On A Highway To Helheim

I’ve been on this road for thirty years, though I didn’t know it until quite recently. I’m reminded of driving through the River Hills (Pee Dee River) with my Daddy when I was a little girl: we weren’t going anywhere particular; the journey really was the destination. My spiritual journey has been very much like that. As it should be.

Daddy always said he felt closer to God in that Hill Country than sitting on any pew in any church. I believed him. I still do. I wholeheartedly blame a combination of him and my very Catholic Granddaddy Sonny (his father) for my present status as an ordained Pagan minister. I met the Goddess when I was very small: sure, She was cast as the Virgin Mary, but I still have the Madonna clad all in white and wearing a crown that my Grandfather gave me. One day, She’ll come North to live on my altar to Hela, here in Massachusetts. One day.

My whole spiritual journey has consisted of a lot of that, too: one day. One day, I’ll grow up and be a famous author. One day, I’ll get out of this podunk Carolina town. One day, I’ll make a real difference in the world. One day, I’ll matter. One day, I’ll be successful. One day, I’ll be able to walk down the street and be fully who I am without having to fear for my life. One day, people will accept me for the type of witch I am, instead of the kind of witch they think I should be. Oh well, I guess three out of seven ain’t bad. I’m still waiting for one day with a lot of things….

I look most forward to that last one day in the list: the day when people will accept me for the witch I am, instead of the kind of witch they think I should be. I know I’m not the only one waiting for that day to come, so I write this blog post for all of you, too, and not just for me. You see, this wasn’t supposed to be the blog post I was writing this week at all. I was supposed to continue the series on UPG I started last week. Somehow between then and now, though, rehashing that same tired argument somehow became way less important than this.

Why witch, as a title for myself? I mean, that word comes equipped with so much baggage; so many misconceptions and preconceptions and bald-faced assumptions. That is precisely why: I likewise come equipped with baggage, and my entire life has been a never-ending series of people constantly inflicting their own misconceptions, preconceptions, and bald-faced assumptions onto me. Certainly, witch isn’t what Hela calls me, when I’ve been blessed with being personally addressed by the Goddess: She calls me kunnar, or kunnigar; “knowing”, “versed in magick”. Basically, a “cunning-woman”, but toss those two words out to people as a title, and see what sort of response you get. Most people’s minds dwell in the gutter…. 

I am not a Norse Witch, per se, though I’ve certainly learned plenty from Connla since Hela first came to call about a year ago. I am Her Fulltrua, in fact, but She doesn’t fit into neat little boxes, so it sorta boggles my mind why people expect me to. I can’t help wondering if the “lack of Norse action” is why my own blog posts on a webspace that I personally own and, which in fact, bears my name, often seem to fall flat. Like, literally: nobody reads them. Is that it? Do people expect me to be a Norse Witch, too, because Connla literally wrote a book on the subject? I am not Connla; Connla is not me. He and I are perfectly at home and okay with that. Why aren’t other people?

I know that if a lot of the people who follow his posts actually began reading mine, I would get labeled “Wiccatru.” You can hopefully feel me bristling from here. I occasionally attend rituals at Temple of Witchcraft in New Hampshire, but I sloughed off the Wiccan coil somewhere around 1997. I don’t take issue with Wiccans; most Wiccans don’t take issue with me. I’m cool like that and with that. I’m not that kind of witch, either, but hail and well-met to any and all of you who might be.

At one point, I defined myself as a Christian Mystic or a Christian Witch. Since then, I’ve been failed by the supposed followers of Christ one too many times. While I’ve worked hard not to hold that against Jesus–in His own words, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do”–I have officially reached the point where I simply cannot remotely ally myself with a system of faith that falls so dreadfully far from the mark of what it was originally intended to be. Christ didn’t suffer hypocrites; neither do I. I’m not that kind of witch.

I’m ordained as an Ollamh, which is a Druid, for those of you keeping score. I chose that as my title because, at the time, honestly, I felt it was the closest description of just exactly what it is that I do. The original Ollamh were vision poets, as it was the highest rank of the Fili in Ireland and Wales, but eventually it became a title for anyone with rank, whether Brehon or Cainte; Dewin or Aberthwr. The path I tread is heavily Reconstruction-ish, born of Welsh Wisdom now combined with Norse Tradition. Yet I’m not really a Druid anymore, either. Again, I’m not that kind of witch.

So what kind of witch am I?

I am my own kind of witch.

I hope for any of you out there who are going through this same struggle that one day, you can be your own kind of witch, too.

No one gets to define me, except me and my Gods. Save your boxes to wrap presents: I won’t fit into any of them. I may occasionally wax Norse. Or Welsh. Or quote the Bible. Or none of the above. Or all of the above. Whatever works and pleases my Gods (some of Whom may also be your Gods, in which case, yay us!). Don’t get it twisted and scream Wiccatru while pointing a finger in my general direction. That ship sailed long ago. Sorry if you missed the boat. I am me, and Connla is him, and you are you, and that’s what makes us all wonderful. I am not a fluffy bunny, unless you mean that one in Monty Python’s Holy Grail.

I am my own kind of witch.

It’s not easy getting here; I’m still not quite done with the climb. In truth, I hope I never will be. Learning is how I know I’m alive. And, one day, when my learning is done, I know where I’m going: this entire journey has been one long drive down the Highway to Helheim, and I look forward to the time when I can finally simply “afterlife and chill”.