Over the past week, I’ve made several false starts at a post on the different roles mystics can play within the Heathen community. The post just wasn’t flowing, for a couple of different reasons. For one thing, I wasn’t sure I had anything original to say on the topic, which has already been covered admirably by Svartesol. For another, I do better with focusing on my own experiences when I write about mysticism, and I’m also more successful writing about Odin’s mysteries specifically; general instructional pieces aimed at some hypothetical mystically-minded person are just not my forte. Also, some things have been shifting in my life these past few weeks. I’m now finally at the point of conceding, once and for all, that I don’t really have a place in the Heathen community—not in any kind of conventional way that I’ve considered up until this point, anyhow.
When Odin moved us out here to Oregon (by which I mean, everything concerning the move fell into place so quickly and dramatically that I’m convinced He did everything except actually pack for us), He told me I would have a role to play out here, that my presence—and the Work I would eventually be doing—would help provide a home for mystical and devoted people who don’t fit in either with the Heathen mainstream or with the most vocal group of Heathen-flavored, woo-inclined dissidents. Of course, there was no expectation that I’d be filling such a role right away, but I was given to understand that it was the ultimate goal, and that my future Work would be heavily shamanic, largely solitary, and focused—at least primarily—on a non-human community. I would ultimately end up serving a human community, but only as a kind of side effect of my service to Odin and a certain group of non-human wights closely associated with Him.
Somehow, I lost track of this goal—and of what was supposed to be my focus–in the months after moving out here. A lot of energy that might have gone into my practice got funneled—by necessity—into job-hunting instead, and meanwhile a couple of my closest friends had found an attractive new and mysticism-friendly Heathen community in the GFS (Fellowship of Anglo-Saxon Heathenry). I decided to give it a try—oh, and why not also apply to the clergy program, too, while I was at it? I wove an argument in my mind—which is actually not a new argument; I have resorted to it a few times in the past—to the effect that, as Odin is both a King and a Wanderer/shaman, I needed to have one foot planted firmly in the Heathen community mainstream in order to function effectively as His priestess. And yes, that argument does make quite a bit of sense, but it also blithely disregards what He’s been telling me for years: that I’m not meant to be that kind of priestess, the kind who administers a kindred, organizes pub moots, and/or officiates at large public rituals. What it boils down to, in a nutshell, is that while I am a priestess, I am not meant to be Heathen clergy, per se. This goes back to what Odin has been stressing to me for years about the essence of priesthood itself: that while organizations can certify clergy left and right, only the Gods (and usually one God in particular, whichever one singles you out for His special service—in my case, Odin) can make a priest. Not all priests are clergy, and—harsh, but sorry, it happens to be true—not all clergy folk are truly priests. A true priest bears the mark of her God on her person; His presence enfolds her, almost like a cloak—except one that she can’t take off or put aside. A true priest is an emissary, servant and representative of his or her God, is engaged in doing the work of that God in Midgard, and is also called on to speak for and on behalf of that God when needed, sometimes as a messenger and sometimes as an advocate. The advocate role calls to mind the Old Norse term fulltrui, meaning “fully trusted one.” Just as we claim the Gods we are in this relationship with as fulltrui, so They call us to perform the same role, on Their behalf.
This begs the question, what would a priest of this type, dedicated to Odin and in His service, look like? What would she do, and what sorts of activities would she be engaged in? I plan to explore this topic a great deal in future posts, as well as in my forthcoming book, but here are my preliminary thoughts. As my friend Svartesol has observed, Heathen lore doesn’t really offer us any examples of Odinic priests or priestesses, certainly not the type who acted as respected community leaders and facilitated large public rituals. (Some kings were almost surely dedicated to Odin, but that’s a bit different, as a king is ideally more preoccupied with his country and people than with the Gods—which may be why the leaders of large Heathen organizations for the most part make poor priests. And there’s the massive every-nine-years Great Midwinter Sacrifice at Old Uppsala, but that too is rather different, a special occasion.) There are no stories of a priestess of Odin riding out to spread His blessings among the people, as the priestess of Freyr does in Gunnar Helming’s Saga. Instead, the surviving lore gives us dangerous outcasts such as Egil Skallagrimson and Starkad, a handful of human or quasi-human “valkyries” such as Sigdrifa/Brynnhild, shifty old women performing blood sacrifices among the early Germanic tribes (and possibly some of the later ones, such as—I strongly suspect–Ibn Fadlan’s “Angel of Death” among the Russ), and—again, I suspect, though this is never stated outright anywhere—sorceresses such as Egil’s arch-enemy Queen Gunnhild as well as some of the volvas and prophetesses. (They can’t all have been Freyja’s.)
For most of our spiritual ancestors, Odin—King though He might be in Asgard—was a rather shady figure, a God of outcasts and of those who dwelled on the outskirts of society, a God of witches, seidhrfolk, berserkers, and crazed poets. If He had a priesthood (and I believe He did, in some form) it certainly did not play the same role as the priesthood of Freyr or even of Thor would have; Odin’s priests would not have been about spreading peace and prosperity among the people, or hallowing buildings and crops. The only time His priests would have had a fully socially acceptable role is, I believe, in wartime, when there were troops to bless, enemy armies to dedicate (via the famous casting of the spear), and possibly captives to sacrifice. His priests probably also functioned as advisors to kings, who would surely have appreciated the kind of thinking-around-corners Odin’s folk do so well. The rest of the time, however, for most of the people, they would have been largely avoided and feared, like the God Himself, approached or sought out only at times of great need, when other sources of help had failed.
So, what does this mean for me? I am a priestess of Odin, consecrated and anointed by His own hands (in a horsed ritual that I’m not going into detail about here or elsewhere, a separate ritual from my marriage to Him). I’m not saying organizational clergy credentials have no value; they certainly do, for many, but I’ve found (through my own experience, when I was briefly an ordained Godwoman in the Troth) that they really don’t carry much clout outside of whatever organization conveyed the credentials in the first place. Regardless, I certainly don’t need an organization’s nod of approval for what Odin Himself has already done, and it’s far past time I accepted that and stopped looking for it. While that path is a valid and much-needed one in Heathenry, it isn’t the path for me, however much I might want it to be. Odin has other plans, which may include at some point starting my own smaller and loosely woven org (in addition to or as an extension of Odhroerir Fellowship), or helping out with someone else’s in which I am free to be who and what I am, and available to those who need what I can offer. But as patient as He’s been with me throughout my fruitless quest for community acceptance, He has let me know in no uncertain terms that He has finally had enough of my trying to fit myself into other people’s ideas of clergy or community.
Reading this post over, I realize that it may sound like a lot of the above is coming as a revelation to me. Believe me, it’s not; these are things Odin has been telling me for years now, and that I have known for years, but have been dragging my feet on accepting. I guess something within me really would like to have been the community priestess, even though I fully realize how contrary that role is to my nature. My decision not to pursue clergy certification with the GFS feels incredibly freeing, however. In fact, shortly after making the decision and telling a few key people, another opportunity presented itself which I’m not at liberty to talk about yet, something that WILL assist me in functioning as a priest in the way Odin has always intended: a representative and advocate for Him, engaged in building and furthering His cult as well as safeguarding His mysteries and sharing them with others at need.
It also may seem to some readers as though some of what I’ve written above, about being a servant of the Gods, contradicts certain things I wrote publicly earlier in the year criticizing what I saw (and still see) as questionable and dangerous practices by some segments of the Heathen-ish community. I don’t really think there is any contradiction. I’m not going to go into any kind of point by point discussion of what I wrote in the past (so don’t think to start one), but it has always been my experience that the Gods call us to Their service, and that while it is possible to resist that call, it is usually not healthy or safe for one’s sanity or spiritual and emotional well-being. Perhaps this comes from being a Virgo, but I have never been afraid of the concept of service; on the contrary, I find joy and satisfaction in truly meaningful service, and am quite clear on the boundaries separating it from abasement and abuse. While I don’t place those boundaries exactly where some people might assume—at least not when it comes to my Gods (and especially Odin)–I want to emphasize that I DO serve consensually, while also being fully aware that there would be unhappy consequences for me should I decide not to serve. (Many of them would be along the same lines of the consequences of turning my back on my human partner or other loved ones, my pets, etc; the point isn’t that I am free to turn my back on Odin, but that it’s something it wouldn’t even occur to me to do, because the effect on me would be far too devastating.)
Further, despite my above reflections on Odin’s nature, I still feel quite strongly that certain practitioners have gone too far in emphasizing His “ordeal” aspects. Regardless of what people may have thought about my “Darkness, Harsh Gods, and Healing” post, I have no blinders when it comes to the God I serve; I know He isn’t all sweetness and light (to say the least), and nothing I wrote—or have ever written—has denied that fact. I’ve always been aware that He is a dangerous God who most people would prefer to avoid (and would probably be better off avoiding)—now just as much as in elder Heathen times. Although I do feel Odin has been misrepresented by some people on both sides of the Great Woo Divide, my primary objection was (and is) to practices that may result in someone actually dying during an Odin ritual. While that was perfectly acceptable (and arguably, to be expected) a thousand years ago, it would not be looked upon kindly by the authorities today, and we would potentially all suffer for it. I also objected—and still do—to the tendency of emphasizing certain aspects of His nature (the ordeals being an obvious example) to the exclusion of all others. This can have a distorting and misleading effect; for example, while Odin obviously obtained some of His wisdom through subjecting Himself to ordeals, that doesn’t mean He necessarily wants all of us to follow suit, to the point of risking actual death or permanent injury. I am not against ordeal rituals across the board (for example, I consider the processes of getting my Valknut tattoo, climbing Spencer’s Butte by the really hard road, and getting my ear lobes stretched to have been be ordeal rites, of a sort—and certainly such things have their place in His path, within reason) but I am against the elevation of them to the highest (and most elite) form of worship. And while Odin is a very strongly masculine and sexual God (I am married to Him, so believe me I know this), that doesn’t mean—to be perfectly vulgar—that He’s interested in having sex with anything that moves, nor that all worship of Him should center around sex and BDSM rites; in fact, like all such distortions, I think that cheapens Him and skirts close to blasphemy.
I hope the above clarifies my previous points, as well as the ones I’ve discussed in this post, a bit. Please note, however, that I am not interested in discussing that particular community dramah any further at this point, beyond this clarification. I am moving forward, and have more important work to do.
In short, it isn’t Odin’s nature I’ve been struggling with these past few months, whatever some people may prefer to believe, but rather my own role as His priest. But finally, I’m ready to stop dragging my feet and follow the path He has been trying to show me all along. Future writings will explore this path further.
- Valgrind
Having this mini-altar in my workspace may not seem like such a big deal, but I’ve found that it comforts me immensely, making me feel more relaxed and focused, and that while it does not distract me from my work it does serve as a visual reminder of who and what I am, and Who I serve. Having it there is very soothing, as well as very grounding, to me.
