And last but not least, some tasty vardlokkr info morsels can be found here, courtesy of Linda.

Enjoy!

• PSG 2011 – Walking the Unseen Roads – Workshop Handout

I cautiously stepped through the door and followed a short stone-wrought staircase down to a pause where I had the option to either continue to my left where a denizen of the realm stood studying me with pipe in hand, or to continue on the stairs down to my right into a vast work space filled with Dvergar crafting, cutting, carving, forging, and shaping the Realms’ bounty. While pondering the latter option, I saw many Dvergar periodically look up at me with the same critical eye possessed by their realm rep, still staring in my direction. When I finally returned my gaze to my host, he quietly motioned for me to follow him down the walkway. I could see our destination, an office space with glass windows that overlooked the work area. From there we could see the whole magnificence of the stony craft hall. I marveled at billowing smoke, flaming forges, fine jewels being delicately worked, the sweat on their brows, the strength in their arms as they struck metal to metal, the smell of wood being cut, and much more. Full of wonder from these images, I turned my eye to the one who guided me and introduced myself, when he wordlessly indicated that he was prepared to receive such information. As it was, this time I remembered not to speak first, it just didn’t feel right. Instead, I deferred to my host in all things. So, when he was ready to hear my story, I began to tell it. I told him of my interest in forging a healthy relationship with him and his folk. I waxed poetic about the Catskins and our mission in the Worlds and asked him if he would be interested in crafting a mutually beneficial connection with me.

My host was quiet as I spoke though he did occasionally nod to indicate that he had been listening. Toward the middle of my statement of intent, he offered me a smoke which I did not feel comfortable completely declining so I accepted the raw smoking material but not the pipe. He did not seem off put or distracted by my choice but instead went on listening attentively although critically. I wrapped up my thoughts and then asked for his perspective on my proposal. His outward expression and verbal response were neutral at the time. My host simply politely asked me if I would help with some stone work, essentially breaking down larger rocks into smaller ones for crafting. I had not planned to get my hands dirty and I was more than a little concerned that it could end badly (enslavement, soul loss, etc. due to magicks beyond my awareness) but I, with Barn Owl’s nod, chose to do the work. The host lead me out a secondary doorway to the office onto a ridge overlooking the other side of the work area. I approached the stones and saw the very serious hammer that was laying beside the rocks for the laborer who would take up the task. I tried lifting the hammer but was outdone by its weight. My pulls and tugs had not even tempted it to rise from the ground. I called upon the Thurisaz rune for might in the task and the hammer lifted easily, but not effortlessly. I swung several times, pretending not to notice the other craftpeople watching my ordeal between steps of their own tasks. On the last strike the stones shattered into hundreds of gold pieces. I wanted to take some because they were so compelling, but I resisted. Stealing is generally frowned upon in all the realms . When my work was done, a good-natured but sharp-eyed Swart-Alf woman brought me a horn. I drank deeply, quite parched by only a few swings of the formidable hammer.

The host thanked me for my work and shortly thereafter I got the impression that the sun was nearing its rising time so I said my farewells. By this point, I was so deep in trance that I could barely follow the path out and up the stairs to the door where I had entered, but I managed to get up the stairs and out the door. On the road back to my home in Midgard, my host caught up to me before the sun came fully over the horizon in Swartalfheim to ask me to return at the next full moon; he had Work for me. When I asked what work I could do here in this realm in the meantime to aid the Swart-alfs’ purposes, he encouraged me to return unused or broken gems, stones, and crystals to the deep earth. He also instructed me to strengthen the mineral and nutrient content of the soil. I am not exactly sure what he had in mind with that last bit, but I am researching ways to do as he asked. Given that I believe in reciprocal, mutually beneficial relationships, I wondered what returns I might hope to see but I did not ask, nor is it important at this cursory point in our relationship. Quite possibly the gifts endemic to simply co-existing with the Dvergar for a time in their home-realm may be many and beyond my current perception. I look forward to future contact (near this month’s full moon), a stronger relationship, and good Work with the Dvergar.

To his friend a man should bear him as friend,
and gift for gift bestow,
laughter for laughter let him exchange,
but leasing pay for a lie.

To his friend a man should bear him as friend,
to him and a friend of his;
but let him beware that he be not the friend
of one who is friend to his foe.

Hast thou a friend whom thou trustest well,
from whom thou cravest good?
Share thy mind with him, gifts exchange with him,
fare to find him oft.

~Hávamál, Verses 42-44, Olive Bray translation~

Upon later reflection with my fellow catskin sister, Tamilia, I am not going to reveal how exactly I got to Svartalfheim.  Suffice to say that it was much more of a hidden place than the other worlds I’ve been to so far.  The inhabitants very much appreciate their privacy, and I can respect that.  Upon reaching the door to the world, I had been obsessively thinking about a particular rune, which I blessed the offerings with.  This rune popped into my mind again when standing before the impressively large and solid door to the world.  At this point in the story it is also important to mention that I had generously dabbed myself with Yggdrasil oil before entering a trance state (complements of Tamilia’s recent purchase from the lovely Sarah Lawless aka Witch of Forest Grove).  There was also a fair amount of resins in the air and (I am slightly embarrassed to admit) some tequila in my system left over from the margaritas that accompanied my dinner out at a Mexican restaurant an hour or so before.  At the time I thought the alcohol had mostly metabolized.  I am still not sure if it was still present, or perhaps the Yggdrasil oil just packs a hell of a punch.  Seriously…it’s not for fun and games–it’s powerful stuff!

Back to the story at hand…with this combination of “influences” I didn’t really reflect upon the consequences of what I was doing with the door until it was too late.  It was just an idea that popped into my head and I was trying it out to see what it would do (I know, I know…not my brightest moment)…and yeah, I effectively “picked the lock” of the door into Svartalfheim without really intending to.  I was going to make a formal announcement at the door with my offerings and the whole nine yards–promise!  It wasn’t until the door swung wide open with a blinding flash of light to reveal a whole bunch of Dvergar (and other beings…no idea what they were) standing in a semi-circle crowd around the door…basically with “WTF?” expressions on their faces that I realized what I had just done.  Awkward.  You bet there was some hurried explanations and offerings and all around attempts to smooth things over going on.  I was pretty much resigned to the fact that I probably couldn’t show my face in there again, when one fellow stepped forward out of the crowd and motioned for me to follow him.  The rest of them dispersed and went back to whatever they were doing before some idiot stranger stumbled through the locked front door without knocking.

He seemed about a meter tall with long hair (balding) and a long beard both of which were curly and mostly silver-grey.  He led me through a passage branching off to the left and lit by torches.  The entrance way and this passage were all underground and hewn out of rock.  There were steps leading up and a door above (kind of like storm cellar doors) which he pushed open.  We emerged out on top of a mountainous landscape, craggy, rough, yet green and lush with alpine foliage in places.  I had a good vantage point and could see for miles around…it was bright there, but I instinctively felt like it was still underground somehow, or sealed off in some way.  He started to go back through the doors and back the way we had come, I quickly followed behind.  We had just stepped down into the passage when I noticed that the door hadn’t led back to the first location.  Instead, I was standing beside a highway from our physical world, watching cars zoom by with bright headlights.  I made sure to catch the door before it slammed shut, because there was no visible handle on the outside of it, and it was more or less completely disguised and practically invisible to the naked eye.  There are many doors in Svartalfheim that lead to many places, but most are not designed to let outsiders gain entry through them.  This was the impression that I got…I’d need to visit again and talk with the Dvergar to confirm this.  After I had been briefly shown how the doors worked, I sensed that it was time for me to leave.

I left the same way that I came, though by that point I was so deep into trance it was difficult for me to come back out of it.  After all of my awkward apologies regarding how I made my first impression, I was told by the fellow whom I had been interacting with that I could come back again if I wanted to.  I’ll be sure to be much more careful of how I interact with the front door when visiting again at a future date!

Do We Have a Soul?

We are more than the sum of our biochemical functions. Even the tiniest flea is an incredibly complex living creature, with mouth-parts adapted to feeding on the blood of your cat or dog. They have long legs that allow them to jump up to 13 inches (200 times their own body length, making them one of the best jumpers of all known animals). They have little eyes and antenna, and possess sensory cells that transmit messages to the brain. In fact, they possess all the structures that coordinate sense perception and experience (they can even be trained to perform amazing tricks).

Whether person or flea, the experimental findings of quantum theory suggest that the content of the mind is the ultimate reality, paramount and limitless. Without consciousness, space and time are nothing. From this viewpoint, by virtue of being a living creature, you can never die (see “What Happens When You Die?” and “Is Death the End?“). And the same thing goes for your little dog, too.

The road to Svartalfheim, perhaps?

The Sisters and I have been planning to journey to Svartalfheim for several months now, like 3 or 4. We would say we were going to do it, have it in the backs of our heads, and even set a date only to find ourselves profoundly sidetracked by other endeavors. One day, a few weeks to a month ago I suggested that we may be regularly sidetracked because we did not make an offering before planning and setting out on the trip. Many worlds and beings seem satisfied with payment on arrival, but the dwarves seem to prefer advance ticket purchase to their realm.

So, on Sunday, April 17th we visited Fox Ridge State Park with (advance) offerings for the dwarves. I gave a crystal quartz point that I have had for some time; it was actually purchased years ago in my home town at the local rock shop, which I adore. I buried the quartz point while speaking a brief prayer at the base of a huge tree with gnarly exposed roots near a tiny little stream. The vivid green moss, moist earth, and the dry dead leaves on the ground absorbed the stone completely. A gentle breeze seemed a sufficient confirmation of its acceptability to the dwarves.

Next stop: Svartalfheim

A friend and I decided to join the Hunt. I invited her to my apartment late at night on December 21st, the first day of the Hunt according to lore. We prepared an altar, briefed our spotters (two mutual friends of ours) on what to do if it should all go wrong, and then we set out on our journey, veiled and enthusiastic.

Once I placed the veil over my head and face, I grounded, centered, and lulled myself into trance. As my trance deepened, I could feel myself begin to sway. I entered the void between my own consciousness and What Lies Beyond, between the Inner World and the Other Worlds. From the void sprang a door, my access point to the Otherworlds. I always see a door when I journey. Many times it will have different runes etched onto it, depending on what my intentions are and where my destination is. This door, the door that would lead to the Hunt, held the rune Eihwaz. I associate Eihwaz with the World Tree and journeying. Given the gravity of the task before me, Eihwaz seemed appropriately suited to facilitating a long and difficult journey into one of the great events of the Otherworlds’ seasonal calendar! Once the anticipation of the impeding experience subsided a little, I reached out to open the door. Just as I grabbed the brass knob and began to turn, I cut myself on a splinter. Blood ran down my fingers and hand. This had never happened before; however, I instinctively knew that a blood/energy offering was needed for my journey (in addition to the offerings that my friend and I had already made), so I did not let the unexpected bloodletting detour me.

I stepped through the door and greeted Barn Owl, my fylgja, who was perched on the mantle. I approached him and offered fat white mice from my own energy field to boost his energy for the journey. He sucked two down before raising his head to inform me that we needed to hurry lest the Hunt embark without us. I nodded and he flew from the perch to the door, where he grew in size so that I could ride on his back. We ascended the World Tree, Yggdrasil, headed toward Asgard. Barn Owl knew the way; his knowledge of the Otherworlds is always astounding because he never lets on. He just gets us where we need to go and does what I need him to do.

In the borderlands of Asgard, in the grey Mani lit skies above a forest there, I saw the lead Hunter of the Furious Host. He was robed but his eyes and some of his face shinned through. He was not Odin (I knew for sure because he had both his eyes) but he was imbued with some portion of the Great God’s power. He accepted by offerings on behalf of Odin. What was remarkable about the Hunt’s Leader is that he had little affect. His purpose was clear to him and by this point, so close to departure, my presence was simply one more item on the check list. So, in the midst of his matter of fact demeanor, you can imagine my surprise when he grabbed my left wrist and pulled me into the Host.

My physical senses once I entered the Host seemed to spread out and encompass more. Touch especially was affected. I could feel the presence of the Others in the Host. Also, it was extremely fast. I could feel the momentum, the pace, the enthusiasm of the experience. My emotional state shifted between giddy exhilaration and plain old fear as I felt the epic and ecstatic pull of the experience threatening to never release me; not because I would be forbidden to leave but because the uniqueness of the experience would compel me to chase it indefinitely. Because of the powerful sensory shift that occurred and the very quick pace of the Hunt, it took me a few minutes to adjust. I ran with the Hunt at various levels/with various groups of beings. The Host included disir, vitkis, and volvas in the middle or central layer; ghosts and wights at the bottom layer traveling closest to Midgard; and warriors, nobles, and other honored dead at the highest layer farthest removed from this mortal plane of existence. Other beings moved throughout the Host circulating through all the groups, these were primarily shapeshifters (though the Berserkers stayed closer to the warrior layer but did mingle with the vitkis, disir, and volvas) as well as hunt animals. The main animal attendants to the Hunt were ferocious dogs and (very) large (very) wild horses. Amazingly, I was able to move across the various Hunt “layers”. I assume I had this permission from Odin/the Hunter himself.

I began my ride with the Furious Host in the “middle” layer. That layer contained the beings most like myself, primarily female ancestral spirits (disir), vitkis, volvas, and the occasional shapeshifter. That layer was particularly interesting because that was the layer that seemed most concerned with the happenings of human life. The mothers and grandmothers – the disir – whispered blessings in addition to laying some foul curses. Blessings were for all the things you might expect, but mostly for health and fertility. The curses that I heard spoken were to undermine the same. Some of the vitkis and volvas wove spells, others remained silent. Others, like myself, may have been there to gain spiritual insight or wisdom. The goals and intent of these magickal individuals was – not surprisingly – hidden from me. Their spiritual journeys are their own. Within this layer, I also met a female Lead Hunter. She may have been Frau Holda’s representative, or the Frau herself. Recognizing her as equal co-Leader, I gave offerings to her as well, which she accepted and then made her way back to the head of the Train.

It was in this middle layer that I came to truly understand myself as a part of the Host. When that revelation settled in, I let out a screech and descended into the foggy lower layer of ghosts and wights. I made three separate human contacts while in this layer. In my first descent from middle into lower, I came upon a man in a parking lot. He was alone. As he approached his dimly lit vehicle and removed his keys from his pocket, I manifested – to my perception – as a mist, made of the same cloudy matter that constituted the ghosts and wights. The man dropped his keys out of fear. He did not seem to see me but he could sense an ominous presence, I suppose. After startling him, I rapidly ascended back into the second layer and then whisked down again through the lower layer where I encountered a woman walking home in what looked to be a suburban neighborhood. I manifested in a similar way and she quickened her pace. The last human encounter was with a young boy of perhaps 12 years who was particularly slow in getting into his home after returning from an event with his family. That encounter was particular interesting because he could see me. For him, I was not simply a creepy sensation over the shoulder provoking fear or dread. He saw me but what exactly he saw I cannot be sure. Based on his facial expression, he seemed more awe-stricken or even surprised than afraid. My experiences in the lower layer were powerful because that layer seemed to house the beings that have the most direct, daily influence over/contact with people, whether people notice them or not. I am still uncertain what my contact with those three people signified. Maybe it was an omen that they were fated to die this year. Maybe it was simply an indication that they needed to heed the lore that says you should not be out and about on the night of The Wild Hunt. Maybe it’s not for me to know what purpose my actions that night served.

Upon ripping back into the middle layer after a romp with the mortals, I was greeted by the largest, fiercest beast I have ever seen. The pitch black, wild-maned horse had to be a foot taller than me with eyes ablaze. He stood and looked at me and I at him for what felt like forever. Then, I got the distinct impression that I was supposed to climb onto him. I did and then he sped through the already speedy Hunt. With lightening quickness, we moved further up in the train, closer to “the front” I suppose as much as an ethereal and epic phenomenon can have  a “front”. Then we bolted up to the highest layer, where the warriors and kings thundered and shouted and reveled. There were many warriors of various types. I remember this being the most frightful segment of the Host. Many of the warriors were maimed and broken in sundry ways. Others were simply bloody. Still others had a might and ferocity in their eyes that gave me chills. There were also berserkers and other shapeshifting shaman-warriors. I was shocked by some because I could very clearly see their animal characteristics manifest over and above their human qualities. There were also more horses in this portion of the Train, but none so mighty as the horse I rode upon. The warrior level became very uncomfortable for me very fast. Between the bloody injuries and the general sense that my welcome was running out, I returned to the middle layer to be with “my kind” – vitkis, volvas, and the ancestral dead.

When the journey was complete, my fylgja returned me to my home base in the Otherworlds. I gave him more mice and then I stepped through the door that led to waking consciousness. What I expected least from my journey was the breadth and depth of experiences. I had not considered that The Wild Hunt would have such a diversity of participants. I knew that the disir and warriors as well as ghosts were often a part of it, but I had not given too much serious and structured thought to other beings. Also, I realized that each “layer” had a function. The upper layer – the warrior layer – seemed to be the fuel for the whole thing. Their war cries and tumultuous storm-like energies may have provided the energy that it need to get up and go. The middle layer of magickal folk and ancestors was critical to ensuring the continuation and temporal integrity of families and generations. They seem to be the driving force behind the fertility lore sometimes associated with the Wild Hunt. The lower level of freshly disembodied spirits and various wights seems to be those caught up by the Hunt. Some beings are too weak or confused to resist the pull of the Hunt as it tears through the Worlds and other choose willingly to follow the Hunters and the Host where they may go. The Wild Hunt as it manifests in the intercalary period between the Winter Solstice and Twelfth Night seems critical to clearing the old year and laying the solid foundations needed for the new year. What has expired is removed, and health and fertility are returned to the people. In this way, the Wild Hunt acts as one of many shuttles weaving Wyrd.

This entry is my attempt to put a profound spiritual experience into words. The feelings, the senses, the energies afoot that night were powerful. I give thanks to the Hunters and to Odin and Frau Holda for granting me the privilege of joining the Furious Host of the Wild Hunt and for blessing my journey so richly. Hail!

*This post and others are also available at my personal blog: Wandering Woman Wondering*

ScienceDaily (2011-02-10) — Placing testosterone under the tongue of volunteers negatively affects a person’s ability to ‘mind read’, an indication of empathy. One implication of the new study is that current levels of testosterone directly affect the ability to read someone else’s mind. This may help explain why, on average, women perform better on such tests than men, since men on average produce more testosterone than women.

As a worker of metals, I think about the Dwarves fairly often.  They are, in Northern and Central European lore, masters of forging and crafting, as well as having unsurpassed knowledge of and domain over metals and gems in the deep earth.  In my line of work, I use precious metals and gemstones on a daily basis.  It would by respectful, I thought, to make an offering to the dwarves as a token of respect for them, and in some regards a payment for the materials that I use.

In Kveldulfr Gundarrson’s Elves, Wights and Trolls, he makes mention that “The dwarves are the keepers of all the wealth within the earth, and do not necessarily appreciate humans taking that wealth out: most mining communities have legends of ill-willing wights who cut ropes and weaken shoring.  Those who work with metals and stones, as well as hailing the dwarves for their craft, would do well to give them the occasional payment for this sake.”

I intend on making it a yearly ritual, that betweem harvest- time and years end I will give a special offering to the dwarves. This year, it was such that I only just gave the offering, on the last calendar day of the year.

Friday was a day of strange weather.  The snow that had blanketed the ground since early December melted overnight, the temperature hovered in the mid 50′s farenheit. It was overcast and blustery, threatening storm.  A perfect day for work of a magical sort.

I had for my offerings some beer, or course, as well as iron filings, a piece of silver, and two small quartz crystals.  I went down to Meadowbrook park, to a spot at the crossroads of two trails where I have left offerings before.  Here there is a slab of old concrete set level with the earth on one side of the trail, where I would leave the offerings.  A stand of fierce hawthorns is close by, as is the four-trunked Linden from whence I took my staff.

I first hailed Weland, the smith-god, and poured a bit of beer for him as deity of my craft.  Then, I hailed the Dwarves with appropriate words, something like:

Hail the Dwarves,

Masters of smithcraft! 

Might of metal and stone is yours!

A token of payment and offering I give,

For the bright metals,

For the fair gems,

Cut from the earth for my craft.

I laid out the offerings, poured out the beer onto the earth, and continued down the trail after a few minutes of contemplation. I thought about doubling back, but it somehow seemed rude to go back past where the offerings were laid. I hope that the Dwarves accept my small token of appreciation, for all that they do not demand worship from the Middle-Garth. 

So, what would be appropriate offerings for the Dwarves?

What wight doesn’t like beer or mead? In the Dwarves case, since two of their race brewed the Mead of Poetry from the blood of Kvasir, either would make a fine offering.  Of course, a little bit of Silver, Gold, Bronze, or Copper, if you can get it!  Perhaps, skill willing, one could even create an object from metal to offer.  That way, not only the precious material, but the offering of one’s own craft is made.

Iron or iron shavings would seem appropriate, but I would not leave iron in a place where one offers to other land-wights, as most wights cannot stand its presence. Quartz crystals are referred to as ‘dwarf-stone’ in Norwegian folklore, and the smooth planes of the crystals were thought to have been cut by the dwarves themselves.

If offering metal, do be aware that certain kinds can be unhealthy for the environment – I wouldn’t offer anything of pewter, pot metal or lead, for instance, nor would I give modern coinage ( as it contains Zinc, and no silver to speak of).

A cave, hollow, earth-fast stone, or other place that speaks to you of the deep earth would serve well as a place to leave your offerings.  Failing that, I believe one could also toss the offerings into a dark, fast flowing stream; or simply bury them in the ground.