Author: Falkabarn

A drunk-bucking sparkle pony from Philly. Works with Loki.

Whew

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So.

September 12th was my 5-year convert-a-versary and I have been trying to work out how to approach the push I feel to go do a big thing for Loki.

Looking into the path for ordination as a goði right now. I want it to be something where I’m well-trained and legal (weddings, funerals, some…Thor-senings? on the side), and have found a promising way to go about it once I find a kindred to get established in the community. (Got burned by the last recommendation for a Lokean-friendly kindred.)

I offered to get a piercing or a tattoo, but right now am wearing a torq bracelet I made because I am looking into employment once I finish my associates and I want to be employable and established enough to get away with body mods come time. (No set time was involved in the piercing offer, so I’m not…overtly weasling my way out of anything, technically? You can have my head, not my neck, etc. etc.)

That’s blood. That’s an oath. That’s kind of terrifying. That’s permanent.

I’ve done temporary oaths after lots of negotiation, and honestly those have ended up being permanent and just slightly less intense in practice–like growing out my hair. It belongs to me again, but I still refuse to cut it. Even trimming the absolute worst of my split ends the other day made me want to cry because I grew that out for Loki and to some extent I feel like it still indirectly belongs to him as an outward symbol of my faith. I think it’s the idea of surrendering something as all-encompassing as my skin or my blood, for the rest of my life, that is so terrifying. That’s basically giving up the entirety of my being. I hate being controlled, even though giving in to faith is a very special kind of ecstasy (in the strictly religious sense).

EDIT: I also remembered the oath I made to quit smoking. Permanently. Maybe this concept isn’t as foreign to me as I’d previously assumed.

Hopefully there is a local goði I can consult when I find a kindred. Divination is giving a lot of “yes good pls continue” vibes, but for something this big, I need a second (and third, and fourth, and twelfth) opinion.

Holy shit, Gullveig

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Loki has a reputation for being super blunt when he feels like it, but Gullveig seems to have zero interest in subtlety in my experience.

Loki kinda toys with you, but signals from Gullveig are more like:

LOOK AT THIS YOUTUBE VIDEO.

IT’S GOT GOLD AND CATS AND REVENGE AND FIRE IN IT.

REMIND YOU OF ANYONE?

LOOK AT THAT SHINY THING.

BUY ME THE SHINY THING.

 

Convenient, if loud, because homegirl really loves herself some pop songs.

For example:

 

“I’m sorry, the Old Gullveig can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Oh! She got stabbed and set on fire. Like three times. Anyway she’s dead.”

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This was originally written for a story contest in July of 2013 and won for stories about Hel. Since it’s October, and I use Halloween’s death-y themes as a Blot for Hel, I figured I’d post this.

She blinked her one good eye pointedly at the man who knelt before her.

“Let Baldr come home? This is his home, now.”

“Frigga weeps for him,” Hermod pleaded. “Odin weeps for him. We all weep for him.”

“You all do?”

“All but your wretched father.”

She cleared her half-throat and rattled the bony finger of her raised hand in warning.

“I will not have you disrespecting him in my hall.”

The living god, there only on business, nodded far too energetically, which Hel knew perfectly well was an insincere gesture.

She ignored his silent response and thought for several moments, considering the weight of letting the fair-haired Ás go and setting a terrible precedent for the impermanence of death. The confidence offered by Frigga’s success in convincing all but the bloodied edge of Mistletoe to keep her son safe made it seem like a bad idea to acquiesce. There was little stopping her from extracting that one last promise.

But it also held potential for a powerful lesson.

With the gentle rattle of her necklace of bones and glass beads, she stood.

“If you all weep for him, you may bring Baldr back to Asgard.” Hermod had come up from his knees and removed his helmet to express his gratitude, but she stopped him. “Remember. This offer is not made lightly, and if anything,” she leaned forward for emphasis and he utterly failed to hold back his disgust at the cracking of her spine. “One single thing, fails to do this, Baldr will remain here, under my care, never to return to his former home as you know it.” She straightened herself again, leaning on her seat. “And I know you know how that story will end.”

He hesitantly met her gaze, then nodded. This time it was sincere.

“Frigga will be thrilled to hear of this. Thank you, my lady.”

He returned to his feet, nodded to his brother on his way out, and made his way along the lines of assembled dead to the door.

 

Frigga, upon hearing the conditions, had nearly thrown her frantic spinning work to the floor and rushed out to return to her previous work of dealmaking. All of the weapons held out to her by her Husband’s dead had been more than happy to agree. The bees and bee-wolves had been, as well. The mistletoe, still youthful but just old and corrupted enough to feel guilty for spilling Baldr’s blood, wept tears that matched her berries.

In her travels, pleading and sometimes begging those she met to shed even a single tear for her dead son, she finally came upon Thokk.

She had once been of auburn hair, judging by the last few strands with any hint of color that stuck out from under her hood. Upon hearing of Frigga’s goal, she was clearly offended.

“I know the agony of a lost child,” she finally said, “and I especially know the agony of a child taken from you by force. No one wept for our loss but us. But you, you travel everywhere you can, insisting that we weep for a boy some of us do not even know, hoping to cheat death?” She paused, collecting herself. “Why ask Hel to tolerate the same? Let her keep what truly belongs to her.”

 

Hel had been mindful of the pressure caused by the grief throughout the tree above her, but had kept her focus on one empty pocket. Baldr had finally approached her, suspecting that something was amiss in her constant staring at one place.

“There is one person who will not grieve for you,” she explained, not taking her gaze off of the area above her.

Needless to say, Baldr seemed a little offended.

“Who?”

“Someone who knows you, but saw value in your death.”

He silently hinted that he wanted her to continue.

“Making sure promises are kept and that balance is maintained. Deals are kept and oaths are honored.”

“My own father won’t grieve for me?”

“Oh, no, your father grieves.” She finally met Baldr’s gaze. “And that would be putting it gently.”

“Then who?”

“His brother.”

 

It’s a Rant~!

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So, I went to the Trans Health Conference.

The workshop on trans people in modern pagan culture was…not great. I heard the phrase “ever since the Burning Times” and had to leave about ten minutes later because it just got wiftier and more poorly researched from there.

Like, listen, I wanna talk about LGBT gods! That’s what drew me to Heathenry, the Norse gods are pretty damn Gay! I wanna talk about cis-centrism in Wicca from trainwrecks like Z. Budapest. I wanna talk about research that clarifies and helps navigate the existing frameworks with modern values and freedoms that allow us to fall out of the standard. I wanna talk about the evolution of liminally-gendered/gender-bending roles in pagan religion, like two-spirits and Volvas. I wanna talk about the cultural context of gender nonconformity and gender dysphoria that effected those religions. I’ll even settle for talking about Raven Kaldera, because even though I’m not a fan (no, anal fisting is NOT a shamanic experience), he’s at least *relevant*.

I’m also…just not down for ~queering~ paganism, especially when it is fluffy, toothless and poorly researched. Faith has been painful. It’s a good pain, the pain after running up a hill or moving house, but it’s painful. If, at this point, all that was available to me was tarot cards and crystals, my life would be hollow. If, when my dysphoria got bad again, I had not lit candles and cried on the floor in front of my altars, knowing Loki was well aware of trying reconcile manhood, inadequacy, rejection and the looming potentiality of childbirth that seems to haunt every single AFAB person ever, my life would be stagnant again…if it had even continued from that point.

The relationship I have with my gender, and with my faith, and with the overlap between the two, is wildly disparate from what I see reflected around me. The reconstructionist influence demands historical research and discernment. The gender issues demand spaces with modern values. It is difficult to find the middle ground as it is. It can, and should, be done better.

On Fascism and Faith

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Something must be made abundantly clear:

The gods are not interested in the color of your skin. They are not interested in your heritage. They don’t play favorites over your wealth, your ability, your sexual orientation, your gender identity, or any other divisions.

But humans do. Humans care enough to kill over it.

Humans are petty. Not just in their self-centeredness, but in their literal smallness.

Gods are bigger than us. Gods know better than us. They’re not interested in the arbitrary lines that folkists and fascists draw, and that they enforce through violence.

They’re interested in your devotion and service. Faith in Heathenry is a gifting cycle. When you have something to offer, they have much to offer you.

Thor is the defender of humanity and civilization from the wild forces of nature. Of course, this means the division between creeping weeds and cultivated vegetable gardens, wild wolves and tame goats. But this also means the division, within ourselves, between base instinct and self-control. Thor is a man of justice.

Odin is a collector of wisdom. And of course this means study and knowledge for knowledge’s sake. But it also means critical thinking, skillful debate,  good judgement and getting through the world on your own merits. If all you have going for you is some bullshit notion of purity (which Odin himself doesn’t even possess–none of the gods do!), you have nothing to offer him.

Loki is attributed with chaos, but we forget that his real forte is balance, and that the changes he brings consistently lead to improvement. When oaths are broken, he will be the one who takes you to task. When people try to weasel their way out of the consequences of their actions, he will bring them. Loki stands by the marginalized.

Sigyn epitomizes not only loyalty but the strong sense of justice we all must have. Her suffering has been vast. She is magnificent in her grace. She stands by those of us labeled as degenerate, unworthy of life, and disposable, as her children and husband were. So too, should we stand by her, and the rest of those who are at risk.

I do not worship every god in the Norse pantheon, and the ones I do I may not worship consistently. But they all have something to offer. Hopefully I do, too.

And I have, from day one, been furious at how my faith, which has brought so many good things to my life, has been bastardized, exploited and damaged so badly that I cannot exercise it openly. I am furious that I have to choose between having spaces where I can practice my faith with others and isolating myself and the people I care about from Literal Fucking Nazis. The only kindred that will take me in my area is run by a tribalist who, at the time, had a swastika as his cover photo. This is personal. It is as much our responsibility to take them to task as anyone else. Similarly, it is just as much our responsibility to protect other vulnerable people as it is for anyone else.

Protest is prayer.