I was late in announcing this, so have decided not to do it until NEXT weekend. (Which works out better for me, actually; I have more than enough to do for Hallows, anyway!) So, my Hallows oracular seidhr session will take place on Sunday, November 8th. If you’d like to submit a question, you can email me directly at wodandis at gmail dot com. If you’d like to read more about what I do, please visit this page.
And in the meantime, a blessed Hallows to you!
A couple of my friends have asked this recently on their own blogs, and I’m curious too–partly because I’d just like to know, and partly because it occurs to me that some of my readers might have blogs of their own I could be reading and linking to, and I’m always looking for more quality pagan reading material. So, if you’ve been reading this blog and you’re comfortable letting me know about it, comment to this post. And include the link to your own blog if you have one, so I can check out what you’ve been writing about, too.
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
- J.R.R. Tolkien
Roamer, wanderer
Nomad, vagabond
Call me what you will
- from the lyrics to Wherever I May Roam, by Metallica
Many people would scoff, no doubt, at the idea of “wandering” being any kind of defined spiritual path. In our society, only the very rich—those who have no need to be “gainfully employed” between the hours of 9-5, and who often maintain more than one residence in different corners of the globe—and sometimes scientists and scholars, can get away with wandering respectfully. Otherwise, wanderers are simply those people who move from one place to another because they have no place important to be, the jobless or, worse, the homeless. We tend to assume, rather arrogantly, that such wandering is aimless at best, and at worst kind of creepy. Despite the fact that whole cultures are still built around leading herds and following prey through seasonal migrations, say the word “nomad” and it’s almost sure to produce a tingle along the spine (thanks, largely, to horror movies). Despite the fact that throughout the middle ages kings and their entire courts moved about the countryside on a seasonal basis, settling down temporarily wherever the food was good for that time of year, the word “itinerant” connotes not only rootlessness but also an inherent lack of seriousness or responsibility. And despite Tolkien’s romantic portrayal of the ranger king Aragon in Lord of the Rings, the word “vagabond” does not conjure up positive or heroic imagery for most of us.
And yet, many of us claimed by or called to Odin find ourselves irresistibly drawn to the image of Him as Wanderer, and often it is the first guise in which we meet Him. Cloaked in blue-black, a broad-brimmed hat pulled down at a rakish angle as if to hide one eye, His spear passing for a simple vagabond’s staff in the right light, we find Him ambling down a grassy hill at midday, or perhaps standing on a crowded city street corner at dusk. Or in the darkest hours of the night, we are awakened from a sound sleep to hear Him whispering to us on the wind and we look outside to see His hordes of the dead riding past our window. My own first encounter with Odin, when I was eight, was with the Lord of the Hunt—who, it could be argued, is one of His Wanderer guises (though also connected to His role as God of the Dead). It made a profound impression on my young mind, to say the least, seeing that train of phantoms fly past in the night, hearing the shrill cries of His valkyries and the unearthly howling of His hounds, and most of all hearing Him call my name. It sent me running from Him for many years, without even any clear knowledge or memory of who I was fleeing from, or why. In many ways, I was running from myself—my own true self, as opposed to all the masks other people tried to force me to wear—as much as I was from Him.
As Wanderer, Odin adopts many masks, many disguises, and myriad names. As Gagnrath (Journey-Advisor) He travels to Jotunheim (much against Frigga’s better judgment) to engage in a deadly lore contest with the wise giant Vafthruthnir. As Vegtamr (Way-tame) He ventures into Helheim to interrogate a dead prophetess on the subject of Balder’s disturbing dreams. As Grimnir (Masked One) He goes to check on His foster-son King Geirrod (who not only fails to recognize his benefactor but—worse, and fatally–also proves Frigga’s allegation that he is horrible to his guests). As Bolverk (Evil-Worker) He infiltrates the court of Suttung, wooing both the powerful giant’s daughter and his mead right out from under him. Though many assign this role to Heimdal instead, some would even argue that as Rig He fathers the traditional three social classes—farmers, craftsmen, and nobility–thus giving reason for His title of Allfather. Further examples can be found in sources outside of Icelandic literature, as well; in Saxo Grammaticus’ Gesta Danorum, for example, Odin is exiled from Asgard at one point (during which time His kingship duties are temporarily assumed by Ullr) and wanders alone for many years.
The Havamal (or Words of the High One)—that section of the Poetic Edda that is framed as if narrated by Odin Himself—begins with simple, almost homespun advice to travelers. “It’s dangerous business going out your front door, Frodo,” Bilbo warns his nephew in Lord of the Rings. “You never know where you might be swept off to… .” For the ancient Scandinavians, even mundane journeys were fraught with risk, and the Havamal is filled with sensible precautions that would serve any traveler well: look before you go through a door, keep your weapons near at hand, bring a gift or at least some news or entertainment for your host, don’t quarrel with the other guests. And yet, the astute reader will have noted all along that these seemingly mundane tidbits of wisdom apply equally to journeys in the other worlds as they do in this one. For Odin the Wanderer is also Odin the Shaman, roaming through not only Middle Earth and His own domain, Asgard, but also all of the worlds on the Tree, including some in which He is not especially welcome, and finally wandering beyond life itself, beyond being itself, and bringing the wisdom gained on His journeys back to His people, us. This is what we find so compelling, so irresistible, in the image of Him as Wanderer, which is in many ways a central theme that ties together all the disparate and colorful threads of His complex nature. Unfortunately, it is also a more tenuous image, more difficult to emulate, largely because it is so all-encompassing. Those who are drawn to His Death God masks will work with the Hunt and the dead; those called to follow Him as Lord of language will undoubtedly write or teach; those whose path is focused on magic will work with the runes and possibly seidhr and wortcunning. Odin the Wanderer embraces all these paths and more—and yet there is something distinct here, something that stands apart. One could argue for a shamanic focus being the closest way to follow Him on this path—the path of self-discovery and healing through journeys of the mind and soul—and yet there is room for wisdom through physical journeying as well. One could be a world traveler in a completely mundane sense and find plenty of sound advice in the Havamal, plenty to emulate in Odin’s adventures.
When the Wanderer finally managed to corner me again, years after my initial encounter with the Hunt, I had reached a point in my life of not knowing where or with whom I belonged, not knowing where my home was and even doubting I truly had one. I reached out in loneliness and despair, almost blindly, and His was the hand the found mine. Paradoxically (and doesn’t Odin love paradoxes?) I found my home in Him, this most liminal of Deities. And He began to reshape my life, demanding that I end this bad relationship, sever that self-destructive obsession. It was an incredibly painful process, but I saw what He was doing: just as Michelangelo sculpted his masterpiece by removing all bits of stone that were not the David, Odin was sculpting me by stripping away all that was not me, everything that stood in the way of my becoming me. This process eventually led to His moving me three thousand miles across the country to a place that better suited my developing Self, a place where I could wander with Him more freely, a place removed from both the physical and emotional pitfalls that had shackled me back east.
“But I’ll take my time anywhere,” the Metallica lead singer boasts in Wherever I May Roam (one my favorite songs for Odin, incidentally). “Free to speak my mind anywhere/And I’ll redefine anywhere/Anywhere I roam/Where I lay my head is home…” These words could have easily been written by Odin Himself, and it’s a funny thing how deeply they touch some of us—especially many of my fellow spirit worker or otherwise woo-inclined friends who yearn for a simpler lifestyle, free from the demands and limitations of a 9-5 routine, the life of a nomad living in a tent or yurt, free to haul up stakes and head for the next place at a moment’s notice. What is so appealing about this is not the notion of freedom from responsibility (since along with this vision, for most of us, comes the knowledge that if we ever did attain this type of lifestyle our woo-related responsibilities and assignments would increase exponentially as a result of all that extra time They would figure we had). No, what is appealing about this kind of lifestyle is the sense of freedom, period—not freedom from anything, but freedom to be who we were meant to be, to do the things we were meant to do.
I know a fourth one if men put
Chains upon my limbs;
I can chant so that I can walk away,
Fetters spring from my feet,
And bonds from my hands.
- from the Havamal (Larrington translation)
I would suggest that the path of Odin as Wanderer is that of freeing the soul and spirit, regardless of cost or sacrifice. And there is plenty of sacrifice waiting here, for this kind of freedom is hard-won; Odin left Asgard as an exile, put out one of His own eyes, and hanged Himself for nine nights in order to achieve it. My own path has involved lesser degrees of sacrifice: I had to end an unproductive marriage, sell my house, quit a lucrative job, and resign myself to seeing my adult daughter less often. Although these things all sucked in their own way, I had reached a point in my life when I had to stop living for other people—the life they expected me to live—and live for myself, and my Self. Odin demanded I see this, accept it, and embrace it. This was the sacrifice He asked of me.
I will add that such external changes are never enough, either. When we first moved to Eugene, OR from Philadelphia, PA, I was foolish enough to assume that the physical move would be enough to win me the freedom I was seeking, enough to work the alchemical changes within myself that I knew were required before I could go further on my path. I was wrong. Once you’ve freed yourself from all the external prisons—once you’ve found the perfect job that doesn’t interfere with your true Work, the ideal living situation (whatever that may be for you) and friends and family (quite possibly chosen family) who are too busy being themselves to want to interfere with your quest to be you, there are still the internal prisons, all of those pesky issues and demons cluttering up your inner landscape. It is here that Odin can help us most, perhaps, for as the Entangler He is also the Releaser from Fetters, and as the God of consciousness who pursued His own process of awakening so ruthlessly I have found Him always ready—though ready is perhaps not the right word; words like insistent, unrelenting, come to mind instead—to help with mine. As the Wanderer, Odin is essentially the God of Freedom. I think He truly cannot stand to see any of His own bound in any way, even by chains of our own making—perhaps especially by chains of our own making–for being thus constrained keeps us from a full appreciation of the greatest and rarest of His gifts, the ability to ride thought and consciousness as He rides the winds. You cannot chain these things.
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