The Myth of the “Seidhr Complex”: The Actual Seidhr-Bearer (Part 4 of 4)
In the previous weeks, we have begun to explore the myth of the “seidhr complex“, introducing the disparity between archaeological finds, ethnographic and folkloric evidence, and the secondary sources (the Lore), through the very different roles of the vitki and volva, as well as the practitioners of trolldomr. In this final installment, we will finally excavate the archaeological evidence of genuine seidhr practice, so that we may see how different it is from the other paths of Norse magick.
Finally we arrive at the Path of the Seidhr-Bearer. I use that term, Seidhr-Bearer, rather than the traditional seidhrkona or seidhrmadhr, because I believe it better represents the true weight of what this path entails. In truth, Seidhrberendr was an Iron Age term for the “office” of one who practiced the arts of seidhr. What do I mean, when I say these practitioners carry a heavy weight? Seidhr is the path of mediumship in the Norse Tradition. While all paths participate in Otherworld travel of one variety or another—for all paths are shamanic in nature—it is the Seidhr-Bearer who effectively brings things back from the Otherworld, to communicate with the mundane world. This is not only dangerous, it is also physically taxing. Some Seidhr-Bearers, like my own hostess, may give up huge chunks of their own lives, to assist in bringing the Dead, the Deities, or other beings into the mundane world to participate alongside and among the living. The Seidhr-Bearer also bears a huge responsibility: to work alongside the Nornir, Disir, Alfar, and occasionally even the Gods, to aid in healing through soul-retrieval. Think of it this way: modern physicians take the Hippocratic Oath, as a guarantor that they will practice ethically, and they are only healing the body; Seidhr-Bearers work directly with the parts of the soul.
These are very specific actions, not shared by the previously discussed branches of Norse magickal practice, which is precisely why I am arguing herein that seidhr patently should not be a catch-all category for all Norse magick. In material culture, such practices are best reflected via the presence of High Seat imagery and the presence of evidence of trance-inducing substances, such as henbane (as in Fyrkat Grave 4, which I will discuss in a future blog post). The concept of the High Seat itself has caused abundant confusion among many modern practitioners, and I have witnessed this firsthand. We encounter two terms within the written lore which might be translated to mean literally high seat: hasaeti and seidhjallr. Many modern practitioners of seidhr translate any mention of the hasaeti (literally: “high seat”) whatsoever to mean specifically the seat used by the seidhrkona or seidhrmadhr while participating in seidhr, and yet the context in which this term is used denotes, more often, a place of honor within the hall; a seat understood to be offered to those in a position of authority not only of the mystical or magickal variety. The seidhjallr, however, is only ever encountered as a term when speaking of mystical or magickal practice. Another term, encountered specifically in Gylfaginning 49, is öndugi, which literally translates as “seat of breath, life, and the soul”. Within this passage in Gylfaginning, Baldur is found by His Brother, Hermodhr, sitting in this “high seat of Hel”, having been given this honor by the Queen of Helheim Herself, Hel Lokisdottir. Therefore, chair imagery, and specifically the finding of artifacts representative of chairs, becomes the foundation of any ongoing attempts to unravel the secrets of seidhr within a modern context.
Three graves at Birka contain such imagery: Bj. 632, Bj. 844, and Bj. 968. Pendants in the shape of a chair were found in all three of these graves. What makes these most interesting, however, is the absence of other artifacts distinctly associated with the aforementioned path of the Volva: no staffs were found in any of these graves, and a box or bucket was only found in one of them (Bj. 632). Instead, we find artifacts depicting coiled serpents, and items associated with the “opening” of spaces: the locks and keys of Bj. 968.
Birka 632 consists of a chamber grave dating to the 9th-10th century CE which has been identified as a female inhumation, based largely upon the included grave-goods. These included not only copious silver and bronze pendants and carnelian, pearl, and glass beads which were likely remnants of an ornate necklace (which probably bore a striking resemblance to modern “charm bracelets”), but also a snake pendant, iron shears, bronze ladles, a bronze needle-case and needle, dress-pins, a knife similar to those found previously in trolldomr-associated graves (see Birka Bj.959 and Valsgarde 94; complete with silver trim), portions of another knife, an iron clamp (likely evidence of iron tweezers), large oval brooches, and evidence of a bronze vessel of some sort as well as iron vessels (possibly bowls, at least one of which is listed as a “barrel” in one source). Although a variety of pendants were uncovered from this grave, the three most striking are that of a chair (in a “kubbstol” style; more on this to follow), that of a coiled serpent, and what has been described as a “bucket”, but which may, in fact, represent the Well of Urdh (tenuous). Other pendants include a Byzantine coin and a Muslim dirham.
Birka 844 was likewise a chamber grave dating to the 9th-10th century CE, also identified as a female inhumation. The grave-goods here also reveal evidence of an ornate necklace of the “charm bracelet” variety, including a “kubbstol” chair, similar to that found in Bj. 632, as well as a pendant depicting a coiled snake (also similar to the one recovered from Bj. 632). Other pendants depict possibly the roots of Yggdrasil, a shield motif with more snake imagery, and, finally, a Muslim dirham, which had been converted into a pendant. Other grave-goods include shears (made of iron and decorated with bronze), bronze ear-spoons, a bronze needle-case and needle, dress-pins, a knife (again, similar to that of Valsgarde 85, with silver trim), iron tweezers, large oval brooches, and various beads, ranging from carnelian to glass to amber.
Birka 968, also a chamber grave, dates from the same period as the preceding graves and was likewise identified as a female inhumation. Like the other two graves, the most important assemblage of grave-goods was apparently a “charm bracelet” style of necklace, which included a chair pendant (in a slightly different style from the previous two), as well as a bronze pendant (depicting either a snake or a dragon), and a pendant in the shape of what has routinely been described as a “valkyrie”. The remainder of grave-goods is virtually identical to the two previously described graves, with some notable exceptions: the woman in Bj.968 was interred with three knives (one of which retained the silver-detailing previously described), as well as a working lock and at least two keys. The grave-goods also included clay molds of a type typically associated with the crafting of guldgubbar (small metal votive images) or pressblech plates (although those are typically made of bronze). In addition, a trefoil pin and a four-armed silver cross pendant were recovered from Bj.968.
The silver chair pendants found in Bj. 632 and Bj. 844 were in the shape of a kubbstol—a “block chair”, of a kind carved from a single block of wood, which follows the curvature of a tree trunk, still popular in Scandinavia today. It is clear from the depiction of kubbstol-style chairs in other contemporaneous iconography that they were generally used by the elite and those in positions of authority. What is absolutely clear in this and previous finds of such chair pendants is that they only thus far have appeared in the context of female, pre-Christian graves. The chair links to accounts of seidhr-practice within both the secondary sources, and modern ethnography, as a representation of the seidhjallr and öndugi. It would be remiss not to note, however, that an actual, physical “high seat” has never been excavated in any archaeological context whatsoever within the corpus of Norse/Scandinavian archaeological sites, only representations of them. Yet, in the modern practice of seidhr, many practitioners, as well as their teachers, have a near-obsession with the procurement of or “establishment” of the “high seat”, in the sense of creating or establishing a physical chair in which one consistently conducts their seidhr-practice. Meanwhile, the archaeology instead supports concepts, not only of decidedly “un-seated” practices, such as singing-through-the-necklace (reminiscent of the Saami singing-through-the-belt; see discussion in the previous blog post on the path of the Vitki/Volva), but also of a more “symbolic” seat, likely considered to be positioned, essentially, “in both worlds”. Rather than an actual, physical chair, it is much more likely that the “high seat” of the seidhr-practitioner was an item of sympathetic magick, not unlike some of the previously discussed objects associated with trolldomr. In essence, all the true practitioner of seidhr required, insofar as a “high seat”, was herself and intent. Any sort of chair or other “apparatus” was not the “engine” that “made seidhr go” or otherwise “accomplished seidhr”; the Seidhr-Bearer themself was that “engine”.
The serpent imagery in all three of these graves is of particular interest because of the two most important “snakes” in Norse Mythology: Jormungandr and Nidhoggr. Within a Nordic context, snakes (and dragons) most often appear as symbols of the liminal and of transformation/transmutation (as is also common in other world cultures). We are told in the Gylfaginning of the Prose Edda that Jormungandr was born of Angrbodha, the Jotun Chieftain of the Iron Wood, by Loki, as well as its siblings, Fenrir and Hela, and that Odin “cast [it] into the deep sea, where it lies about all the land; and the Serpent grew so gigantic that it lies in the midst of the sea, and encompasses all the land, and bites upon its own tail”. Therefore, Jormungandr became the ultimate embodiment of liminality: that point in the midst of a ritual when one stands at the threshold between the mundane world and the world of the supernatural; between our realm, and the realm of the Gods. Neither innangard nor utangard, it is the point eternally between. It stands as a guardian of liminal space—sacred space—and liminal time—sacred time. To learn to create either of those two things—sacred space or sacred time—one must learn to dance with the World Serpent. In order to perform the mediumship required of the Seidhr-Bearer, she would then necessarily need to acquaint herself with the World Serpent, Jormungandr. One might readily compare this view of the World Serpent, as it pertains to liminality, to the Kundalini Chakra in Hindu practice: located at the base of the spine, the Kundalini is viewed as a “coiled serpent” representative of divine energy and often linked to concepts of “spiritual awakening”. Like the chair pendants, then, the serpent pendants might likewise be viewed as associated with the “seat of seidhr”, effectively representative of the true “seat” of the Seidhr-Bearer’s power. Once again: wherever she sat essentially became the “high seat”, simply because she was its very embodiment.
We also frequently encounter the Norse word ormr (which translates to snake, serpent, eel, or worm) in conjunction with idiomatic expressions concerned with disease. Nidhoggr, the dragon which gnaws constantly at the roots of Yggdrasil, is both a representation of justice and of transmutation, as it is said to feed on those worthy of punishment in the afterlife. The fact that its “children” are said to swim, innumerable, in the River Hvergelmir, further points to this association with transmutation, since we now understand Hvergelmir to be essentially a river of “healing transformation”. In Saami culture, it was often a snake which facilitated the noaidi’s travel to the Lower World: the place to which the Saami shaman was required to travel, in order to practice the art of healing which we moderns call “soul retrieval”. In most shamanic cultures, one of the primary explanations for illness is “soul loss”. This is generally caused either by “curse” (i.e., an opponent or enemy has used magick to “steal” a portion of a person’s “soul”), or by trauma, as with cases of abuse. Healing is then performed via soul-retrieval, wherein the shaman journeys into the Otherworld to find the missing parts, heal them if necessary, and bring them back to the client. We know for certain that the Saami believed in such practices, based primarily on ethnographic study. Unfortunately, the only artifact evidence of this among the Saami which remains to us are drums, and their use as explained via said ethnography. In other circumpolar shamanic traditions, however, we have further artifact evidence: specifically, the soul-catchers of the Canadian (Pacific) Northwest. Often made from the hollowed-out leg bones of bears and carved into images of double-headed animals, these were stored in special cedar boxes, not only to conserve their energy, but also to prevent anyone from coming to harm due to their “mis-handling”. Comparing the practices of the Native Americans of Canada’s Pacific Northwest directly to those of the Saami, much less their Norse neighbors, which the Saami apparently heavily influenced, is, however, highly problematic (as stated earlier in this blog series, within the discussion of the “cigar store Indian”). Yet the fact remains: many of these traditions are grouped collectively as “circumpolar shamanic traditions” not based purely on their geography, but also because of their other inherent similarities. So, perhaps our answer to any questions which we may have regarding the practice of soul-retrieval—or not—by the Seidhr-Bearers of Iron Age Scandinavia might lie within these snake pendants recovered at Birka. Perhaps—just perhaps—these were the seidhr-equivalent of “soul-catchers”.
The vast majority of the other grave-goods in all three of these graves are evidential of trolldomr, suggesting “cross-practice”, as discussed at length in the last blog post, with three notable exceptions: the “valkyrie” pendant, and the lock and keys in Bj.968. The small silver pendant depicts a robed figure in profile, carrying what has been described as a drinking horn. The styling of the figure’s hair seems to be the primary marker for identifying it as feminine. Unlike descriptions scattered throughout the Lore, the figure does not have wings: it could just as easily be a depiction of a woman of high social status offering a horn, a motif which was generally associated with the formalized notions of hospitality and reciprocity, as required within the total worldview of the time. That it was found within a grave context that also contained a lock and keys suggests more of the latter interpretation than the former “valkyric” one. Yet, we have already (hopefully) established this as the grave of a potential seidhrkona, so what might this enigmatic figure, coupled with the lock and keys, potentially tell us about seidhr-practice? This calls to mind the passage from Ynglinga Saga which reads:
Njordhr’s daughter was Freyja. She was a blotgydhja (blot-priestess). She first taught the Aesir [could also be translated simply as ‘Gods’] seidhr, which was a custom among the Vanir.
–Ynglinga Saga, Connla Freyjason Translation
As a more likely depiction of a woman offering either hospitality or blot, we might better understand this pendant as a depiction of its wearer’s station as blotgydhja. We might even take this a step further, and understand it as a direct representation of Freyja Herself. Many modern seidhr-practitioners focus on a steady veneration of Odin, as the “master of seidhr”, but I would here pose the question: is it better to “learn magick” from a fellow student, or from the same teacher who taught that student? This and other similar pendants found within similar contexts likely point to a “Cult of Freyja”, rather than Odin, among in-period Seidhr-Bearers.
In fact, the necklace assemblages themselves, as found within these graves, likewise point to a potential “Cult of Freyja”, as they could easily be understood as representations of Brisingamen. Unfortunately, the primary Lore references which we have for Freyja’s necklace date predominanly from the latter part of the 10th century and later, however Freyja’s by-name “Menglodh” provides an important clue that this famous necklace definitely played a part in previous, oral cultural belief systems. As we may assume that skaldic poetry in particular is a more definite representation of that earlier oral culture than later prose sources, we may then come to understand Brisingamen as an item associated with renewal, seasonal changes, human welfare (healing is inferred), and fertility (see Husdrapa, stanza 2). Given the previous discussion of the uses of the belt of the Staff-Carrier, might these necklaces have been used in a similar way? Might they have been sung through, scryed through; used almost as a sort of “shamanic rosary” to signal a move “into” the actions of seidhr?
Keys were generally a representation of a woman’s position as a “husfrau”, the female head of household, making them symbols associated with Frigga (especially in later mythological contexts). It is important to note within the context of grave (Bj.968), however, that we find only two, rather than the rings of keys more typically associated with “husfrau graves”, and that we find them accompanied by a working lock that was not attached to a box or anything else which required locking. Given the etymology of the word vardhlokkur, which literally translates as “ward-lock”, I would suggest that the keys and lock within Bj. 968 act as physical representations of the use of such songs not only to ward the Otherworld traveller (the lock), but also to assist in that traveling (the keys).
The inclusion of imagery which we in the modern world would define as “other culture” or even “other faith” imagery–the Muslim dirhams on the necklaces in Bj.632 and Bj. 844; the silver cross in Bj. 968–is also an important statement, not only on potential Seidhr-practice, but on total worldview of this time period and its people. Birka was one of the most cosmopolitan places in Iron Age Sweden, populated not just by the local Svear, but people from all over the “Viking World” at the time (which ranged as far East as the Silk Route, and as far South as the Caspian Sea and the northern reaches of Muslim territories). Contrary to modern stereotype, not all of those “foreigners” were slaves, either. This blending of cultures and societies created a virtual “melting pot” in Birka, evidenced by clothing styles suggested by grave-goods (see Hedenstierna-Jonson’s discussion of the woman in Bj.581), as well as those grave-goods themselves. The inclusion of dirhams and even a silver cross on these necklaces, likely used distinctly for ritual purposes, paints a far different picture of Norse Practice within this era than often assumed by moderns: rather than participating in such things as “oaths of abjuration” against other faiths and their Gods, much less “looking down their noses” or otherwise belittling them, the presence of these artifacts suggests that these women may have literally participated in these “New Religions” at the same time as the “Old Religion”.
Overall, it is virtually impossible to find artifact evidence of things such as mediumship or Otherworld travel, so anything we may glean from the artifacts in such purported Seidhr-Bearer graves can only provide potential glimpses to us, really, and brief ephemeral ones at that. Consider the modern medium, using my own “hostess” as an example: were someone to excavate our home 1100 years from now, they would find evidence of three altars (mine, Michelle’s, and Suzanne’s). Depending on the ground-properties and levels of preservation, they might find textiles—the remnants of the clothes we all three once wore—and be able to identify them and classify them as “masculine” or “feminine” styles. Again depending on the ground-properties and levels of preservation, they might be able to recover scraps of paper with things written upon them, with various attributions to three different people: two women, and one man. When placed within the parameters of the potential worldview of the 21st century, those future archaeologists would most likely conclude one of two things: that three physical people cohabitated in the home, two women and one man, or that one of the women in the home identified as multiple genders (both male and female; most likely the one with the closet containing both genders of clothes). Neither of those logical conclusions would include the prospect of transformative mediumship, and both of those logical conclusions would be entirely wrong!
Ultimately, we can only arrive at the context of mediumship and Otherworld travel for the purpose of soul retrieval as a definition of the activities of the Seidhr-Bearer when we place these artifacts within the paradigm set for us within a combination of the Lore and post-18th century ethnography. Within the corpus of the Lore, we find comparatively few descriptions of explicit seidhr-practice (by explicit, I mean references stating emphatically that the person is “effecting seidhr”), among these: the description of Sigyn’s “seidhr seance” in Hrolfs Saga Kraka and the description of Thorbjorg’s “seidhr session” in the Saga of Erik the Red.
King Frode tied the seidhrkona fast, and bid her speak the truth, if she should not pine become (questionable: suggests that Frode threatened her with being burned alive in the same manner as Gullveig, if she did not tell the truth). She yawned mightily, and effected seidhr (each yawn of the seidhrkona in this instance signifies a spirit entering and speaking through her), and then she said a verse…
–Hrolfs Saga Kraka, Connla Freyjason Translation
Then the women formed ( note: the Old Norse word here is slógu, which literally translates to “beat or struck”) a circle (literally: “ring”) around the hjallin (“shed” or “scaffold”), which Thorbjorg sat upon. Then Gudhridhr sang so beautiful and well, that no one thought he had heard with more beautiful a voice a song sung. The Spakona (Thorbjorg) thanked her for her singing and the song, saying: “Many those spirits now in attendance and they think it beautiful to hear, the singing was so well sung–(spirits) who before wanted not to understand us or supply us with obedience. But now many things appear clearly, which before were hidden from me, and many others.”
–Saga of Erik the Red, Connla Freyjason Translation
Yet another story, in Laxdoela saga, tells of a seidhrmadhr (a male seidhr-worker), Kotkell, and his family, who erect a seidhjallr (the “scaffold” or “shed” mentioned previously in Erik the Red’s Saga, in the story of Thorbjorg, and in Hrolfs Saga Kraka) and then climb atop it to “sing down” bad weather on their enemies. Later in the story, they perform this ritual again in order to lure one of their enemies out of a nearby house; the young man falls dead on the spot. In fact, the only evidence we have for male seidhr-practitioners is in the Sagas: Kotkell, in Laxdoela saga, and Ragnald Rettilbeina (son of King Harald Fairhair) and his son, Eyvindr Kelda, elsewhere. The fact that we do not seem to have artifact or grave evidence of male seidhr-practitioners patently does not mean that they did not exist; clearly, within the mindsets of people of later periods, they were “a thing”. We have not found every single grave ever interred from the Vendel Period or the Viking Age; new discoveries are, in fact, being made all the time, just as old discoveries (already excavated) find themselves constantly under review. Male Seidhr-Bearers apparently did exist, and in the modern world they most certainly do.
Collectively, all of these stories within the Lore may be coupled with ethnographic examples from similar practices in other cultures (especially Saami culture, which we know was a dominant influence in Uppland Sweden) to provide a context for the artifacts which we do have thus far. The resulting context is one in which seidhr was very much a “group affair”, rather than a simple, solitary practice (as with trolldomr), or even a leader-to-group practice (as with the Staff-Carriers). Seidhr required assistance, whether mundane (as in the case of Gudrid or the family of Kotkell, or in comparative ethnographic descriptions of Saami sarat helpers performing manaheapmi during a noaidi’s trance), or Otherworldly (as with the direct channeling of spirits by Signy in Hrolfs Saga Kraka and communication with spirits by Thorbjorg in the Saga of Erik the Red). “Ephemeral tools”, such as singing and breath, which cannot possibly be proven in the archaeological record, clearly played a crucial role in seidhr-practice. We can also readily glean from the Lore that when seidhr was done in service to or for the community, it was a well-respected and even sought-after service (again, see the accounts in Hrolfs Saga Kraka and the Saga of Erik the Red), yet when done by “outsiders” against members of the “accepted community” (as with the Christian King Olaf’s sentencing of specifically all male practitioners of galdr, magick, and seidhr in Saga Olafs Trygvasonnar in Heimskringla, or the tale of Kotkell in Laxdoela saga), seidhr was considered a despicable crime.
Yet what does any of this teach the modern would-be Seidhr-Bearer? First, it provides us with definitions of what seidhr is and is not, or, at least, what seidhr should or shouldn’t be. Like the Staff-Carrier, the Seidhr-Bearer’s intent should have been to serve the community, and those who used their powers instead for their own personal gain or to divide or otherwise harm the community were most likely considered seidhrskratti. Yet the community served included not only the living or the mundane, but also the Gods and the Invisible Population, including the Revered Dead (as evidenced by the “pleased spirits” in the account of Thorbjorg). Certainly, when more “individualistic needs” should arise, the more “solo art” of trolldomr was also available, and it is clear from grave evidence that many Seidhr-Bearers were likely “cross-practitioners”.
What is a seidhrskratti? In Old Norse, the word literally means “vile” or “wicked” seidhr-worker. Clearly, given that they had a term for it even among the Ancestors, such bad behavior is as old as the vocation itself. Speaking from personal experience, there are few beings more insidious, despicable, or (dare I say it?) evil than an unethical Seidhr-Bearer. What does such unethical behavior look like? In the modern world, it may take the form of using the knowledge and abilities of seidhr for purposes of blackmail or to rob others of their Personal Sovereignty. The guise of “seidhrworker” may also be invoked to perpetrate fakery, solely for personal gain, whether of power or of the financial variety. From the lofty space of the “high seat” some may use seidhr as a means to belittle others, thereby dividing the community, rather than serving it.
A true Seidhr-Bearer, on the other hand, will prove to be one of the most selfless people you have ever met, literally giving of themselves and to the Gods until it hurts. I have witnessed and personally benefited from the sacrifices of an accomplished Seidhr-Bearer who, for twenty-five years, had no clue that was even the path that she was walking! And I have met brave and wise people, like Diana Paxson, who work tirelessly in the community to make the world a better and brighter place. A true Seidhr-Bearer is as noble, giving, and brave as a seidhrskratti is dangerous.
The truth is, of the three paths of Norse Magick, seidhr is genuinely the one about which we know the least, simply because of its very nature: it is very hard to find evidence of mediumship or astral travel for soul retrieval (or any other purpose, for that matter), much less prove such a thing, based on the archaeological record alone. As such, the modern Seidhr-Bearer is left with yet another burden to bear, beyond the responsibility of healing the multi-partite “soul” or bringing forth the Gods or the Dead: they must also carry the very heavy burden of attempting to reconstruct nearly-lost-to-us methods from an ancient time in a modern world, based only on scant artifacts, ethnography, and Lore resources. It is crucial, however, that in undertaking such a burden they do so using all of the resources at hand, and not just one or another, or even a couple, all by themselves and divorced from the rest. It is also paramount that they do so within the original cultural context of seidhr, for seidhr was a community-driven act.
As this reconstruction commences, it is also vital that those doing that reconstructing understand clearly that the Seidhr-Bearer is not always the Staff-Carrier, even though both focus on serving the community, any moreso than a Staff-Carrier is automatically a Seidhr-Bearer. To reconstruct a societal function, one needs to fully understand not only how that function is similar to other functions, but also (and perhaps even more importantly) how it is different and distinct from other functions. Certainly, there were “cross-practitioners” in the Iron Age, just as there will be and should be again in the modern era (a fact we will focus on in-depth in a future blog post), but before one can perform any such “cross-practice”, one must come to fully understand each of its separate components. The old saying “jack of all trades, master of none” is never more true than when speaking of any sort of magickal practice, whether Norse or otherwise. Too often, in our modern world, we find a whole lot of “jacks”, who cannot master any of their chosen magickal trades because they have not taken the time to understand where one practice “ends” and another “begins”, leading to a muddled mess which is far less effective than it could have been, had that time been taken.
We are left, then, with the question: Is the modern practice of seidhr authentic to the practices of the Iron Age? Can it ever be? Perhaps a better question to ask is: Should it be? That same question could and should be asked likewise of the paths and practices of the Staff-Carrier and Troll-Rider. Certainly, as I hope this and the preceding blog posts prove, if we do our “homework”, we may arrive at not only more historically authentic practices, but also more historically authentic intents (as with serving the community). Yet even once we’ve done that, the fact remains that we live in a very different world from our Iron Age Ancestors, with very different needs, motivations, attitudes, and agendas. Given that, what would be the point, ultimately, of a complete regurgitation of exact Iron Age practice? If the practices and methods cannot serve the needs, motivations, attitudes, and agendas of the modern world, what good are they, really? Ultimately, from the more historically authentic base which I hope and pray might be built based on what I have provided here, we must build a modern version which authentically works for us, both as individuals and within and for the community, here in our modern world. History can no longer actively enchain us; instead, it must ignite us, or none of what we do, whatever our path, is truly authentic at all.
(Portions of this post appear in Heidhrinn Sidhr by Connla Freyjason, coming soon from Iaconagraphy Press; those portions and this entire blog are copyright 2019 and should not be copied without written permission.)
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