Serving Odin – the Ninth and Final Ordeal: Asgard

G. Krasskova

(This ordeal took place October 2008).

Since my first exposure to them, I’ve always been deeply frightened by hook ordeals. There is something about the physical reality of a metal hook being inserted into the skin that I find deeply, viscerally terrifying. It speaks to a level of pain (real or imagined) that I had never, ever wanted to personally experience. I was hoping against hope as I began my ordeal cycle that I wouldn’t have to ever go up on hooks, but as I slowly worked my way through my nine world cycle, I knew, pretty much by the third ordeal, that this cycle would culminate with my hanging from hooks in imitatio of the Old Man at my Asgard ordeal. This scared the hell out of me. For most of my ordeal cycle, which took about two and a half years, I didn’t bother thinking about it. After all, I had enough on my plate just getting through whatever ordeal was right in front of me (not to mention integrating the lessons learned when each one was finished). Each ordeal prepared me for the next, but Asgard seemed so very far away. By Vanaheim though, I knew it was time to start scheduling things.

I arranged with R. to hold my ordeal during the last Keepers Crossing. This was a yearly retreat for shamans and spiritworkers that ran for about four years. There were always classes and workshops and it was a time to network and reap the benefits of our respective, combined skills. I also arranged, after some difficulty, to have H. come out from Belgium to serve as technician and ordeal master. W. agreed to horse Odin and on the day of the ordeal itself, I had another blessing: M. was pushed to horse Loki for me. Thank the Gods too, because had They not been there in the flesh, I don’t think I could have gotten through the ordeal itself.

The day dawned grey and cold. I slept late and missed the first class, which I’d wanted to attend. I decided, however, that it was more important for me to be rested for what was to come. I brought H. her gift: a gorgeous Paul Chen spear head and she was surprised…she asked me if she’d mentioned she needed one for a Working. She hadn’t, but as I told her, Odin had dictated what I was to bring her. Midway through the day, R. got to work some of the acupressure that Mengloth is teaching him on me…I’d volunteered to be the stunt dummy. That was interesting and very helpful to me physically. Then it was just a matter of getting into ordeal headspace.

The night before, W. had informed me that Odin wanted to do things to me during the ordeal and that caused me to have a complete breakdown in the car. It was just about all I could do to show up. I didn’t realize how tightly wired, how frightened I was of this particular ordeal until that moment. Several people had asked to attend but at the last minute, before we went to get started, Odin made them leave. Only Odin’s and Loki’s folk could be there, save for H. who belongs to Hela. It seems all things eventually flow through Her hands and as I was to die, it was right and proper that She be present. Surprisingly, despite years of working together, even R. was not permitted to be present. It was a Wodinic mystery. My adopted mother couldn’t stand to watch…her ordeal was knowing that I was going through mine. She stayed up at the house with B. (At the last minute, B. had asked if she could be present but I told her that I needed her to watch out for my adopted mom, that she was the only one I would trust with that and she took to the task with gallantry). I was left with H. who was serving as technician, W. who was horsing Odin, M. who was horsing Loki, and E., who was there to witness. Odin had wanted a Loki’s person to witness and E. had volunteered. (S. was also there as ground crew – to take care of the Horses after their respective possessions). H. laid out the tools, W. and M. opened to the Gods and the process began.

The pain of the hooks going into my back was like nothing I have ever experienced. It was agonizing. There were six hooks to go into my back but I soon lost count. (Two more hooks went into my breasts...those didn’t hurt much, and Odin put two needles in each arm, in a gebo formation for a total of 24 holes). Odin and Loki held onto me while H., half horsing Hela worked. I was given a gift: Hela asked Odin if He wanted this to hurt more or less and He left it up to Loki, who told her to make it as easy as possible. I am so grateful to Them all for being present.

Parts of it seemed like a dream. There were times throughout the process where I could hardly believe that I was actually there, undergoing this final ordeal. There was something surreal about the whole thing and with my consciousness eventually flickering in and out of this world, I lost all track of time and place and space.

I have to say that as badly as the hooks hurt, being roped up wasn’t bad at all. There are two ways to be suspended: slowly or all at once. Needless to say, I went up all at once. It was strange, sickening being dangled by my flesh several feet off the ground, but not exactly painful (though not pleasant either). Odin stayed with me, told me of His sacrifice on the tree, reminded me that at the end, my hooks would come out whereas part of Him was ALWAYS on the Tree suffering. Very gently but firmly, He told me that when He hung, He screamed, cried, passed out….that there was no shame in any of it, to just let myself have the experience. I did pass out apparently for a long time (20 mins? A half hour? ). I was told later that while I was out, Odin kept his hand on me even as I swung…W. said later that He was told that Odin kept His hand on me because He didn’t want me to come back to Midgard consciousness and think that He’d left. While I was out, I was at the Tree, on the Tree, staring into Ginungagap. I died. And Odin in that place that is no place and everyplace, sang me back to life. (I was told later by witnesses that the Horse did not sing so all of this took place not in Midgard on R.’s land, but Away. I was with Odin at the place and point of His greatest sacrifice).

It’s odd but even writing about this now, months after the ordeal, makes me nauseous. The first time, quite recently, that I walked back on R.’s land, back to the tree upon which I’d hung, I was taken right back to those moments, to the hooks going into my flesh, to my dying on the Tree. I’m told this is not at all uncommon after such ordeals. Sometimes there is an element of mild PTSD attached. I know of one ordeal master and shaman who had to go up on hooks for His final death ordeal. As he hung, a special song was sung by another shaman. Now, he told me recently, when he hears that song, he has two choices: he can sing along or he can start screaming. Such is the way it sometimes goes. We’re never allowed to forget where we’ve been and what we’ve gone through. We’re never allowed to forget the price we’ve paid for our skills. We’re never allowed to separate ourselves from the process and the moment lest we forget the humility, surrender, and trust involved.

All went as Odin planned. For those who might be appalled reading this, I want to state clearly: I knew what I was getting into. Throughout it all, Odin gave me the choice and I chose to undergo this knowing full well where it might lead. I trusted Odin that He in His caring and love would bring me to where I needed to go. Furthermore, I had one of the finest teams available. All were highly skilled, trained not only in the physical techniques of ordeal work, but also in first aid, cpr, and preventing the spread of blood born pathogens. H. also has advanced EMT training and is a certified medical qi-gung practitioner. I was in perfectly competent hands.

Eventually, I was allowed down. The moment my feet touched the ground, my lower back spasmed terribly and I screamed, going down to my knees. (I had known that with my back injuries, this was a strong possibility and indeed my back spasmed fully for three days. I did not mind the reminder of my ordeal. In some strange way, I rejoiced in it. Pain tells you that you’re alive, that you’ve survived, that you have overcome fear and a thousand other things. It shows you where you’ve been). Odin stayed with me until I could walk, and then walked with me: a blessing. The whole process of hanging for Him opened and cleaned me out. Afterwards, I was as clean and centered and wide open to HIM as I would ever be. As bloody, painful, and terrifying as this whole thing was, I would go up again (though from the chest, not the back) for Him in offering should I have the chance.

As night was falling (another blessing, I’d been allowed to have it done at twilight/dusk rather than in the cold of full darkness. The skin is much more sensitive to pain in the cold), we made our way back up to the house, where my mother, in tears and worried, hugged me and gifted me with an ansuz pendant. Then we went out to dinner. The next day I taught two classes at a local Pagan Pride event, limping proudly all the while! I must have made a sad and sorry, though joyful sight to all concerned. I had tasted ecstasy in the moments of my rebirth, in the aftermath of the ordeal itself. I had become wise in the ways of my own power. It showed, even sore and contrary as my body was on that Sunday. I could not help but glow with joy, relief, and pride.

I died on the Tree, I died as I hung on those hooks and so many things changed when I came back. As much as it hurt (and it did hurt terribly), I’d do it all again. It brought me closer to Odin than I ever thought possible. It cleansed me utterly and opened me to Him, His passion, His love, His caring, His will in ways I had never expected and at a far deeper level than I ever knew possible. It was the culmination of a cycle that had taken nearly three years and that had changed me in many unexpected ways. I was in no way the woman to faced Hela during that first ordeal. I had become more fully His. I had become more fully myself; and I would do it all again if He asked.

“Go ahead, light your candles and burn your incense and ring your bells and call out to God, but watch out, because God will come and He will put you on His anvil and fire up His forge and beat you and beat you until He turns brass into pure gold.”
----Sant Keshavadas.

Serving Odin – The Eighth Ordeal: Alfheim

By G. Krasskova


I’m not sure what I’m permitted to say in retrospect about this ordeal. Much of what I learned I am tabooed, by specific Deities, from committing to print. I expect this will be a very brief and skeletal account. Still, I shall try my best to convey what I experienced. Like Midgard, this was not a physically painful ordeal at all, though it was grueling in its own way. It seems that for me, the alfar light and dark, preferred psychological ordeal to physical suffering. I suppose physical suffering seemed too … lacking in subtlety for their tastes in this case. Also, one of their oft-used techniques is glamour and psychological mesmerism. It makes sense that their ordeals would incorporate not physical pain, but a stretching and widening of my psychological and mental boundaries. All in all, they were very gentle and fairly hands off with me…as these things go.

This ordeal took place in June, in the middle of my six week sojourn in Germany. I went to Belgium for the weekend, to visit a local ordeal master there H. She and I had previously arranged for her to facilitate this ordeal for me at that time. I had been told beforehand that this ordeal might involve taking legal, psychoactive substances that would drive me temporarily mad. My greatest fear is losing control and going crazy. I needed to learn that I could lose control and come back from that place. As it was, it turned out to be quite a different ordeal than I had expected, as much of that particular lesson had already been learned somewhere between Jotunheim and Vanaheim. Instead, I was pulled into their world, the outer lands of Alfheim, by means that I found terrifying.

The day after I arrived, H. and I rose early to prepare for the ordeal. We set up a lavoo tent in her backyard. We got a fire going inside the tent and she went to prepare the herbal preparation I would have to take. I felt the Alfar come, honor guard for the Goddess I was to meet. They ringed the space as we transitioned between worlds, watching over all that occurred. H. came back with a bottle of tincture and a pipe. We were going to use salvia divinorum to enter fully into their world. This herb is completely legal and yet it has the ability to take a person into the salvia world, or in this case, into the alfar realms. The spirit of salvia is a … handmaiden of the Green Goddess. (I don’t know Her by any other name. She is one of the primary Alfar Deities, Queen of the Green Fire). Sometimes Salvia will allow herself to be used as a vessel by this Goddess.

I rarely work with plant spirits and never with psychoactive substances. I find this particular path to be utterly terrifying. It is deadly dangerous, more so than any ordeal practice I have ever engaged in. I have immense respect for those shamans and spirit-workers who use psychoactive substances as a primary part of their work. I never want to join their ranks! Certainly part of why I was required to do this lay in the path of Odin that I walk. He is, in part, a plant shaman and healer. It followed that I too must experience a tiny bit of what that is like, even if only in the briefest, most controlled microcosm, to truly understand (in whatever capacity my human brain allows) the greater macrocosm of His experiences there.

Over the course of the next few hours, I took several preparations of salvia both via smoke and via tincture. The Midgard world dissolved around me and I heard the voice of the fire. All the fires. I became part of that pushing, inexorable, primal rhythm. Beyond that, I cannot speak. These are the things I have promised never to put into print. I met the Alfar Goddess. I experienced the state in which the Alfar exist. I came to understand much of their culture: why it is the way it is, why certain protocols exist, what it means to be almost fully of the green fire. I established a tie to that world and apparently conducted myself with appropriate decorum. This was an important part of all my ordeals: Odin was sending me to the various worlds for me to make myself known, and establish contacts and links. To do that, I had to understand and accept the specific protocols of each place.

One aftereffect of this ordeal was that it opened me much more fully to plant spirits. It’s also made me much more cognizant of the living fire that flows through every single thing: human, mineral, plant, animal. It’s changed my way and understanding of being in the world. I also gained much more respect for the Alfar in general. I wish that I could write more about my experiences during this ordeal. It felt very much like a transition point. This was it, this was the last stop on the journey before meeting my Lord in Asgard.

Serving Odin-the Sixth Ordeal: Jotunheim

by G. Krasskova

This account is going to be short and sweet, partly to protect a colleague’s privacy and partly because of all the ordeals I underwent as part of this cycle, it was Jotunheim that came the closest to breaking me. And you know what? No one laid a finger on me. I met the Mother of Monsters and She was kind. Her kindness is a terrible thing. I didn’t write about this ordeal at the time. I couldn’t. I was too raw.

This ordeal was all about pride and humility and owning my own heart. It was about giri, that terrible moment when the needs of duty and the desires of the heart conflict. Duty wins every time for people like us, but oh, it hurts. It was about knowing oneself; it was about personal integrity. Angurboda told me I had too much pride, then She set about breaking it down. I am grateful to Her. She was fair to me, this warrior who had been thrown before Her feet. I am grateful to have been given the blessing of humility and to have been given a glimpse into my own heart. She helped me more than I realized at the time.

Jotunheim was a terrible ordeal for all that Angurboda was kind. It threw me into a deep depression for many weeks afterwards. (I actually went on a taboo-breaking bender for a solid ten days after this ordeal, and it’s the only time in my life I sat down and decided, quite clear-headedly, to get drunk, which I then did.) Essentially, to die, I had to face my greatest fear: love and attraction and the vulnerability these things bring. To die, I had to understand the sacrifice of the heart; there had to be the breaking of my brittle pride. My heart had to be opened to let the Gods in.

Where to even begin…In August Odin made me fall in love with a man, made me hunger for him with a force I could neither ignore nor deny. This man and I were not only colleagues but very good friends, so I did what it was in my warrior nature to do: I concealed and said nothing, hoping only against hope that these things would fade. My colleague W. saw my need in a reading and told me, after the initial shock wore off, that I needed to speak to the man, whom I’ll call X. I had my Jotunheim ordeal coming up in November, and I could not walk cleanly into an ordeal with something like that sitting unresolved between me and X, who was to help with the ordeal. I am a very private person, most especially about my heart. My heart is fragile, more so than I care to admit. It took me another month to sit down with X, and I was physically sick when I had to speak.

I told X and he was horrified: not at my feelings as I’d expected. No, my feelings flattered him. He was horrified because, as he told me later, the moment I started speaking he knew to the bottom of his own heart that Angurboda was going to use it against me in the upcoming ordeal. Because of that, He indicated that we had to wait until after my ordeal to discuss this further, and after he’d been able to do divination before taking any action. (God-owned people can’t just get together. It’s always better to check with our Owners first. The whole idea that “it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission” really doesn’t work with us). I learned later that he immediately went to his Owner asking if we could get together. She told him gently that “he couldn’t afford my bride-price.” He also asked Angurboda, my next divine ordeal master, and She flat out said “No.” No negotiation. No argument. Just: no. She and Odin are often at odds. I belonged to Odin. I was Odin’s valkyrie. Odin has a powerful line into me and can always look through my eyes if He wishes. What better time to strike at one dear to Angurboda than in the intimacy of sex? We both knew that if Odin asked it of me, I’d do that without hesitation. It is the way of a valkyrie. So, She flat out forbade it. Still, I wasn’t permitted to know that until the day of my ordeal.

In November my ordeal came and I met Angurboda, who possessed a human horse in order to speak to me. She came into her vessel with the sound of breaking glass – the large vase of thistles we had placed on her altar was abruptly swept away and smashed to pieces by a sudden wind. It echoed up the path upon which I was walking, my stomach lurched, and I knew, I knew She was there. I walked down to meet Her, offerings of whiskey and weapons in my hands. She had ordered X to buy a sword for me, a replica of Eowyn’s sword from that Tolkien book. She said the symbolism of that particular weapon was fitting. I, not being a Tolkien fan, didn’t realize how fitting until well after the ordeal (when a friend who is obsessed with Tolkien explained Eowyn’s tale).

She had me kneel before Her (actually, that’s what my body did. It’s not like I had much of a choice with Her presence being what it is). She took the alcohol that was offered (Jack Daniels) and drank that. (This always amazes me with possession. The horse being possessed always had a bad reaction to alcohol, yet the Goddess could drink with impunity. I have seen such things multiple times and it never ceases to amaze me.)
She said that we were going to speak about the three deepest pains of my heart.

First, She began speaking about my adopted mother’s poor health and impending death, forcing me to cry, forcing me to acknowledge how that was tearing me up inside. I’d been compartmentalizing it like my warrior training had taught, pushing away the pain, focusing on necessary action. She made me acknowledge the bond I have with my adopted mom and how her death would affect me. She said that I needed to be prepared because were I to lose myself to grief, I would be desecrating all the gifts my adopted mom had given me.

Then she talked about my desire for a community, a tribe. She said I had a tribe in the love my adopted mother had for me; and that I had a tribe with those colleagues and friends who had accepted me in this work. I would never have a tribe such as I sought to replicate through Theodism. I walk the Wanderer’s path. I will not ever fully belong anywhere. Strangely, shortly before this ordeal, this one issue, which had long eaten away at me, ceased to be an issue. I’m not sure why but something changed in me and I realized that I am not meant to have such a tribal binding in this lifetime. So that was well on its way to being resolved when She brought it up, but it took Her talking to me about it for me to realize that I’d found a measure of peace with the whole thing. Then, She talked about X.


She told me to give Her the sword, which I did. She did not demand physical ordeal…in that, I was later told, She honored me as a warrior. She laid the sword down between us and told me to choose. I had two paths open to me: I could be X’s friend, servant, colleague, etc. but never, ever, lover; or I could leave this place and never return, never having any contact with him again whatsoever. Now, Odin had me working with X for a reason. We had mutual work to accomplish, so by doing that I would be turning my back on my duty. Also, he was a very good friend to me and didn’t deserve to be tossed to the side like that. Angurboda also subtly implied that to do so would be cowardice, even though only She and I would ever know. I could pick up the sword and do my duty or turn my back on it, leaving the blade where it lay.

I walk the warrior’s path. Such symbolism is deeply embedded in my very core. There was nothing more potent that She could have done to drive home the point of this ordeal. She said, before starting, that I had too much pride. That pride, which protected my heart, was getting in the way of my opening to Odin. It was getting in the way of the Work He needed me to do. It had to go.

When I’d made my choice, obviously taking up the sword, She had me smash the large broken vase further by Odin’s god-post, to “show Him what the Hag of the Ironwood has done to His Valkyrie’s dreams.” Then She had me wrap the sword in a huge bundle of thistles, tying it with hand-spun red thread. She said that as a valkyrie, my love would always be like that. My job was to pick the thread free of all the thistles and re-spin it into something whole. I must clean it and remake what is broken. She’s right too: it didn’t hit me until months later, but that visual image of the sword wrapped in thistles and blood-red thread is the perfect metaphor for my heart. I’m a fairly simple person: sometimes I need the stark visual metaphors.

She then suggested that it would benefit me greatly to enter into a non-sexual service contract for a year and a day with X. I did this (it expired this past February) and I learned something that all my years in Theodism hadn’t taught: I am not meant to be in service to anyone but Odin. What I thought was necessary to my make-up, what I thought I desired above all others, was not something I found myself wanting or needing in this life. I had been a bound warrior lifetime after lifetime. This time, I was working on the other side of that: I was ronin, bound only to Odin. There was something immensely freeing, immensely cleansing and healing in that epiphany. I worked out my time in service and chose not to renew the contract. I learned that in this life, I am not meant to be owned by any man. It purified my heart (by breaking and remaking it). Now there is nothing in that heart that does not belong to Odin.



(I received permission from all relevant parties before posting this. No one’s privacy was compromised).

Serving Odin - the Fifth Ordeal: Midgard

by G. Krasskova

This was the strangest ordeal. Most people, I suspect, wouldn’t even consider it an ordeal but for me, it forced me to embrace, accept and begin to heal all of my body issues. My Midgard ordeal was all about embodiment. It was about learning to accept my physicality, my body, the form and shape of my body, it’s blessings and its limitations. It was about learning to stop seeing my body as ‘the enemy’ and instead accepting that I am as Odin made me, exactly as He made me, exactly as He wanted me. It was about learning to love those connections that bound me to life, to see beauty, and maybe even joy in Midgard.

I had never loved life. For as long as I can remember, it had been a grim, painful struggle for me, something to be endured for the sake of duty. The more my Work pulled me away from Midgard existence, separated me from those things that the average person holds dear, the more resentful of that existence I became, and always, there was a soul-crushing weariness, and for a very long time, poverty. Add to that the fact that I detested my body…I had been a professional ballet dancer and my body broke very early on. I hated it for that, for not having the wherewithal to hold out, to mold itself to the look required. I hated it for having so many injuries, for not being beautiful or (so I thought) even pretty, for being awkward and ugly. I hated it for being in severe pain almost all the time. Mostly, I just hated it.

This had been a huge struggle for me since I was a young woman. It remains a struggle, I’ll admit, but thanks to my Midgard ordeal huge headway was made, some of the worst of the bitter pain chipped away. I began to love and appreciate life with this ordeal.  Through my Midgard ordeal, I learned not only that there could be joy in embodiment, pleasure, but also that there was nothing wrong with that. This was also the time when Odin started teaching me about navigating Midgard more efficiently, using the tools of Midgard: dress, presentation, appearance, protocol to make myself “fit in.” This was something that up to this point I’d never learned to do. It’s one thing to be an outsider by virtue of one’s job/vocation as shaman; it’s another to feel alienated from the very humanity of which you are (more or less) part by virtue of your own clumsiness with social markers. I’d had such distaste for the trappings of femininity. To me they bespoke weakness, vanity and I’ll admit there was something deep seated in me that said “why bother? Putting make-up and pretty clothing on you is about as useful as putting ribbons on a jackass.” My Midgard ordeal slowly but surely began to undo all of these knots. It “civilized” me.  It transformed my relationship to me and it allowed me to fall in love with living, with life, and the wonderful ups and downs that it brings. I love life now. I never, ever thought I would say that! I’m having a wonderful time, I enjoy who I am. This was my greatest and most unexpected gift from Midgard.

As ordeals go, this one wasn’t bad. In fact, for most women I suppose it wouldn’t have been an ordeal at all. A colleague, G. facilitated this ordeal. She is, in addition to being a spirit-worker, a gifted massage therapist with a keen sense of aesthetics. For her, these things combined in sacred work: restoring to women a sense of their own innate beauty. She had been pushed to offer to facilitate and on the urging of my fire-teacher, I accepted. About a week after my Muspelheim ordeal, I journeyed to MA to meet with her. The ordeal was expected to take three days and would involve remarkable amount of pampering. (As I said earlier, not all ordeals involve physical pain). The purpose of this, and why it was, for me, an ordeal: I would have to confront each and every one of my body issues, my distaste for the flesh, and my issues with femininity directly. The form of the ordeal might be gentle, but the issues it was sure to raise would be anything but.

The first day G. stood me before her full length mirror. She made me look at myself in the eyes, she would not allow me to turn away. I have only the smallest of mirrors in my home (a mirror over my sink). I avoid mirrors as a matter of course. I avoid looking at myself in them. I don’t much like them. They make me hurt. G. stood me before that mirror, one that was her primary magical ally, an ensorcelled tool. She talked to me about mirror magic: how one must guard what one says in front of a mirror, lest we create that spoken reality for ourselves. That mirrors, more than doorways, are realms of manifestation. That one can stand before a mirror, create a glamour and step into it before walking out to meet the world.  What I had long dismissed as nothing more than a symbol of excessive female vanity suddenly became very interesting as a magical tool. Then, she allowed the words of my Husband, of Odin to come through her and spoke about how He saw me, and my beauty, and my femininity. She spoke about how He valued my strength and how that strength shown forth in my body. She spoke about how He was most pleased with the shape and form of that body. He was pleased with this woman who was a blade, a weapon, a warrior. He would have me no different.  This went on for maybe twenty minutes and it reduced me to tears. I still struggle with this but it was at this ordeal that the hard bands of pain around my heart began to ease. Odin had her draw runes in oils and red ochre on me, marking me yet again as His valkyrie, and His bride.

Since Odin wanted to give me the tools to function at a better, more efficient level in the mundane world, to carve a place for myself in that world, G. was tapped to teach me about dress and presentation, including make-up. I’d always had a tremendous distaste for what I defined as feminine frippery, for a number of reasons which anyone knowing my birth family well would understand.  It also really highlighted the depth of my ingrained misogyny! Anyway, we spent a couple of hours with her teaching me how to apply professional make up, with her teaching me why this was important, how this could be used to hold and cast a glamour. He wanted me to look at these tools: dress, make up, courtesies, as war paint, as weapons and tools that would enable me to move cleanly amongst a greater variety of people working His will. G. helped me give up the great bitterness and sense of awkward clumsiness that I had with even the idea of engaging in this process. It was at my Midgard ordeal that I gained some semblance of Midgard “drag,” the ability to pass in the professional world of Midgard. I gained those skills and at the same time sacrificed the distaste that I’d had for them. This ordeal helped me hide my monster. Most surprisingly of all, in the months since this ordeal, I've even come to find the entire process (dress, make up, etc.) fun. 

The next day began with a sauna, complete with birch leaf bundles for cleansing. Then she wrapped me in healing herbs and oils, and then, I had a long massage while she used her gift of energy healing to start opening up my heart. We had to be careful with my left leg as the brand I’d gotten at Muspelheim was very new, however, it didn’t get in the way that much. With my back and neck injuries, this was an amazing experience and with G.’s healing talents, it left me feeling more comfortable in my body than I ever remember being before. I’d had massages but I rarely permit energy work to be done—it can really mess up shamans and spiritworkers if done by someone who doesn’t understand how we’ve been modified energetically by our Gods. I’d never had one done by a gifted spirit-worker, working under the auspices of my Gods, specifically to open the barred cavern of my heart.

The following day began with a pedicure, more massage, and a lovely lunch at a local Japanese Restaurant. Then we drove to Salem, where a local scent shop created a personal scent for me, one that focused on my role as Odin’s bride. It was sensual…where I am not. It was lush, where I am not. It was delightful. It was all the things that I wish I knew how to show. That, I suspect, was the point. After spending some time in Salem shopping for various herbs,  we went clothes shopping as well. G. has great skill as a personal shopper and was able to help me find clothing that flattered my body and made me feel comfortable and professional without being too egregiously feminine, which by nature, I am not. For so long I’d hated anything that had to do with presentation. I avoided clothes shopping partly out of poverty and partly out of body-hatred (I’d been grievously poor for years and only recently was able to even really consider shopping for nice clothes).  It affected the way I carried myself. It affected the way I was perceived professionally. It crippled me. Through this ordeal, Odin was giving me a chance not just to undo some of the wounds and hurts, but to learn necessary skills that would enable me to have a professional career in the future. G. helped me to see that I could be in the world, that I wasn’t a freak as a woman. I also learned that making people feel beautiful, and feel comfortable in their skin is sacred work. It’s holy work, the work of a very special type of priestess. I am very respectful of those who engage in such work: massage therapists, those who provide manicures, pedicures, facials, those who work in the beauty industry. In Northern tradition the body is part of the soul matrix and I think that people doing this type of work are essentially helping us to restore part of ourselves, the part that is inevitably the most damaged from the world in which we live. 

Anyway, that was it really. It was a weekend of immense pampering but also of learning. I realized that our bodies are our tools, yes, but that it is our duty to keep them in as good a working order as possible. That this is the conduct by which we not only touch the world, but also by which we experience the Divine. This is the conduit through which our Gods can experience the world. Most of all, I experienced for a few brief moments how Odin sees me. One of the most difficult parts of my journey was a period of two years where Odin cut me off from the feel of His presence. I’m an empath. For me, part of my relationship with Him was the constant sense of His feelings for me. When that was suddenly blocked and cut off, it threw me into a deep depression. It was a very close thing to my not being able to climb out and only my sense of duty and the Work (thank the Gods for my military background) kept me going. But it was a miserable, hurtful time. It was necessary, absolutely necessary for reasons I won’t go into here, but it left deep wounds in my heart and soul. (Lest I be accused of saying that Odin is cruel, I will reiterate: this was necessary for me to grow and heal. It was hurtful at the time, but in retrospect, I came to understand His reasons and it forced me to address a lot of old, unresolved pain in ways I never otherwise would have. He gave me an immense gift during that very dark time). My relationship with Odin has only recently been completely restored, those wounds healed, literally recently as of this past month, and the blocking occurred for only a two year period several years ago. This ordeal was the first time that I’d felt Odin’s fingers playing over those terrible scars, soothing them. It began a heart-healing that found its fulfillment first in my Asgard ordeal and then again, quite recently with Him directly.

So that was my Midgard ordeal and it is a good thing that it was kind and pleasant because the next ordeal was anything but.

  

Serving Odin - The Fourth Ordeal: Muspelheim

By G. Krasskova

This ordeal was painful, exhausting, grueling and absolutely joyous. It gave me back a sense of confidence in my ability to move (something I’d lost when I retired from ballet years ago). It gave me back a rightful pride in the skills that I had worked hard to accomplish (not all pride is bad). It earned me a measure of ‘face’ and a right to seek out further training in fire magic from Surt, Lord of Muspelheim. It taught me then and there that Odin was paying a price in arranging these ordeals for His valkyrie.  It gave me back a sense of freedom and joy, things that had long been difficult for me to find in Midgard – especially joy in the work. That was my biggest gift in this ordeal: I was given joy. This ordeal also restored me to my magic. In very concrete ways, as the saying goes: “I got my mojo back!” Of course, I had to burn for it.

 

Muspelheim is the Norse world of fire, one of the primal worlds from which all creation sprang. Fire then, is one of our eldest of ancestors and amongst the many lessons that working for/with Surt taught me, is that it deserves to be honored as such. More than life, all existence, creativity and driving momentum came from that cosmic clash, that big bang when Muspelheim and Niflheim collided. As Master of Muspelheim, the God Surt is one of, if not the eldest of beings in the Northern Tradition. He is bestower of fire (and our tradition is one in which mankind never had to steal fire). A few months before this ordeal, Odin had told me to go to Surt and learn the basics of fire magic. Surt had provided a human teacher and I had begun my apprenticeship. My actual Muspelheim ordeal was originally going to take place in May, before I left for six weeks of study in Germany. At the last minute, however, Surt decreed that it had to be in July, at the hottest part of the summer. He also gave very explicit instructions to my team of ordeal masters regarding my ordeal attire.  

 

We decided to hold the ritual the Tuesday before Etinmoot 2007. W. and R. were to be my ordeal masters and I was told to give the entire day – at least—for the ordeal itself. I was told to hydrate myself and eat well the couple days preceding and to make sure to get a good night’s sleep, that this ordeal was going to be extraordinarily grueling on the body. I arrived at the farm fairly early and a little before noon headed down to the field and firepit. First, I was told to strip. I was allowed only to keep my shoes. This was important for me, a mini-ordeal in and of itself. I have a great deal of body-modesty. (It’s almost a running joke with my colleagues because it’s not something that we’re much allowed and in the course of the Work, it’s slowly been chipped away). In fact, I think it’s safe to say that I have more body modesty than any four or five other shamans or spiritworkers combined. It’s just the way I was raised, my own body issues, extreme shyness in certain areas, and an old fashioned sense of propriety. Surt was having none of it. There’s a reason for this: it gets in the way of the Work. Our bodies are our tools. They need to be cared for but not privileged excessively, especially in a way that interferes with what the Gods need to be done. If I need to strip for an ordeal that my Gods have requested, it shouldn’t be a problem. Here is an example of why this might be necessary: the first time I met R. he performed a blood-walking for me. This means, that he performed a rite that allowed him to read my ancestral threads. To do this, at the time, we drove to a cold lake in the middle of October (R., his attendant, me and a friend), R. stripped down and waded into the lake while I stood on the shore and the ritual commenced. Neither one of us thought anything of it. We were in the moment of the Work. It only occurred to us later how odd that might have looked to non shamans or spiritworkers. There can be no hesitation. When the Work demands it, modesty must go. That was a really hard lesson for me.

 

So once I’d stripped, the two ordeal masters smeared sun tan lotion on my back (necessary pain is one thing, stupidity another) and I was told to make a fire. The first thing one must learn for fire mastery (be it in magic or shamanism) is how to make a fire either with flint and steel, or with hand-bow. I had chosen the former. I set up the logs and quickly got a flame going. W., also a fire-master, looked at me and said “Good. That was faster than I expected. Now blow that out and do it again with more mindfulness.” I did so without argument. It took a bit of time to actually get the bonfire going, but I managed it and that fire was mine to tend and keep going throughout the ordeal. As Surt had requested, I sprinkled cedar, tobacco, and alder on the fire…this combination is blessed by fire. It raises a warrior’s energy, and fire energy. It is beloved of Surt. Then, the clothing that I was to wear during the ordeal was given to me: a crown with multiple rows of barbs running down its back, and what Surt called a ‘cloak of fire,” a neck piece with shoulder pads and then row after row of fire colored beads interspersed with barbs…the kind of barbs used in barbed wire. I was to dance until the fire burned down or Surt gave me leave to stop (I had to go through the three large piles of wood prepared in advance to keep the fire going). Every time I moved, the barbs swung and bit into my flesh.

 

I began to dance and my body was lacerated as each movement caused auto-flagellation. I swung and swayed and moved as fire bade me. I slipped into a deep trance very early on. Fire has its own rhythms, and like ice, its own voice, what W. once called “the most magical sound in the world.” Every so often, I’d feel gentle hands on me, pouring water over my back, forcing me to drink as W. or R. cared for me, making sure I didn’t dehydrate or burn. It was dizzying and I was too dazed to register most of it. I just kept moving. Within the first hour, the kinetic energy was so strong that it caused several strands of beads and barbs to shatter. By ¾ of the way through, all the strands had broken save for a few, which I held in my hands, whirling like a dervish as I began to flog myself. When those shattered, I was given belly dancing scarves with sharp edged coins on them, and an array of floggers. I continued the dance, alternating amongst these tools.

 

At one point, I was no longer by the firepit. I was in the hall of the Lord of Muspelheim, He watching with His court. I, a valkyrie of Odin danced and flagellated myself, performed before the Master of Fire. This added prestige to Surt, that Odin would send wife and valkyrie to perform the dance of fire and pain. He ordered me to use specific tools, and to whip myself more thoroughly. I was given no quarter.

 

Eventually, I was allowed to put the flogging instruments down and galdr the runes of fire. During the earlier part of the ordeal, Surt had showed me specific dance steps, saying “earth and fire are the weapons of war” and teaching me how to utilize this energy magically. It was difficult to ground by the end. My trance was deep; I’d journeyed to Muspelheim; I was physically exhausted. Close to seven hours from the time I lit the fire, I was permitted to stop. As the fire burned to embers, W. and my fire-teacher, who had arrived mid-way through my ordeal, held me down. R. took a cautery pen and branded Surt’s rune: cweorth, the rune of fire-mastery, the rune of the funeral pyre, the rune of creative destruction into my left thigh. Once the embers burned out, the ordeal was complete. I asked my fire-teacher to go up to let my mother know I was ok (I had massive cuts and bruises on my body and was bleeding and dirty so I wanted to get cleaned up before she saw me). W. and R. helped me carefully back up to the house where I was shepherded into the shower. They and J. scrubbed me down (I could barely stand on my own) and poured salt water over the brand and all the cuts. Then I was left alone to dress (once it was verified I wouldn’t pass out or fall over). Eventually, we went out for a nice dinner (though I looked like a battered wife sitting between R. and W!).

 

Despite how exhausting and painful this ordeal was, it was a truly ecstatic experience. I came out of it with so very many gifts, completely unexpected. Best of all, I had earned the right to work with fire. I had done something that I never thought I’d be able to do. I, who had long lamented that I had been forced to give up my dancing career, had been gifted anew with a type of dancing – fire dancing—as a magical and shaman’s tool. Surt, through the challenge and blessings of fire, had given me my body back. That would prove crucial for the next ordeal.

 

I walk with pain

by G. Krasskova

I walk with pain
because he is the companion You have given me on this path.
He is not the angel I would have chosen for myself
had I been permitted to choose.
I walk with pain and he leads the dance, whirling
always to the rhythm You have set.
Sooner or later I seem to manage to pick up the steps.
I guess I’ve been well trained:
I know to embrace him as much as I can;
and he in turn knows exactly where to touch me.
You see, because I am hard, my heart is thorny, my soul is scarred,
and sometimes I need a tenacious ally,
who will not yield to my protestation,
or pleas for mercy.
Sometimes I need help
opening myself to You.
You knew that, having once held my heart so lovingly in Your hand.
You knew I needed a companion I could not escape.
You knew that only for You and You alone,
would I throw myself into this partner’s arms willingly.
So I walk hand in hand with pain
and I have found that while he is not cruel
neither is he kind.
He’s wheedled his way in, gone places in my heart
locked and barred even to You.
He’s guiding me there, helping me,
so that one day I can hand You their key.
So that one day, there will be no walls between us.
Oh my Sustenance, my Adoration, My Lord,
You have chosen well for me, a companion on this journey;
for while he is neither cruel nor kind, I have found, Beloved,
that he is compassionate.

Serving Odin – the Third Ordeal: Svartalfheim

by G. Krasskova

This ordeal turned out to have many lessons about memory and obligation, about accountability and the responsibilities incurred by emotional impulsiveness. It taught me much about the blocks and masks I wear for good or ill. Odin said recently that I need not always be so hard, but…I do not always know any other way to be. The Svartalfar taught me the danger of such bravado. This ordeal was about humility and old offenses coming home to roost. It changed the way I relate to the Gods and spirits because it showed me that not only do They all have very long memories that don’t just take into account this life, but all our lives, but that reparation must be made. Period. There are no free rides, most especially in this work and we are called to restore what we have sundered. It’s easy for advanced magicians (or warriors) to fall into great arrogance, even hubris…this ordeal taught me more than any other, the folly of such a thing...Even if lifetimes have passed. Wyrd works. It unfolds and carries us to where we must be, even when the journey is difficult.

The account below is taken from my journal, written at various points over the weekend of March -6, 2007. It’s more stream of consciousness than the other accounts largely because I was writing it while I was in transit, in shorts bursts. Also, more than any other, this ordeal involved large periods of path-walking directly into Svartalfheim.

March 1: JFK Airport:
So the ordeal has started already and I’m not even in Brussels yet. The plane we were supposed to depart on at 6:15pm went out of service. Now, we’re scheduled to leave at 10:30pm. (We actually didn’t get off the ground till close to midnight). I considered cancelling, rebooking tentatively for next week but runes were bad: Berkana and Tiewaz reversed. Eihwaz was my counsel and I feel Svartalfheim in this. I spoke with H. (the ordeal master/shaman overseeing this ordeal) prior to leaving the house today and she said that this ordeal will entail specific things (with my luck, in the friggin’ woods) over the next three days. She said they’ve been telling her that they want my remorse (and according to her, they know how to get it): they want me to give up my remorse, the remorse I carry…ah, how she phrased it has slipped my mind. It ties in nicely though with Hela’s lessons. I know –and told the Svartalfar—that such things as this delay—inconveniences which so easily trigger my temper—are good: to test, teach and build character, but I can’t say I want more of them!

Friday, March 2:
(Had an epiphany: Midgard is the most powerful of worlds because here the core energies of all worlds and all Gods can co-exist and mingle. Humans are fucked up because we’ve moved too far from source. We need blood transfusions: Aesir, Vanir, Jotun, Duergar, etc.. Also, there is too much unhealthy crust that must be chipped away).

Setting foot on Belgium soil also prompted this huge epiphany about the American Heathen community. No wonder we’re so lore bound. They’re compensating for lack of ancestral land connection. Here in rural Belgium, the land is dense, layered, rich in memory and experience. It’s palpable. One can taste the blood of the Napoleonic wars, the Templar thread and all the way down to Neanderthals. People still have an instinctive tie to it. They still honor the ancient compact with the land, especially in the rural areas. The vaettir are strong and fed and very, very vibrant. Here the land holds and provides what we use the stabilizing power of lore for. I realized that you can’t really connect to your ancestors until you’ve walked upon your ancestral land, wherever that may be. To know where you’re going, as the cliché goes, you really must know where you’re from. You must acknowledge the forces that shaped you.

Saturday, March 3:
I went to Belgium for my Svartalfheim ordeal, which was facilitated by H. it was a two day affair and initially may have been longer. After breakfast (9am), H. took me on a many mile hike, through fields, swamps and forests. We walked and path-walked. We entered an outer forest of Svartalfheim and I was tagged by them. This etheric tag showed the reason for my being there and would dissolve in a couple of days. It gave me lawful access to parts of their realm and ensured that unless I was particularly, egregiously stupid, I would not be unlawfully attacked. While walking, we went past a swamp and I saw weapons in the water. It was the first hint I had that for the entire weekend every time I was in Svartalf territory, my energy Sight was wide open when normally I must rely only on my Empathy. After our hike, we had lunch at a local pub and then went to a medieval Cistercian abbey. It’s amazing and amazingly magical. Rather than desecrate the earth, the buildings are actually an extension of its energy. It’s one hell of a power spot and I have to say, someone knew what they were doing when they built that. I lay on my back in one area where, during mass, only the priest would be permitted to tread. I watched droplets of water falling from this huge vaulted ceiling. It was immensely cleansing. I showered in it, drank some of it and had hands and face anointed. The stream of water moved toward me when I stood beneath it.

There were dozens of underground passages, catacombs, tombs, cells in the abbey and because they like such places, several of these functioned as doorways to Svartalfheim. I was led to crawl through a low tunnel and eventually went into an underground prison cell (though why this was in an abbey, I don’t’ know). The place just oozed with Svartalf energy and at one point, I was told to put my hand in a dank hole to capture some of the energy…another tag to ease my passage. I didn’t want to but H. told me I might be sorry if I didn’t, so I overcame my aversion. Above was a walled nook that would have made a wonderful outdoor shrine. Below, in the cavern was one hell of a Svartalf doorway. H. had me come in and go a little way through the doorway and that was my first encounter with their primary Goddess. Her energy is deep blue, smooth like glass, very dark, though H. said it could also be jagged like splinters of glass. When I actually SAW Her, H. told me later that my face went visibly the shade of old milk. I respectfully backed out [quickly].

Before I left the house that morning, I put on a hand woven protection charm that R. had made for me. I have a trick left ankle and was worried about spraining it, so I put it on the left ankle (and made it through the ordeal without injury). I’m leaving it there until it dissolves. Anyway, Svartalfs seem to like spiders, insects, snakes which makes sense as they live in caves and caverns (did I mention I’m incredibly arachnophobic?) and I left some pretty glass as an offering and a huge tektite. I’d been told before leaving NY to bring a pouch of odd assortment of things so I did and ended up using some of it as offerings to pave my way. Anyway, H. had to guard the doorway this time because a group of Svartalfs in spider form wanted to come through and tear me apart. We couldn’t figure out why. She’d asked me if I had any idea what I’d done but I didn’t. I’d never had any Svartalf encounters in this life so we figured later that maybe it was my bloodline, or Odin, or Loki’s influence. But this was the first warning we had that in some way, shape or form, I was being held responsible for having done them a great wrong. It was good to be warned in advance.

Prior to lunch, we stopped at a shallow cave grotto where I made a small offering and was tagged again on the right side. Right after I was tagged the first time, while still in the forest, I picked up a jagged black rock from Svartalfheim for my altar (with permission). I also took another from the abbey. These will form the center pieces to the altar I will set up to the Svartalf Goddess when I return home.

We came home after that for snacks and in early evening went out (or tried to as you’ll see) to a Neanderthal cave Rocher de Trou Margritte. Apparently, the Neanderthals left loads of high quality offerings here to be allowed to stay but were so terrified of what lived there that they left in one hell of a hurry. That is how shamans and spiritworkers may attribute the findings at any rate and after going there, I certainly believe this to be the case! Archaeologists speculate that they were set upon by Cro Magnon, though there’s no evidence of that, but we know what it was: the Svartalf Goddess. That cave is a major doorway. Where the abbey was a “civilized” doorway, the cave is a primal one. We didn’t get to it that night though. We drove to Ansemme and Dinant but the Svartalfar weren’t making it easy for us. It was a lunar eclipse –blood moon—a time of celebration and great power for the Svartalfar. Hela had told H. that we had to go out that night even though H. was concerned about my safety and had petitioned to do it at the house. We took a wrong turn and came up behind and above the cave with a wild party going on in the hotel nearby. We drove down this muddy dirt road between a field and a forest and H. went to scout. She encountered really nasty things in the forest and I saw them lurking behind the car. Driving out, our car was physically pulled off the road and into a ditch. We tried for an hour or so to get it out with jack and pulley and finally decided (and Hela agreed) to not lose the blood moon but to go into the woods to at least talk with the Svartalfar. I found the place to call them and H. sat guarding my back. I galdred hagalaz (very softly so as not to draw attention from anything BUT Svartalfs). Several came. One had a huge six foot spider with him and it was very aggressive and at one point nearly attacked me. It calmed a bit after I made an offering and took my hands out of my pocket keeping them palm forward.

H. spoke to them and explained why we were there and I confirmed their response empathically. She later said she was hoping my sight wasn’t on and picking up the spider but oh, it was. She spoke Enochian, which is sort of a diplomatic language of sorts between different races and worlds. [I got pinged to learn this eventually]. The Svartalfs said they were busy with the blood moon and basically to come back tomorrow. The damage to our car had been done by unsupervised Svartalfar youth but though this had been unsanctioned, the Svartalf party said they’d consider that our “stupid” tax for having interrupted them on blood moon. Then we were told to leave and not look back.


We made a bee line to the car. I got scratched up by thorns pretty badly but when I asked them to let me go, they did. It was sobering to think that Svartalfs could cover that type of territory silently and at about 15 mph. H. said that my night blindness was actually an asset because it made me less of a threat. Also, I was totally unarmed, as instructed. I begin to wonder if I’d have gotten out alive had I BEEN carrying weapons. (Yes, one can incur serious physical injury and even death at this level of path-walking).

We then spent the next seven or so hours trying to get the car out. We were not permitted to call for help until every other option had been exhausted. This was part of the ordeal, I suppose. At the last minute, Svartalf youths would muck our plans up: pushing us, snapping rope, throwing shit. Finally, when they broke the jack in half and all other options had been exhausted and I was risking hypothermia, H. was permitted to call the Belgian AAA emergency number and they sent a tow truck in about 40 minutes. While H. went out to the main road to wait for the truck, I stayed in the car and Svartalf youngsters threw pebbles at the car. Once the truck arrive and pulled us out of the ditch, we went home for food, bath and 4-5 hours of sleep.

Sunday March 4:
At about 3pm, after about four hours of sleep, we drove to Dinant again, H. having doubled checked the location of the cave. She left me by the La Lesse river while she went to scout the best route to the cave. Doing so, she ran into a local arborist cutting some trees and told me later that in lore rich areas, it’s often necessary to get a local “gatekeeper” to give you access to magical sites themselves. He pointed out the cave. This time, we were not waylaid by Svartalfheim adolescents. Their antics were actually an embarrassment to the adults and lost them a bit of face. So while H. was scouting, I explored the La Lesse river. It was so easy to sense the river Goddess and the vaettir were very strong, pleasant and plentiful. I made offerings of chocolate, which was what I had on hand. Had I been there longer, I would have started picking up the scant bits of trash that were around but H. came back and we had to go to the cave. The first cave she’d found had her a bit worried---it had a twelve foot steep climb and was very much in view. One of the maps gave the location of Trou Margritte in a slightly different location though and when she checked that out, that turned out to be the right place. It was off the side of the road, up a rocky hill and completely concealed. It overlooked a lush river valley.

We walked through overgrowth and climbed up the hill, which was in itself pretty damned steep. I’d never been in any caves let alone a major Neanderthal cave and it was AMAZING. The energy was old, layered, primal and strong. It was easy to sense vestiges of the people that had once lived there. Originally, I was going to be in a climbing harness dangling from the mouth of the cave for awhile and dealing with the Svartalf Goddess that way: like a spider’s prey bound before being devoured. I’d have been hooked to H. and blind folded for the initial drop off, which would have been a very direct entry into Svartalfheim, which doorway I wouldn’t have been allowed to see. Because of the car trouble and attendant cold and discomfort (perhaps in face saving payment?) that was deemed unnecessary now. (Also, I’d tried the harness in a lower drop the first night I was in Belgium and far from being an ordeal, I found it a lot of fun…which I’m sure played in to my being permitted to enter the cave on foot, rather than by a means I found enjoyable).

I fell once inside the cave itself but only bruised myself – on piles of rocks. H. took me to a small nook in the back upper right of the cave and gave me 1/8 dose of calamus tincture, to sharpen my energy Sight. She then anointed my head and back of neck with two oils to which the Svartalfs are allergic. Basically this would keep them at a distance and keep them from tearing me apart. She went down and behind an altar (a large rectangular rock that was perfect for an altar, right inside the entrance in the right corner of the cave) to set up. I laid out the glass ornaments (I’d broken one by falling on it, so didn’t offer that) cigars and candy and turned out my light.

They came and quickly. It was claustrophobic and terrifying (one later teased me about having mountain etin blood and being claustrophobic—I was surprised to find that even in the midst of an ordeal, the Svartalfar have a healthy if cynical and sarcastic sense of humor). One to my right took the form of a VERY LARGE spider and it was all I could do to remain calm. Of course it was just as scary, the thought of having to push past him to escape. I was wondering how long the oils would last!

I asked what my crime against them had been and was shown the image of a Svartalf. It took me a little while to figure it out but I realized in one of my incarnations as a brash, thoughtless and prideful fighter (I won’t call what I was then a warrior), I’d killed him. While the Svartalfar can be ruthless and excel at killing, I not only had no reason to kill this man but from what I could tell, had betrayed some sort of interaction or alliance by doing so. And I killed him for no other reason than my own pride, for no other reason than to prove I could, to test my skills and possibly impress. It was brazen arrogance. I wasn’t shown much so aside from the deed, so I must infer detail. It doesn’t matter though; in the eyes of the Svartalfar I am guilty. It really brought home the fact that each life is known and cherished by the Gods. Nothing is lost to the eddies of time and incarnation. Also, while killing may sometimes be necessary, it should not be desecrated and that is what I did. Anyway, I was told to seek out their Goddess for details on how I could make proper reparation. Remorse alone, after all, is pointless.


I told H. that I’d been told to come down and seek their Goddess and she prepared to allow that Goddess to possess her. She warned me when I could come around the corner into the main cave room. She (the Goddess) was a very good fit for H. H. had previously gone to bat for me in an earlier interaction with Her that day, which resulted in my being allowed the oils, all the more important since I was also bleeding and blood can oh so easily set off predators, even Deities). Now H. crouched down behind the altar and told me I should speak when I felt Her fully seated. (When I speak of a Deity being fully seated, it implies that the possession of the human consciousness by the Deity is complete and the human consciousness has been fully pushed aside. This can take a few moments to happen even with one experienced in such work). This didn’t take very long with H. The black light in the room took on a bluish cast and I felt Her presence smooth as glass and utterly deadly waiting, immense, behind that rock.

I told her “Lady, Your people bade me speak to you.” And I explained that I’d been shown that I killed one of them and wanted to know how to make amends. It was an intense though brief encounter and at several points She spat out (and I cannot begin to describe Her voice): “Filthy oils! Lucky to live!” In other words, I am lucky to be alive and quite probably would not be, were I not so warded (there was also the matter of the deal Odin had struck with Her in order for Her to consent to facilitating this ordeal).

When I told Her what I’d been shown, She said “My lover.” I apologized for my poor human hearing and asked her to repeat. She said the man I killed had been Her lover, that they all were male and female both. I don’t know whether this was meant literally or whether it was symbolic of the way this Deity feels about each and every one of Her people. It really didn’t much matter at the time. I was sure at that moment, that I was a dead woman. I asked how to make reparation. She pointed out that nothing would bring him back and that they breed only with difficulty. She said were it up to Her, She would order me to breed one but that “Your Odin” won’t permit it. (Thank you, Husband!!!!). Instead, I was ordered to find a Svartalf-souled human (it happens) and foster him (and it will be a man), whether he likes me or not, whether I like him or not. I must guide him and give him what he needs (not sexually, but foster as a guardian might foster a child). Then She said She was done with me, but to tell “my” Odin that She wasn’t done with Him yet. Then I was dismissed with the words “Lucky to live. Get out.” I said, “Yes, Ma’am” and got the hell out of the cave, leaving everything behind.

I waited outside the cave for H. who brought our things out awhile later. Then we set off down a winding , but fairly easy path that we hadn’t seen before. This took us to the car. We drove home, made a fire, and I called my mother to assure her I was ok, as she’d been very worried. We had high protein dinner and did some energy work. Right before I went to bed, I felt the tag dissolve and a huge but very corporeal spider crawled out of my pant leg and away.

I asked H. if I should set up a small shrine to their Goddess as I’ve been doing after each of my ordeals for the Deities in question and she said she felt their Goddess might like that and gave me some workable instructions. I was also given a steel ring with the symbol of the Svartalf house to which the man I killed belonged. I was told to wear it and that this would draw us together, though it might take a decade or more. So I have my slave bond LOL, but one that will give me a bit of protection from lesser nasties as I’m now in the employ of the Svartalfar. One thing this really drove home is how great a gift fertility is. It’s not a gift I personally want-- I never want to breed -- but it IS a gift. Granted, humans have abused it by not taking into account our resources (we over breed) but still….given the high rate of still births and difficulty in conceiving and carrying to term other races like the Svartalfar experience, it is a gift. When I have my Vanaheim ordeal, I want to see if there is some way my fertility can be removed from my body and given to a Svartalf woman, so that she would then have human fertility. It’s a gift that should be used by someone who cherishes it.

So, that is it. I came home Tuesday after several more protections were loaded onto me for safe passage. (Svartalfar are pretty ruthless and upfront only in their ruthlessness so …”trust God but keep your powder dry” as the saying goes). H. was treating me like a diplomatic parcel. My Muspelheim ordeal is already scheduled for May so I now have that to prepare for. I’m grateful to have survived this one, though I have to say, even at their most terrifying, the Svartalfar have a definite aesthetic sense.

Serving Odin - the Second Ordeal: Niflheim

By G. Krasskova

One of the things that became powerfully clear to me throughout my ordeal cycle was that I have been immensely blessed by a handful of very dear, very close friends. It’s not that I neglected my friendships before this, but having everything in your life, especially in your interior life stripped away to the bare essentials really does tend to realign one’s priorities and bring a certain perspective and clarity. Certain truths are brought home when a friend is willing to walk into hell with you and, moreover, to care for you during and after such a trek. Niflheim, above all other worlds, taught me gratitude.

Looking back on my first ordeal, I’m amazed at how terrified I was at the time, at how overwhelmingly difficult it was. I realize now, that each of these ordeals were pushing me, challenging me, training me, and preparing me for the next one. That wasn’t their only purpose, but it was something that occurred consistently throughout the cycle. I could not have begun with the third or fourth ordeal. This was a gradual building process and Hela laid the foundation stones. All the ordeals hold places of remarkably stark clarity in my memory and it seems that there was a huge leap in physical difficulty from Helheim to Niflheim. I suppose when dealing with this particular world and the lessons it brings, that is only to be expected.

Niflheim is the Norse world of ice and cold. It is a world of stasis and contraction, of inertia and rot. In the beginning, before time was, before even the Gods were, there was Niflheim (and its sister world Muspelheim, the world of fire). They spun in opposition to each other, and in balance. Gradually they began to draw closer to each other and one day collided in a great, primordial conflict, a big bang, if you will. From this collision of diametrically opposed dimensions, all life burst into being. Niflheim is the home of the dragon Nidhogg, who gnaws the rot from the roots of Yggdrasil. It was this being I had been ordered to meet.

The following is transcribed from my journal account, written two weeks after my February 2007 journey into the world of ice. Odin is pushing me to post these much faster, much closer together than I otherwise would. Any reference to my mother is to my adopted mother, not my bio-mom.

It’s been two weeks since my Niflheim ordeal and I’ve only now been able to gather myself enough to write about it. I know that it’s important for me to keep clear accounts for myself, but this particular ordeal pushed me to the limits of my physical endurance and ripped me open emotionally in ways I never, ever expected. I’ve had such an aversion to the whole experience that I even left all my camping gear with W. and F. after the journey was done. I just didn’t want to look at it for awhile.

The shape and structure of this ordeal was determined at the tail end of my Helheim ordeal in November: I was to seek the dragon Nidhogg in the wilderness over a period of three or four days. It was very important for me to experience Niflheim not by spirit journey but in the actual flesh, so that I would truly understand what that realm was all about and, I now suspect, so that the sheer physical discomfort would further contribute to the process of ripping me open. W. and F. volunteered to take me up into the woods in Lincoln, NH for four days of winter camping. Eventually, we scheduled this to take place the first weekend of February and I set about purchasing my gear. I had never camped before and I have a severe back and neck injury so there was a strong element of potential danger in this ordeal. I’d never gone camping before, or hiking, or really done anything out of doors. I’m coming to realize that my childhood and early adulthood were very sheltered things!

I traveled up to their home as planned on February 1st. It’s odd how many important situations and ordeals in my spiritual life seem to take place around Imbolc. Before going, in honor of that, I performed a brief Imbolc ritual and made a necklace as a gift to Brigid, since it is Her holiday. For all that I am Heathen, She does seem to crop up again and again in my life, though I have no particular call by or to Her. Still, it never hurts to be respectful. I made sure to pack my prayer beads too and a journal, as well as scalpels and bandages in case the latter were required as part of the actual ordeal. After arriving at W. and F.’s, I spent a night at their apartment and we set off in the morning.

We stopped at EMS to pick up some last minute supplies and food and arrived at the park rather later than we expected. We got geared up and headed off on a four mile hike to get to the actual woods. I knew I was in trouble the moment they put the pack on my back…it was much heavier than I thought it would be and I staggered under the weight. To get to the actual woods, we had that four mile hike ahead of us. The four miles were on a wooded trail, but one fairly well traveled by other hikers and skiers. W. and F. had selected a route for us to follow weeks in advance of the actual ordeal trip and the route selected was perfect. We entered the initial path by crossing a suspension bridge. The water was beautiful. It was the most vibrant shade of icy green that I have ever seen, in part because of the layers of ice that had formed beneath the surface of the water. Upon crossing that bridge, there was the palpable sense that we were crossing not into Niflheim but into an in-between place, a place of passage form one world to the next, neither our world, nor Niflheim. We weren’t just walking; we were path-walking, journeying between realms, between the nine mighty worlds.

It was cold, but not terribly so as we began. The first couple of miles of the hike weren’t bad. By the fourth mile, my left hip began to spasm badly. Since we started late, we were rapidly losing light and W. had gone on ahead of us to scout the campsite and start setting up the tents. F. stayed with me and encouraged me through the worst of the pain and really kept me going. Finally, we came to a second bridge and the end of the populated trail. On the other side of the bridge lay unbroken woods and she challenged me, letting me know that if I wanted to back out of this ordeal, this was the last opportunity to do so. I knew that I couldn’t though and so we crossed that second bridge walking and path walking and there was the palpable sense that by doing so, we were crossing into Niflheim.

A half mile later we were at the campsite. It had started to snow by that time (W. said the only thing worse would have been icy rain) and we hurried to set up the two tents. Since I’d never been camping before, W. and F. did almost all of the actual work setting up, teaching me as they went how to manage my gear. For the entire time we were there, we had a cold camp (no campfire) and after boiling a bit of water on a tiny portable stove, I ate a couple of bites of a dehydrated meal and went to bed.

Late that night is when the emotional weight of the ordeal began to hit me. I knew I was in Niflheim and as much as I may dislike Midgard and feel myself an alien there, it was rapidly brought home to me that it is my home. I am as much a part of the human world as I am any of the other worlds and it’s important to honor that. There are emotional ties that I have to people in Midgard that could never, ever have existed in any of the other worlds and we live, despite how badly we fuck it up, at a far higher level of comfort here than in any of the other worlds, especially Niflheim. Ties here are based on emotional connection and caring, not, as in Niflheim, on ruthless survival. This ordeal was also the first time I’d really courted my own mortality. It’s one thing to work out in a dojo with folks wielding edged weapons. That’s dangerous, but it’s a controlled danger. Here, there was no such control. We were completely at the mercy of the elements: ice, cold, and snow.

It wasn’t my mortality that I was confronted with though. Late that night, I was hit hard by the mortality of those I care about the most, especially my adopted mother. The reality of her impending death really hit me terribly hard (This part of the story is not mine to tell. Those who know her will understand why it hit me so hard. ). That knowledge was sudden agony. I do not know which frost etin came to drive the point home, but I felt the presence and I was rapidly reduced to sobbing. She nourishes me in ways I was never before able to express and the thought of her death struck home, a blow for Midgard, like nothing else. When she dies, it will leave my life as barren as Niflheim was that night I huddled in my tent.

I couldn’t stop crying and I was told that Midgard is the brightest of worlds. We live and love here with a uniqueness that I still don’t quite understand. I was told that this uniqueness is unknown elsewhere: Midgard is the meeting place of Gods. We carry that forth causing both confusion and brilliance in our lives. We carry those bits of Gods in our DNA. This is the place where creativity can flourish and the friendships and love bonds that we have are so precious and unique precisely because they would be impossible elsewhere.

That night, the temperature dropped ten degrees below zero, the coldest I’d ever endured. I started noticing things about the woods around me: trees have their own language and talk to each other if one listens carefully enough. It’s even possible to understand their speech a little bit. The cold has a different smell at night when it’s coldest and in the morning, when light warms some of the chill away. Ice can sing.

Saturday it was very, very cold throughout the day and we mostly huddled in our respective tents and sleeping bags. I was allowed very little contact with W. and F., though they kept an eye on me to make sure I was alive. I spent a little time with them that morning, telling them what had hit me so hard about my mother, about Midgard, etc. Then I went back to my tent to write a bit in my journal and to write a letter to my mother. We were originally going to pack up and move to a different site and then come out of the woods two days later by a different route but the brutal severity of the weather changed our plans. Since I’d found a place where I could go to call the dragon later that day, and for safety reasons, we decided to stay at our original campsite and depart the following day, provided I did all I needed to do with Nidhogg. Around dusk, I prayed my prayer beads and went to the clearing selected to call Her.

I have to admit, huddling in a freezing tent (which at night iced over inside), colder than I’d ever been, completely cut off from anything Midgard, being slowly opened emotionally and ripped raw (I am a very private, reserved person who would generally prefer to eat glass than talk about her feelings), I wondered what on earth I was doing there. For the first time, I really regretted being a spirit-worker, having sought out Mimir and having asked for more skill. I regretted everything and wanted nothing more than to live a quiet monastic life without any magic or shamanic crap. I knew this was impossible but still, for the first time regret hit me so very hard. I even felt immensely resentful of Odin and wondered if there was any point to what I was doing at all. The whole experience was like some sort of vicious experiment in sensory deprivation and I still feel rather traumatized by it…far more than I expected I would, though I knew these ordeals would rip me open and change me. I found myself missing my connections to Midgard, especially those people closest to me, longing to hear their voices, especially longing to speak to my mother. At one point I had to fight down the panic that I would not get back to civilization again and she. wouldn’t be there, would already be dead. I found myself praying to the Gods to get me through this. Magic, shamanism, the rest of it held at that point utterly no allure for me. I just wanted to love the Gods with the humility my mother has in her devotions. I found myself questioning whether being a spirit worker (as though I had a choice) was really the way I am meant to serve. I have never before felt cut off from everything that I am, and everything and everyone that I care about. I’ve always considered myself a solitary person but my mother (she is my adopted mother) had pointed out that she felt that was only because I’d never had a choice in the matter. Now I began to realize she was right: I need the people in my life. I need the contact, both to give and to receive. Despite the way that Midgard has harmed me, and the pain it continually evokes, I saw that through those I care about, I have a place there. Maybe the beauty of Midgard lies in the fact that love and friendship can overcome that terrible hurt that it can so easily and readily cause.

I was so damned cold on Saturday that I found myself actually thanking the Gods that we were leaving Sunday. I don’t think I could have taken one more day in that place. Even now, it makes me sick to my stomach to think about those three days. Anyway, Saturday at dusk, I prayed my prayer beads (though I felt like doing anything BUT praying to Gods that had brought me to that desolate place) and headed out to the clearing I’d selected to seek the dragon. W. and F. stayed in their tent while I went out. First, I laid a large pouch of cardamom tea (a favorite of mine) loose in an organic linen bag by a log. This was an offering to the frost etins for granting us safe passage (more or less) in and out of their territory. Then I spoke aloud, explaining why I was there and I began to sing to the dragon. I had been told at the end of my Helheim ordeal that I would have to sing to the dragon. I tried over and over to prepare a song in advance but nothing would come. I managed part of a chant to the dragon of rot but ultimately I was moved simply to galdr and I sang the rune nauthiz for quite awhile. I’m not sure how long it was until this massively long blue dragon appeared. She (although S/He told me S/He could appear as either gender or none depending on Her wishes) took the remains of the poison from me, not in blood, as I’d expected, but in tears.

Hela had infected me with a poison during my Helheim ordeal, a poison designed to bring up my contempt and all the rotted parts of my spirit and psyche so that it could be extracted by the dragon. Nidhogg did extract it, but through my tears. As I galdred, W. and F. told me later that they could hear a second voice counter-pointing and answering my own. When I went back to my tent, I stopped by theirs to ask W. if there was anything more to be done (I was very glad not just to have two friends there who were experienced campers, but to have one who was also a shaman to double check things). He said I looked like a weight had been lifted, that I looked completely different from before meeting with the dragon.

I went back to my tent and slept as best I could. Kari sent His son Frost to watch over me, a gift I appreciate immensely. That night, the temperature dropped to 23 below zero. We had all planned to get up and get an early start Sunday and every time I woke up during the night of terrible cold, I’d check my watch and think, “only X more hours until we can leave.” A little after 8am W. called up to see if I was ok and after I yelled back that I was, I heard him say to F.: “Thank god, I don’t have to run to the ranger station. She’s still alive.” It drove home the fact that had I not managed my sleeping bag rightly the night before, the temperatures were so brutal that I could in fact have died. We were camping not too far from where a lost hiker had been found dead two weeks earlier. (When another ordeal master, L, very experienced in hiking and winter camping as well as mountaineering, saw the pants and boots I’d been wearing, she said I was damned lucky not to have gotten frost bite or hypothermia).

We packed up and were moving out by 9:30am. It was still terribly cold and windy. I naturally feel grateful that I have all my toes. I’d had to sleep with my boots inside a stuff sack inside my sleeping bag to melt the ice on them and they got very cold again very quickly, painfully so. Once we were on the trail back, it wasn’t so bad, but while we were packing up, it was awful. It took us several hours to wind our way back to the ranger station. We first crossed the suspension bridge out of Niflheim and into the in-between place that we had to travel to get back to Midgard. I was so relived and seeing the first human being on the trail as we walked and pathwalked back was both a relief and an odd joy. It seemed to take forever going back, but as amusing as it may sound, the thought of a heated bathroom, clean underwear, and getting the god-damned pack off my back kept me going.

Eventually, we made it to the initial bridge and crossed back into Midgard. Those passages over the two bridges were physically palpable things and I have never been so glad to return to the human world in my life. I went home with W. and F., bathed (we all oh so seriously needed a bath), changed into blessedly clean clothes and then we all went out for dinner. I realized that, with the exception of a few bites of food, I’d essentially just fasted the entire time I was out there, which L. said later made it much harder on me physically. I just had no desire to eat when I was there. I was also somewhat dehydrated. I brought a bit of water back from Niflheim to add to my altar but that was all and it was days before I could touch it after I returned. I was originally scheduled to return to NYC on Tuesday, but I had such a craving to be in my own space, to return to my own home, to call my adopted mom, make sure she was ok (and alive), and to just be back to what was familiar to me, that I went home Monday instead.

My next ordeal is the first weekend of March: Svartalfheim. Nidhogg told me I had to offer blood to the Svartalfar and there was a tiny bit of Hela’s poison left in me that only they could remove. I also found I brought the cold back inside of me…I’m still not warm. I also discovered something that Hela did to me during Her ordeal: She tied me into my root. I can’t dissociate from pain anymore. I used to be very good at doing so and could handle intense amounts of pain. Not anymore. Things that wouldn’t even have registered on my radar before are now extremely painful. My massage therapist here in NY said that now I actually HAVE a relationship with pain…which kind of hit home. But it’s really made ordeal work a whole different experience of unpleasantness. I’m still recovering from this particular epiphany. It means that I must learn to share space with pain instead of just shoving it away (and not just physical pain). I have a sickening feeling that I will be unshielded, unwarded, and completely open most especially emotionally throughout the duration of the ordeal cycle.

Serving Odin - The First Ordeal: Helheim

by G. Krasskova

In November 2006 I began the process of dying for my God. Over the next three years, I would undergo nine ordeals, one ordeal for each of the nine worlds in Norse cosmology. I started at the bottom of the World Tree, Yggdrasil, the Tree of life, death, wisdom, and sacrifice. I started at the bottom because I belonged to Odin. Throughout this cycle, I would work my way, through terror and pain, through love and devotion up the Tree toward Asgard, toward Him. This accomplished several things (no one can ever tell me our Gods aren’t good at multi-tasking!): I was able to undergo my shamanic death and rebirth, I journeyed to all the worlds and established contacts and allies there, I learned about His journeys and the path of Odin that I’m on.(1) It was horrible, terrifying, beautiful, painful, joyous, ecstatic, and transformative, just like this God that I serve. It was three years of calculated, on-going terror beyond anything I had experienced to that point. I did it willingly but that willingness did nothing to lessen either the pain involved, the loss (and there was much) or the fear. Yet…one other thing I learned through all my ordeals: if He asked me to do it all over again, I would. Joyously.


The following is from my journal, which I kept throughout the cycle. The death cycle spoken about is something many shamans go through: a psychic/mental/emotional and sometimes physical death and rebirth, wherein the Gods remake the shaman in any way They see fit. For many, it occurs in one traumatic incident. For others, it is a process. Mine was a calculated (how could it not be with my Lord) cycle.

Today I began my ordeal cycle. I’ve known I had to do this for months now. I’ve had it confirmed by two different diviners and shamans. The only way out is through. Odin is killing me in pieces, bit by bit, because I do not love life enough to come back were He to do it all at once. That is what He said: I simply do not love life enough. He cannot simply spear me and be done with it. I would not have the passion for life to drag myself back. Nine worlds, nine ordeals and I will walk into them all…and I’m terrified. Today, I began with Helheim.

My adopted Mom flew in from CA and came up to R.’s with me. It was so good to see her. She is my touchstone of normalcy, of rock-solid steadfastness. She belongs to Sigyn and Loki and while she’s not happy about this ordeal, I know she trusts the Gods and is praying that I can see it through. She cannot be present at the ordeal, but she will be waiting to provide any necessary aftercare. I’ve been a warrior all my life and I have never felt so weak…and hopelessly unprepared.

We arrived at the farm about 1pm. W. arrived about an hour later. The actual ordeal started a little after 4pm. Between the nerves and the terror, I felt like I could barely breathe for the hour or so beforehand. For weeks I’d been experiencing this intense sense of dread and impending death. I was worrying over my adopted mother, who is not in good health and over my oath-sister, thinking that perhaps something terrible was going to happen to them. Then I took a good long look at the threads of wyrd and realized that sense of impending doom had my name all over it! I was heading toward death. I was heading toward Helheim. I was heading toward that place where no one returns unchanged. All that sense of doom was me.

It was quite cold outside but fortunately I was allowed clothing. R. had made me a robe out of a warm white blanket. He also permitted me to wear a woolen, white cloak – white the color of death and rebirth in so many traditions, and of cleansing. My Gods were with me, even though through my fear I couldn’t feel Them much. Loki had told me months ago that if I got a specific tattoo for Him, He’d walk with me as far as He could through my ordeals. I had hunted and hunted, but had not been able to find what He wanted. The night before the ordeal, awash in nervousness, I asked Him if He’d walk with me anyway. I couldn’t hear His answer though. I could not calm myself enough. Right before I was about to robe, R. went out to get herbs to burn to ash2 and came back with two huge mullein leaves. He said he didn’t know why, but Loki had told him to pick them (mullein is one of Loki’s herbs) and to give them to me: one to put in each of my shoes. I almost cried. I knew it was Loki telling me that yes, He’d walk with me. I would not be alone.

After I robed, and at the appointed time, I took a basket of altar supplies and walked alone down to the field. W. was already there having been selected to witness (he volunteered and fit Hela’s criteria, having recently undergone his own shamanic death). I set up the altar and poured Her an offering of alcohol. Then W. directed me to kneel at the Northern Gate, a torii-like structure marking the North perimeter of the ritual space. I did so and each wrist was secured by rope to either pole of the gate. Then I waited. After what I thought was about a half our or so, Hela came. She had possessed the body of Her shaman R. Her presence was unmistakable. Death walked the field that night. She circled behind me as though I was less than prey, as though I was nothing, as though contemplating what She wished to do to me, what would be the least blow to do the most shattering. Then came to the front of me and extended Her hand to be kissed. It was Her skeletal hand and as soon as my lips touched the bones, this indescribable, icy shudder passed through me. Then my ordeal truly began.

She was far more merciful than I expected or deserved. She challenged me on several fronts: my massive contempt, my hatred of life especially my corporeal nature and all the fear and weakness that I hide away. Hela facilitated my colleague and friend’s death ordeal and in that ordeal, he was rarely permitted to speak. For me, who prefers to remain silent on those matters I hold most closely to my heart, for whom speaking of pain, or fear, or love, or anguish is the hardest thing in the world, well, She made me speak. She forced me. She allowed me no quarter, no breathing space in which to hide a single motivation, failing, or ugly, ugly fault. At one point, She slammed my face down into a large cauldron of water, holding me just long enough. I was surprised She let me up so quickly, after the initial shock. Then She took out my heart and made me beg to have it returned. She forced me to give voice to my deepest fears. All must go, She said, whether I would or not, all save my fear that Odin won’t want me. That I’m allowed to keep, that is fitting reminder, a memento mori or sorts.

The Goddess of death and decay chastised me for my hatred of my body and my ill-conceived abuse of it. She held a knife to my throat and taught me to be grateful for breath. My hatred of my flesh invalidates the offering of the ordeal and She charged me to examine that and to give it up. She drew forth my contempt, plucking at its roots. She took my blood, forcing me to take blood oath in the river Hvergelmir that I would break it down and give it up. That was my sacrifice to Her. I who am not ever fully of Midgard, must learn to connect and build threads there and contempt causes whatever roots I lay to wither away like dust. She forbade it. Then She laid a challenge on me that caused my stomach to roil and every fiber of my being to protest: I was charged with finding three people that I held in great contempt (rightly or wrongly it does not matter) and apologizing to them. Contempt in Her eyes damaged me. It was not about the other person. They might in fact deserve lawfully every ounce of contempt I could muster. I was still not allowed this indulgence. It destroyed my own worth and by doing so, made me unfit for Odin’s service. It poisoned my soul. It must go.

As of this writing, I have already taken care of this. I did so almost immediately after the ordeal, calling one person and contacting the others by email. My words were mocked and misunderstood but that matters not. It only matters that I did as Hela bade and gave what was not mine to hold, back to its rightful owners. I returned contempt to its source allowing it to run out of my heart like water through a sieve. It was wrenching. I was required to choose those people that I least wanted to contact, those people who had slandered, harmed, attacked, and libeled me for over a year causing me no end of trouble. I was required to choose people who had attacked my relationship with my Gods, especially Odin, my value, my sanity, my worth, and my right to call myself Heathen. I was required to contact those who had forced me out of what was then my tribe. I only realized afterwards that this was Hela’s blessing: in apologizing, I freed myself. My only caveat was that I should not choose someone for whom my anger was worse than my contempt.

After Hela gave me this order, the ordeal was not over. I was flogged with a bundle of thorny roses, which was more symbolic than anything else. But then She grabbed me and carved a great bindrune in my lower back with a scalpel. I did not find out until my next ordeal a few months later, that in doing this, She worked a charm into my flesh that prevented me from dissociating from pain. I had committed to my ordeal cycle, so I would feel everything. I had long been used to simply turning the needs of my body off, including pain. I had been a professional ballet dancer for years as a young woman and learning to not feel pain is a necessary skill. This was no longer acceptable to Hela. She locked me down into my flesh.

She said she both bound and poisoned me, that if She were to rip it all my contempt out now, it would kill me. Instead, in addition to binding me to my flesh, She poisoned me with a charm that would rot the crap within me that needs to go. She told me it would be painful and that at my next ordeal, Nidhogg would suck it out of me.

Finally, She cut the cords binding me to the gate posts, tossed the knife point deep in the dirt and left. I got the ropes off my wrists which were both bruised and burned and sat for awhile, getting feeling back in my legs from where I’d been sitting seiza. W. had previously rescued my glasses – I hadn’t noticed – and brought them and a towel.

Hela had challenged me to be the type of person I’d have others emulate and to explore my failings there. Eventually, R. came back to the fire and had to sit and tic. Hela is very still, so it’s hard not to tic afterwards, after She leaves the body She had possessed. We talked and debriefed each other. There was one shocking moment when we realized that despite the fire, everything Hela had touched, and only what She had touched, was frozen over.

Before this night, I’d expected physical pain but this was a humiliation ordeal, one that reduced me to tears several times. At one point, I just sobbed and held Hela’s hand, nuzzling it. She was hard and very just as only Death can be.

Aftewards, R. and W. took care of my bloody back. I found out later that they were a little concerned at how deep the cuts were. As I have since experienced several times, the Goddess of Death has a very firm touch with the scalpel! They cleaned that and a cut I had gotten on my head when we got up to the house. There, Hela gave me one more gift.

I have the berserkergangr. It runs in my family very strongly. Odin has long told me it is one of His gifts but also that I must learn to master myself in the storm of its fury. I had been failing at this utterly. That rage-beast that lay in wait within me was always close to the surface, always ready to explode, to attack. It might be a gift, but by not learning to value and discipline it, by not learning control, I was not serving Odins’ will. Hela helped me. She allowed her shaman to give me a charm, based on the charm that the Gods used to bind Her brother. This shaman R. gave me the first three parts of the charm: breath of a fish, spittle of a bird, beard of a woman. He told me how to get roots of a mountain and footfall of a cat. He said to wait on nerves of a bear, the final piece of the charm, until I find out what that has to be for me. It’s different for everyone. I was instructed to gather these things, put them in a pouch, tie it with a dog’s choke chain and keep it on Hela’s altar. He also gave me the bones that had been part of Hela’s regalia glove. I was gifted with several other items from W. and E., all of which now rest on my altar to Hela. I’ve decided that out of gratitude to the Deity’s facilitating these ordeals, I will maintain a small altar to each of Them. I began with Hela’s. (It goes without saying that I also gifted the ordeal worker/shaman serving as human facilitator too)!

My next ordeal is Niflheim and it appears I have to seek the dragon by myself, in the cold, alone. W. and F. are taking me on a four day cold-camping trip in February, so that’s when the God’s want it done. That ordeal will be physically grueling. I hope I don’t fail.


Footnotes:

1. This is an interesting concept, the idea that each Deity has multiple ‘paths’ through which devotees can serve. I first learned about it in Santeria. Each orisha has different paths and when a person is dedicated to that orisha, divination is done to reveal which particular path the person is walking. This helps him or her draw closer to the Orisha in question and also provides important clues as to what challenges may be required. Over the fifteen years or so that I’ve been serving Odin in one form or another, I’ve come to realize that the same holds true for the Norse Deities. They have multiple paths that They walk and often times, this is reflected in how Their devotees are claimed.

I know that Loki, for instance can come as the gentle Husband of Sigyn, the Breaker of Worlds, the young Hellraiser with Odin, and several other paths as well. Odin has over a hundred names and each one of those sacred by-names represents a path that one of His can walk. I recently met an Odin’s woman who was following Odin as Bolverk. I walk the path of the Wanderer, the path of Odin in His quest for knowledge, Odin as ordeal worker, as the One who willingly sacrificed…everything. This is a new idea within the Northern Tradition, but it is one that, I believe, has its merit in the stark realities of service.

2. Mugwort, yarrow, plantain, elder, agrimony, aconite, rue were burned by W. and then Hela rubbed them into the cutting on my back. This causes the wound to heal in stark, black relief against the flesh.