Falkabarn, formerly Sparkle Puca, has been at the Heathenry thing since the summer of 2012.
For Gullveig, and for Loki.
I will pay her weregild
I’ll pay her weight in gold
though you’ve made it so expensive,
I’ve done it once before.
I will pay her weregild
I’ll haul her weight in gold
I’ll hold her heart beneath my heart –
I’ve done it all before.
I feel like gods look at us like we look at dogs.
We’re like “lol lookit that precious stupid pupper, he’s afraid to jump off the bed and he barks at reusable grocery bags and I love him.”
Gods are like “lol lookit that precious stupid human, he runs from wisdom and yells at deer and I love him.”
Loki has a reputation for being scary.
So the subject of Loki’s snazzy little shoes came up in a Lokean FB group I’m in, and I went to go find the attestation for it, but then Google…
…I mean, that’s not exactly wrong. But I was looking for the Skáldskaparmál.
Expectation: Lo! Gods hear my plea and take me in your favor, for I can think of no other recourse than to call upon you. I present to thee this wine and sacrificed flesh to sustain thee.
Reality: STOP FUCKING WITH MY BRAIN WORDS
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SOMETHING RACIST
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MORE RACIST
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some Wiccan stuff
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ANCIENT WEBSITE FULL OF
DEAD LINKS
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OH LOOK SOME MORE RACISM
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I swear to spiderhorse there used to be so many kindreds, moots and blots within reasonable distance from wherever I was. It’s like that fake fact about spiders. I used to be spiders-god-damn-Georg, who lives in a cave and successfully locates 10,000 pubmoots a day.
My options are fewer than the average heathen because of the whole Loki thing (so the Troth goes right out the god damn window unless I’m desperate, and I’m getting there) but even still the number of kindreds you could find with a google search is virtually nihil now.
What the fuck.
There was an amusing discovery along the line, but it needs some background info. Basically, at pagan pride day a few years back I had a kindred leader recommended to me (through someone in The Troth, ironically) based on the fact that his kindred was pointedly Loki-friendly. We talked, I interviewed him on his stances regarding folkism and racism and he seemed less than ideal but tolerable.
I didn’t have a great feeling about this guy or the woman with him (especially her, god she was unsettling) but figured you just have to suck it up and settle for less if you want to get anywhere. Right?
Turns out this dude had plastered his facebook with fylfots.
I was grossed out. I was pissed. He lied to me, pretty blatantly, and literally did something he claimed to have kicked people out of his kindred for. I also wasn’t ready to confront this dude so I decided to profusely apologize to my Jewish friends for the mishap and block the guy instead, vowing never to go near his fucking kindred.
I wasn’t thrilled when I found out they’d signed Declaration 127, and this is a good 90% of why I don’t put stock into kindreds who signed it. (And why I didn’t sign it.) There was clearly no vetting involved.
But I figured I’d check up on them out of morbid curiosity and have discovered that they renamed, are currently without a location and have gotten worse. Do you think I don’t know what “cultural marxism” is a dog whistle for?
So at least I was right in my suspicions, even if they came a little late.
So anyway. The search continues.
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.
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.”
You ever go outside because it’s cold and shake your fist at Sirius like “WORK BITCH”
I mean, I went out to run the dog and see if there were any more meteors to admire, but that’s how it ended up.
Falkabarn 