learned during that stretch … about who was and who wasn’t “tough” for starters, starting with myself, and moving on to the nature of violence, hardship and adversity, and the true value of violence, hardship and adversity; not to mention getting real about the entire “quest for Valhalla” romanticism, which certainly has it’s place, I suppose, as relative to age-set and then profession, but for most of us the process flows from boy to wolf to man.

The Creation myth, and the nature of the divine as it pertains to the world of men, that I grew up with from 12/13 years old onward corresponded with my experience of life; each coming to inform the other as “resonant reflections” of the other. The belief that the Tivar are NOT all-powerful or all-knowing, any more than they are all loving or accepting. There are many, many other “spirits” in the Germanic cosmos afterall, spirits of nature, some of them quite powerful and all but heedless of humanity, breeding in me the understanding that a Germanic person would never ask in the wake of a natural disaster for example, “How could God allow this???” Rather we would thank the gods that, for all those that might have perished, so many yet remain. Indeed, the Norse-Icelandic Creation myth has it that the gods were not the Alpha. Nature just began to evolve, as the inevitable result of one of the infinite possibilities contained in the “pregnant void” called Ginnungagap … ultimately giving raise to it’s own polar opposite, as per the general pattern of Eddic evolution, in the birth of divine consciousness … as the end result of this aconscious process, to get all “Thorssonian” with you. But before that there was the birth of Ymir (Noisemaker) — Father Nature, as contrasted with Mother Nature/Nurture as embodied in the Eddic cow Audhumbla (Nourisher) — who’s multitude of offspring are said to be the very embodiment of hardship and adversity as found in nature. And it is from the synthesis of adversity and nurture that glory is born … glory being all but synonymous in the Indo-European tongues, and certainly the Germanic tongues, with divinity, with divine consciousness; from which Creation, as a thing distinct from “objective existence”, evolved.

In Germanic philosophy, the woes of life, the forces of adversity and transience, are a given. They might conceivably have to do with a god, sometimes, but this is not at all necessary or even common. They are simply the orlaeg of human existence within nature. For the most part, gods do not care about individual humans, save as they prove themselves to be exceptional and of benefit to the tribe, the evolution of the tribe being their only real concern … for the same reasons, I’d guess, that a farmer cares more about the well-being of the herd than any one animal within it (with the exception of what the pagan Roman’s called the “victim” of course, ie. the one set part by the gods). And really, from the native Germanic standpoint, the gods gave us the breath of life, creative consciousness, goodly form, the gifts of language and art and culture … the fundamentals and basic framework to handle our own affairs in this middle realm.

It often seems to me that people ask and expect too much of God/s, while at the same time dismissing or simply ignorant of the sheer abundance they have long since heaped upon us and which has served us well down through the ages and unto this very day. Prayer and sacrifice, as with magic and charms, are supplements to action, not substitutes for it. And bad things happen … because the universe is an inherently hostile place. From the smallest micro-organisms to the most humbling of inter-stellar phenomenon and at all points in between. You either rise to the challenges of existence … or you get crushed under them. There is no wishing them away.

The Thunder Beckons (written c.1989)

I was lost within a dark yawning void,
the taste of life bitter in my mouth
dreams shattered at an age far too young.
I cried out, but no answered.
For centuries I sat and withered,
waiting for a reply.
Then, just as hope began to fade
a low rumble of thunder echoed in the distance
Lightning flashed revealing a realm of gods, heroes and hope.
Soon, the lightning ceased, the gleaming spires faded from view,
but ever did the thunder beckon me onward!
Always offering the strength, to fight one last battle.
The will, to take one last step.
‘Til I stood at the gates of the Golden Realm.
Armed and gird, in gleaming mail,
And shining with the light of ancestral troth.