Gudvangen Dream Life as a Viking – Dream-time IV

Gudvangen Dream Life as a Viking – Dream-time IV

I have already been there, in other writings, in other lives, and these are the times. I am stood between Siw-Alfadis and Blathnaid-Brigid whilst Bjorn-Ole surveys the sea from the promontory, we are in Njardarheimr in Freyr-An’ersh’s Gudvangen Village of the Vikings. I am here with my heart. I am at once really here and yet also actually here in this dream.

My Gudvangen Dream Life IV portrays me already in a Viking-style life in Gudvangen where I am actually living as Skald to the Viking Chieftain in Njardarheimr Viking Town in Norway; in this blog version everything of myth and legend has become real.

Stay in place as followers to know what happens next; beware, nothing is made up, yet most of this is dream.

NB The names used are taken from those I have known but the characters added to them are based on other people I know.

PS Credits will be given for any writings.

PPS You can become part of this by sending me thoughts and ideas adrianspendlow @ gmail.com or by commenting below (as if you were there). A huge thank you to all those who have made suggestions and offered writings (there are loads half written up for the next one).

Gudvangen Dream Life as a Viking – Dream-time IV

We use the name Viking yet we are different, we are from different worlds, different worlds of thinking. We are together; I do not think like you. I do not think like you. I am Vanadís. disI am Díser of the earth. Creature of the old ways. I craft. I drag the iron from the very earth. I tell stories. I tell stories from my mother tongue. Far away. We are all far away. We are all here. See how the spring shoots grow. See how the hammer is protective. I sew the Troll cross. There is little time to practice to survive. I swing the iron. We practice with long shafts. I see the Ramslurk grow. ramslorkI see the mists and their foreboding. The children play. The wolf sleeps. Dream people; for we are a commune. Ships come.

Our chieftain, Freyr-An’ersh, respected as he is, he welcomes, while we judge and consider. They bring more skills. We flourish. We are what you call Viking and this is where we lie. Tread lightly as you go for you walk upon our heart.

Fires suddenly burn along the tall ways. watch fireAlong the high edges of the fjord walls. The lands we hardly know of. Top side. Up there in the Sami lands; the seasonal lands of nomadism, they pay respect to us. They are watchers. They trade with us. They will come down soon as warmer weathers once faded lead to cold times before the hard freeze. They go somewhere else when it is all frozen solid. Some say they go to other worlds, some that they are always of those worlds and visit us through a veil, some that they cave-live for the winter, in the steep sides of uninhabited fjords where no one can observe their smoke.

They will come down for the final trade quite soon. Coming to us is the nearest they ever get to warm climes, and that is in the far end of autumn.

So the beacons burn. watch-fire.jpgThe ancient debt we receive for; the old old owing, yet how can we ever repay the repayors! They far surpass whatever it was in ages past that caused them to be owing to us. Yet the fire beacons burn when we are in need of warning. They watch from on high whenever they are in the heights of their seasonal hunting grounds. Their camps look down upon the fjord and they see ships come. So they light the beacon fires; one upon one upon run and light along the high ground; and we know, we know: of battles, or enemies, of returnings, of strugglings. A ship is coming, (or a leviathan). We shall not venture out to sea to see.

We shall watch. We shall prepare ourselves.

Bjorn-Ole stands the stock of blades and bows in the strategic places we have established. Our defences are in place.weapon pot

Poppa-Varg, Poppa-Volva and the other children climb Yew and Maythorn trees back on the higher ground.kids tree

Warriors; Tor-Gunlodd, Brunhildr, Ailbhe Connell and Frode-T’or climb cliff sides.

There is an expected returning. There is a ship we know and love returning just as we hoped that it would quite soon. Nothing comes. The beacon fires up high should have brought a ship or result by now. Our Viking ones are overdue. The beacons must mean other than ‘Here comes your brethren returning’.

Our thoughts are that, there is a complication. Perhaps enemies assail them. Perhaps they are all dead. Perhaps they are sinking on their way home.

We do not know and Thorfinn Asmundsson will no doubt regail us of the tale in a slash by blow way after the settling of them; the hopeful settling of them. We wish and hope for a safe fare landing together if all return and blood is staunched; the fettles calmed.

A light, we see a light. Surely we do. Just a hint of a glimpse of a dot of a shine that amplifies within the mind into a massive talisman of hope. There is a ship coming, it has a light above. We peer in hope and anxiety. Down the long fjord we glimpse for real.boat torch

It cannot be an enemy shining one light. Many fires waved would be to intimidate us, but just one would serve as a warning and defeat the objective of the incomer; so this shall be our returning vessel.

One of our brave travellers must have climbed the mast with a flaming torch and is lighting the way. No, the light would guide them very little, it must be for us to see. They are letting us know that they approach. They must be a-feared that they may not make it, they are struggling. “Sail out, they are sinking,” cries Björk-Mari, “Board our vessel here at the harbour and sail out. Just enough to crew the ship, to row to their rescue.

“Yes,” calls Siw-Alfadis, “we may need room for them to board for safe return”.

The one light in the far far distance is standing now, it comes no nearer. “We must hurry, worries Jan-Robert.

Leif-Lasse leaps, “Row, row like the wind”.

“One of you must climb the mast with a burning brand so they know you are coming, to give them hope: for us to see also so we can hope,” Signy Volsungsdottir.man torch

Long is the watching. Long is their journey. Small hands clench maternal hands. Our home ship is slowly nearing the returning vessel. Just in time perhaps we hope. But no. The far light is tipping. Slowly, steadily, heading lower. The mast is swinging. The ship is tipping. They are lost to us in some moments.

The home ship is nearing. Our hands are all gripping. We gasp. We cry out. We clench each other’s shoulders. They are, distantly from us, heading for the ice-cold sea. The nearer ship approaches them, it is traveling fast. They are rowing as hard and as sleek as they possible can. We fear that they will ram.

The one light steers beside the other light. We see the lower light lift. One ship has hit into the side of the other with its fast-incoming flank.

The power of the one ship arriving straightens the other. We see the flaming torch lift till both are the same height.

We can only guess the crew are pulled aboard. It seems that the lightened load of the suffering ship may well be enough to let her ride this stormed night.

There is no blood left in our fingertips, nor in our shoulders, or in our hearts. We can scarcely breathe for the holding of each other so very very tight.

“One ship is bringing both the crews and is pulling the other ship in too,” sighs Björk-Mari.

It is an age and an eon until those two ships near us.

The torch is gone from the mast of the rescued ship and eventually from the saviour vessel.

Our cliff-top warriors cheer.men cheer

Eventually they are home. Their ship is home.

There is much blood.

It was a battle at sea. A swooping pirate of the waters has attacked and followed and attacked again. Our ship, the returner, was valiant and saw their ship adrift and empty. The binding which held them while the crews leapt from ship to ship in battle were unloosed. And the empty ship went far adrift before it eventually would go down.

It may have been better to keep it. For our far-travelled ship was much damaged. It made it as far as it did.

The ship is home. Both our ships are home. The long-journeyed crew are mainly returned. Safe and back and families are reunited.

All is good.

Not so.

This ship which returned did not remove its battle dragon. How could it do so. It is not a trade ship which returns. It is a ship of dragonhead.d head A serpent thing upon our land. Whether intentional or not. It has been accepted here with sign of war. With sign of mystical beasts. Of other worlds. The Díser are enraged. They abandon us. The land is cursed. Cursed. We all are cursed.

The land is cursed. The Díser leave us. All last growth dies. The new growth in the spring of tomorrows will not happen.

Our chieftain must journey to the land of the Vanadís. We burn the herbs. The juniper for the visions.juniper We shall all sleep. We shall dance, we shall tremor, we shall sleep and some of us shall journey to the realms of the Vanadís and we shall tranquil them. Standing with our chieftain as he bravely speaks. He steps forward and declares. He acts for us all and his true heart is read, “We ask of the earth to return to us growth and plenty”.

There is a cost. In old old tales we hear from other lands terrible costs are paid; the life of the first born, the servitude of the next borne or other such heart-wrenching promises. Terrible things. We promise a terrible thing. We promise that one shall go from our midst to ever-serve in the all-time forever as a Vanadís, returning only at will in the when-ever and at times of need and of love and of celebration. Always over there though in the forever of the timelessness.

We shall not choose who will go though. We shall wait till one is willing. We will tell this tale for generation upon generation, the Sami at the topper-most shall also tell. From our midst and perhaps from theirs too shall emerge a chosen one; chosen by their self.

And they shall go. They will be the payment for the return of life to this valley. The Díser shall be welcomed back. The earthy ones who inhabit our realm in a distant way shall be here and the Vanadís shall be in their realm. With our daughter or son. They shall be ever watching through to ours.

That serpent beast-head upon the returning ship has taken a terrible cost and payment shall be forever. (The one who eventually went is still there even in your time as you read this and they are looking down upon us all.)

Lo the freeze times come and there is chanting, throat music, names of old old gods and beings, remembered ones; chanting, casting, renewing.

Hear the visitation from above. Down the goat path they come; the Sami.pipe

Olga-Stina leads the dancing chant for all to add to. “We sing to lead.” “We sing to enchant.” “We sing to mislead.” “We have pipes of metal to suck back our kindred’s brains in revenge.” “Follow us if you dare, if you are of evil intent.” “Look you follower, a sharp drop off a cliff.” “Come with us enemies, we will keep ourselves safe by leading you, come, come, come.” They softly spookily chant, chant.

They come to trade. First. They come to work. They drag and dodge and massively bundled tree trunks dodge and slide and drag; behind, in front, by sides. They, harnessed, bring the wood they need.sami logs

They pile and build and burn and create charcoal, here in the flatter lands of warmer ways.

They bring the wood they need. They pile and build and burn and collect; resinous flowings. Twenty two trees for every trunk needed for wood work.

There had been a huge shadow behind each one of these shamanic nomadic visitations as they traversed down the steep sides in their ancient ways here in Gudvangen; with poles under arms they steered huge mountains to down here, to bring us furs.

There is, before they disappear for winter’s hard of hardest times, a trade, a final trade.

logsWhat can we give them worth their trading, worth their skills, worth their service?

They have charcoal for their forging, resin for their building, praise and thanks for their service to us. They have worked well high above and have aplenty.

Survival.

The crunch and the green and the fruiting of the lower lands. We have lived a summer; they have lived a harshness.

We have a year’s worth of preserves for them. Some still fresh too. Some in sealed leather.

Food up there freezes, here it ferments, when buried (gravved) we dig for them and they guzzle like it is fresh; they chant and then eat more.

Have we a feast for them. “Come join us.” “Come feast”

“Talk of fermented, here is brew you yearn.”

High nethers never yielded such dairy. Milk; they glug. Yogurt with honey they laugh and laugh with joy.yog This is a feast of many things, the largest of which is joy. Joy.

We have pledges to renew and enjoin.

Then.

Then there are bounteous gifts. You from the high lands have done us so much. You are promising so much. We will be united in the blessing of the land which the Vanadís have renewed. We shall be united in the pledged of promise to these Dís. One of you, one of us, will agree to go.

We have a yield to share amongst our two types of humans and a yield to share from our world to another world; the world of Dís. We commemorate this as promise. This is an eternal gift and true true all-world promise.

Boots we have. Bounteous harvest too. Much-folded swords.swords Treasures; Coptic and Islamic. Gold in bent shapes, and coins. Coins with many pictures amongst them. Jasper. Jade even. Dying materials gathered for this trade. They ‘yeep’ at the colours they can make. They almost wee at the thought.

We give them arched strong bows.

We cry now for they return the wool we shared. We have a holy gift for them we have held back, held back. Here first is the return. Wool. Uncarded it went and spun it returns. The Sami they spin.spin

They sit and they spin. They walk and they spin. They talk and they spin. They ride and they spin. They spin.

spin.jpgThem Sami can spin,

We have bounteous return for them. We have worked hard over the years, over the seasons two results. One for us. One for them. We own, we have a result from our shared spinning. We have to give… A blanket.

A blanket.

Thus is the strength of our gift.

It will be spring-time and gone by you know this yet here is the winter gathering. The fire. The mjord. The time of tellings. Of sharings. “We gather now and hear,” declares Poppa la Princesse Une fois.

“Let me tell you of a clear blue sky,”clear sky our Sami friend now relates, “and then of a terrible sudden downpour; from an empty sky it came, till in a blink, well everything was soaked and covered. Then the strange thing happened. In that instant out of the warm blue it froze. Everything frozen. A bush, the rocky mountain side, for I was not quite at the top. The stream, the moss upon the stone. Everything was silver. Completely silver. Even myself; I had to shake, twist, to break free from it and drop thin sheets down upon the ground. In the time it takes for chick to hatch it was gone and everything was wet and damp. The sky was just as blue and clear as ever”.

“I have been down below there, nearer the dim waters – in the almost always dark,” relates Finley Mac with his woman by his side, “As we sailed out I saw things, well, a thing; it was big and it climbed. It climbed so far then it leapt. As slopes turned to crags it needed to leap to gain purchase, but all of this was fast, very fast indeed. I don’t want to know what I think it was, I don’t want to hear myself say it aloud, but it was grey, it had long arms, long legs, a big knobbly head. I almost wish I hadn’t told you”.climber

“Indeed, it was huge…bigger than a tree and then it climbed in no time,” Linnea-Ingeborg whispers, “Hundreds of feet it jumped and he told me late one night in the sleepless dark how he saw the space between land and sky where the dark bulk left the ground…”

“There was something on the way back,” says Olafr-Andreas whilst staring outward.

“Who looked out, we were sinking!” wonders Frederick Steinsson.

“No there was something.”

A few listening shudder and quietly groan; they were obviously looking too.

“It had wings,” continues Olafr-Andreas, “No it was wings; wings of shadow, yet with strength. There was nothing else though. Just the wings.wings They were slow and strong and ponderous, and they were close to the steep stone sides; low over the water. Travelling forever.” “Wings.”

“There was something else terrible travelling back with us!” outbursts Kjell-Toffe, “A man in a skirt!”

“It is a kilt”, proclaims Collum McCull.kilt

“Well, you are from the far north, even norther than the north lands; just below the ice,” spells out Johnson.

“You are Pictish,” points out Patrick.

“It is better than Elvish!” chips in Myrull-Ylva.

“Or silky!” remembers Olve-Daan.

“Or from the realms of rain, begorra,” winks Ragnhild.

“We renamed your Pictish land after us doon forget; Land of the Scots, doon forget that means Irish,” laughs Blathnaid-Brigid.

“Irish? Eh, O, OH, Aye?” laughs Collum McCull.

“Ah yes the land of little men and rainbows,” adds Lars-Eirik.

“The place where the women came from!” Blathnaid-Brigid interjects, “The scribes”.

“That is another story,” adds Add ri An.

“Hex yer, hush noo, ahn look yee tiv the skirt of the monn will yeee,” winked Inga-Idun.

“Take the blame you sailors of all Viks,” declares Hin-Mann, “All the north and all the northern lands are of the Viking in ouradays, look not to stilltocomeadays or longgoneadays I ask you to awaken promptly. All is Norse, deal with it”.

“Kjilt inne Norske Yeh,” laughs Meretha-Silje, “Pleat the material. Look yeh at hoo affluent you look. You are a Viking if you are terribly proud.” “Aifter you.” “Aifter you.” “What yer doing pushin in yer grunta?!”

I heard the dying words of Atle, “it started here”.

Eermm ok… once upon a time”, starts Björk-Mari, “there was a very commanding Viking chieftain named Hrollr. His village was very powerful and other chieftain would travel from afar to pay his respects in the hope that Hrollr and his army wouldn’t wage war upon them. They would bring Hrollr their most prized treasures from raids from all over the world! One day, a Scottish chieftain by the name Glnockie came to visit and he brought with him the most exquisite wool from the Highlands. Hrollr was mighty impressed with the quality and beauty of the tartan and ordered his most prestigious seamstress, Njaela to stitch together a tunic that he was going to wear during a blot and in honour of Glnockie.

Njaela was ecstatic at such honour bestowed upon her and immediately began cutting the fabric, despite it being darkplad – so she sat down by the fire and began her work. As she was almost finished, a tiny spark from the fire caught the fabric and in front of her eyes, half of the tartan vanished before her. She knew that the chieftain would certainly have her blood-eagled for this, so she called upon Loki to help her.

Loki had travelled far and wide in his eagle-guise and had seen many strange things however, he quite fancied seeing the two chieftains at war so he began telling Njaela a tale of how the most powerful warriors in all of Midgard wore “half skirts”. Thinking that this would surely impress the chieftains, Njaela began sewing a “half skirt” and added, bedazzled it, with jewellery and a bag with the most beautiful hide she could find.

The next day, her chieftain, Hrollr, called upon her and asked her to show him the tunic. When he saw the “half shirt” he almost exploded from rage until Njaela was able to explain to him that all the greatest warriors that Loki had seen in Midgard, wore those but that this one was the most exquisite of them all. Upon hearing this, the chieftain put it on and entered the feast, presenting his “half skirt” to Glnockie.

Glnockie was so impressed by the “half skirt” that he immediately asked Njaela to make him one too – which she of course did! Upon arriving back to the Highlands, Chieftain Glnockie became a fashion icon and all the clans in the land followed suit.

The Vikings however, quickly discovered that the cold didn’t agree with the half skirts, so the trend never really caught on here.”

“Or so it is told.”

“I came here from even farther away,” tells Bjorn-Ole, “My family were traders and travellers so I was born and bred upon the road and have never seen my homeland. I learnt of the letters though, and so I have written. chinese 01I sent my ancients letters in a message to be sent to my grandparents in our faraway land”.

“Ah yes I have seen those pictures that you write which are like complicated runes,” adds Nils-Harold.

“They are our letters. I dimly remember how it is done from being a child and Add ri An commanded that I should send word. I will never be able to visit as it is so far away and I am a Viking now. If I could visit I would take sore eyes to my grandparents, but as it is I have sent the letters at the command of the Skald.chinese 02 He said I should say that they could congratulate me on being a good soul who knows their own path and is strong. I told him (didn’t I Add ri An) that I would be too blushed to say so even in writings. Yet he commanded it and Blathnaid-Brigid she also insisted that it be so. Mind you she also suggested I ask them to send us some silk!”

“Let the truth be known at your homes Add ri An told me and I admitted that his command was my command (‘Wise old man that you are,’ I added with a wink)”
“Hahaha he agreed reluctantly what a great honest skilled respected wise man he is who is strong and we are proud of. and he eventually agreed to say. Ah no come to think the wise bit was about me,” laughs Add ri An, “Say that a wise man said, that’s me. He promised.”

“What a noble errand indeed,” is the final word of Blathnaid-Brigid.

“Eh, it’s a good yarn,” smiles Teresa-Linn.

“I recall that when I came here I asked what the white stuff was on the tops of the mountains and now I am sending word of how well I am thought of here.”

“Your grandparents will have sore eyes,” adds Lis-Ravn..

“Wood-smoke fills us, fills this place, it will clear it will clear.”

“Tears are smoke,” acknowledges Tyra av Rafnsblõt.

“Tears are smoke and a sea trip will cheer us,” states Linnea-Ingeborg..

We sleep and as we wake we see the distant Sami climbing. These creatures are fond of welcome; fearful of a goodbye.

So, after feast leftovers are filling us to break our short sleep fast we recall the pledge of line and net to cast.fish

To net and line and catch and gut and clean and work together.

“A fishing trip, a boat outing, a pleasure to cruise among the fjord walls which in places never feel the step of man,” announces Linnea-Ingeborg.

“Lars-Eirik claims to be the only human to have stepped ashore at every one, (he does fish from his dugout often),” laughs Loke-Daan.boat

“Pale skins may have stepped there, but often it is as if my feet are the first ever human feet to stand a being tall upon these hidden inner lands, yes,” says Lars-Eirik.

Skirts are held. Arms are held. Ship bows are held.

And tensions, as we gaily step, are released.

This is a ship trip.

The waves skip.

More coming in than river ripples outwards. They bring a mix of clemency.

And we are ripping out.

A turnabout, we feel the drift, the tide within the turn within the burn; is going out. We row anyway. Sails in fjord waters are for gentle sessions or sheer emergency. We seek wider pass where half-rig will tender bob us on. While we sojourn.

Light twinkling on the facets of the stone sides gives a promise of spring,

“And while we idle,” muses the Johnson, “let me intrigue with a riddle…”

“Ooo yes we like a puzzle,” enthuses Svanvhit Smedsdottir-gjenfødt.

“I riddle…”

 

I am your ally on the hunt

But do not walk with me

Lest I be warning to your quarry

 

Eye glaze and there is quiet for a while.

Some know.

Others will think longer.

“I shall tell my tale,” says Bjarki, “For this journey reminds me of many,” he says as he sits and spins.

“I went to Hildrgard, beautiful Hildrgard,” he glances fleeting to the side, “and I told her – I had made a lock and attached it to my dwelling at the other side of the by, then I untied the key from my belt and offered it to her.”

“He clearly was asking me to move in with him,” chips in Hildrgard from her rowing perch.

“But you wouldn’t would you.”

“I moved in,” she added, “I said I wouldn’t be with you because you had nothing.”

“I cannot help being an orphan; a victim of chance, war and plague.”

In a stirring of mail across towards the prow T’or-Gunlodd asides, “Balder wasn’t there for you was he.”

“No T’or-Gunlodd there was no sense of family for me,” agrees Bjarki

“Never-the-less,” states Hildrgard, “your uncle left you the house, the small house. The blacksmith Svanvhit Smedsdottir-gjenfødt taught you how to make the lock and you still owed her for the iron, not to mention for the lesson.”

“I pledged to pay the blacksmith in the same way I pledged to pay you; a future promise.”

“I wondered how you could ever repay of an equal value to such pledges. Then I learned you had arranged to go Viking.”

“So Hildrgard, you arranged to move in.”

“I agreed to move in on my own, then, when you returned, if you didn’t return dead, I would let you in if you brought treasure.”

Bjarki turns to the crew, “I came back with nothing. Nothing but an agreement to go again.”

“That wasn’t good enough, but I did admire your determination. I couldn’t agree to anything until after your return as you had no skills.”

“I used to watch my mother spin.”

“And on this ship, I asked him, there are times when you just sit?”

“Yes, yes.” Bjarki eagerly nods as if still in that moment.

“Then, I said, take this wool and this spinner and then we will see.”spin

“Few of us returned alive, all of us with nothing.”

“Except you, you returned with sacks of yarn. It was nearly enough for me to let you in, but not quite.”

“Then you had another idea, and I had planned another adventure.”

“I asked, when you are in foreign lands, do you sometimes sit by a fire? You said you did so, so I said, if you return and you have dyed this yarn I will accept.”

Bjarki looked proud, “I returned with blood-red yarn…”yarn sacks

“And treasure as well my love.”

“Armour and two swords!” beamed Bjarki.

“And arrows.”

“I made those.”

“And now you are my beloved Bjarki Famed Fletcher.”arrow

“And father of three!” grins Bjarki.

Everybody spins.

“I am looking forward to the goat hunt in the spring,” smiles Tove-Marie.

“I less so.”

“Why would that be Add ri An?”

“I clambered the old path by the Galda Cave and through the forest came a whole pack of wolves. They were running, running wild for the sake of it. They brushed right past me. One stopped, she was a large silver-grey she-wolf. She hissed breath in and out of her teeth and it sounded like, “Rieka Sølvulven runs with wolfs,” and then they were gone.wolf

Among the very mixed reactions is a sharp intake of breath everyone looks round, they are relieved to look away from Add ri An.

Olafr-Andreas speaks, “As I was about to die upon that tied battle ground at sea I saw a shadow of that famed she-wolf and the tide turned – the tide of the battle that is – I heard the shadow as it fell upon him say, May you feel the burning of a thousand suns as they rise at one upon you. And then I stabbed”.wolf shadow

The eerie silence is broken, “Perhaps once the returned ship is repaired it will be time to build another,” suggests Leif-Lasse.

Myrull-Ylva speaks, “This can be a good opportunity to be a fighter Viking for a big and rich chieftain. Maybe he will allow me to go to Gardariket also. Then I will fight for the big sultans and be rich me too. And then, I can go wherever I want after that. And get my own army of ships and Vikings. I can see me standing there with the big kings and chieftains, with sword of the best blacksmith in our known world.”

“I am a big rich chieftain,” proclaims Freyr-An’ersh.cheif

Happy laughter bursts from all.

“Back to enjoying the boat trip,” Linnea-Ingeborg.

“We are not doing much fishing,” adds Poppa-Varg.

They all laugh and look around.

As the boat gently bobs, their chieftain Freyr-An’ersh adds, “It is enough to know we have worked so hard. That we have enough of everything. To be thankful to those who gave. We move onward in our town in happiness they earned for us. Parties are not the only way to happy. Nor are stories. We are a story. We are taking a boat trip and it is fulfilling. While there is light enough.

Take time to feel the bobbing of the rhythms.”

Poppa-Volva chips in, “Oh look it is time to turn back!”wave

“Hahahaha”

 

“And so we return to sleep till spring,” adds Thorfinn Asmundsson.

“Ha you wish,” musters Tyra av Rafnsblõt, “This is when the work starts”

“Oh I long for spring,” sighs Blathnaid-Brigid, “Where I am pleased to know we will witness little miracles growing all around. I am sure we will, I am sure we will, and am so very excited.”spring

Footnotes and Credits

The element of the story where one ship props up another in a fjord rescue is based upon the real-life memories of my sister-Norn Sigrun watching out for family members returning upon a fishing vessel; hers is an extremely moving tale to hear.

Thank you to my chieftain Georg for the story of the dragon head and the Vanadís.

The traumatic effects of burning the fruiting juniper branch come from the book Legal Highs.

The riddle is the first of a few I shall feature and come from a small book of Vikingesque riddles by highly skilled bone-worker Peter Merrett (and I am sure many of you will wish to add comments below).

Thanks to my good friend Grethe-Irene for her tale of the warrior Viking.

The natural phenomenon of the ice rain in the Rockford area was brought to me by my niece.

Thanks go to Judson, Atle and Holly for discussions on kilts.

 

My Viking ‘Dream-life I

My Viking Dream-life II

My Viking Dream-life III

Storytelling is…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Three Norns Go Denmark

Three Norns Go Denmark

The best of times the worst of times, this always seems to be the way for me. So it is on this trip to Scandinavia. Yes my health seems to have taken another of its backwards steps whilst I am supposed to be getting better each day a bit at a time.new hat

I have been saying over this ill health year that there are good patches every day (my pal Donna wants to know where I buy these patches) I cannot even say this at the moment; no, no good patches but good people. Good people here every day and we feel like being here every day. So if you never see Sigrun, Alda and Svanhvit again it is because they have stayed here with me in ‘Wolf Town’ forever. Well, either that or their car fell completely apart on the way home. It started on the way here, and quite frankly there isn’t much left – except super glue and Gaffer tape.

I can be ill here and still happy,learning to weave I would be just as poorly if I was at home and I am surrounded by laughs, love and ‘loveliness’ yes.

royalty

The Norns. We are the three Norns and life is only perfect when we are united. Oh no, they have their mum with them! So I have promoted her to the position of Norn – where does that leave me? I guess I am the devoted follower; a bit like the besotted, squirmy, devotee you see with vampires. I am the Norns assistant.3 norns

I got here though – we are back in beautiful Denmark; last year I did a review, with a main feature on Danish design: It is rubbish! Unless it is eggcups of course, they are good at them.

Not that you can tell they are eggcups by looking at them. If you were out shopping for them you would probably pass them right by.

So, if you see something and you don’t know what it is, buy it, take it home and stick an egg in it.eggcup

When I say design what I mean is; if you build a thing you have built it, but if you spend time beforehand thinking not only about whether or not it looks cool but about whether or not it will actually work, or even better finding ways it will work better and in new ways – then – it has been designed.

That isn’t how it works here, well not in my experience last year, admittedly my very limited experience of just one apartment; a grannie flat actually.

Converted from a cellar and retouched recently to be lettable to mugs, sorry I meant tourists.

The loo was under the stairs in a miniscule cupboard where you couldn’t even stand up at the sink,tiny loo yet the bathroom was gigantic. One of those semi basement places where there are huge windows all along the back wall with no nets; this is all over looked by a children’s play area for the people upstairs. Needless to say, the second time I went in there I wore clothes, at least till I got the curtains closed.

The water from the shower hit the back wall of the bath and followed a runnel around under the shower heads. I realised as I got out it was flying to the tiles like a waterfall. I mainly discovered this by stepping into the lake my clothes and towel were in.

The dining area was in my bedroom, the couch and computer desk were in the other bedroom. The wardrobes had been newly painted and were sealed shut as a result.

The kitchen was minute; a short passage with a narrow cupboard by the window. A mismatch of tiny pottery hung on a rack and the one cupboard held the fridge (which ripped your skin off every time you opened it). When you turned on the really high tap the water hit the tiny round sink in such a way that it turned into a geyser which visited the electric hob in torrents, (most of us survived intact).

When we discovered the final straw of opening the window we were almost glad that is was impossible to close again because it was out of reach so at least the owner would understand that fault.

Don’t even get me started on shopping in Velje!

But no it is this year and that is all behind us. The 2017 review. This time it is Ryanair.

The engines are not powerful enough to be able to keep the lights on during take off. If they didn’t make us all sit in the dark we would never get off the ground, well not all the way up anyway. Similarly make sure you turn everything off when about to land or the engines will never get us to the ground.

Magazine racks are an optional extra same as tickets and seats are.

As for passengers, I don’t think it is just my mood but everyone travelling with Ryanair is really irritating. It is urgent to get to the plane as soon as possible. Some race across the runway to get to the back steps before you, even at the expense of a young family member, only to discover she has the now needed boarding passes and is at the bottom of the steps behind everyone. Hah hah hah hah haa.

Hah hah hah hah oh I have to wait until she can bring them till I can get past them.

Yes I know the boarding passes were checked at the boarding pass checking gate before we set off down towards the plane so don’t need checking again now we are all passengers getting on the same plane I know, I know, I know.

They lied about extra leg room, I didn’t fall for paying for extra leg room; it turns out what they really meant was actual leg room.

Flying Ryanair without paying for all the extra extras is like being in a plaster cast – and I had to share!!!

They brought me wine, though things are not what they were, one glass and I fell asleep.

That’s where I got to dream that there were two rival singers running airways; Ryan Adams and Brian Adams. I was lucky to be on Ryanair. Brianair is even worse, “Every breath you take, every move you make, I’ll be charging you.”

Let not my whole review of our holiday in Denmark be critical and bad I shouldn’t poke fun all the time.

The cabin is fantastic – cheap too. Here in Ulfsborg we are in the depth of woods and I am the log man.log pile

There would be no kindling without me without me there would be no kindling. The fires they burn because of me because of me the fires burn.

I have another important job too, that of fire monitor.

It might be worth noting that I have a specific walk for each of these important tasks, so the mere girls know what it is I am about.

I may have failed occasionally, when one of the ‘girls’ points out that a fire is getting a bit low. What they fail to realise is that they real man fire monitor has an inbuilt sensor and was just about to get up and add another log. Chop chop.

The area is beautiful. I admit Norwegians are wrong; whenever you say to one of them, “What’s Denmark like?” They reply in the same way every time, using the one word, “Flat.”

They are right yes, but they are quite condemning when they say it, dismissive, they cannot bring themselves to say more, for indeed there is nothing left to say.flat map

In future I may respond with, “And happy!”

It is not quite as flat as they say, not like in totally. It is beautiful with much nature (Beaches are hard to get to or even see without owning a holiday home among the private dunes) but there is so much protected wildness.

I have enjoyed: thatched rooves, wooded estates, gladioli (so yes it is beautiful), lille frogs, lille cakes, sporadic songwriters, antiks, crafts, fleas, fungi, pagan sacred areas, sculptures, sand sculptures, marinades, free vodka, fish cakes, Asatru forests, carved gods and goddesses, mother goddess shaped sacred areas, recovered long-ships, towers of hope, mjord, home-baking, proper bread, fired steak, thatch dryers, lille horses, bus shelters, everything.sacred me and serpent

We have planned: future trips, future residences, bake houses, barn conversions, Jorvik shows, poodle tales, Hastings, graphic novels, fan trips, London fashion week, TV series, rock opera, Vegas trips, tunics, wood carving, Greek myth shows, book launches, landscaping, stalls, food festivals, story shares, sock making, everything.posing

We look around, everyone looks happy, really happy, as we sit with chocolate Soft Is (not me thank you), they smile, as they pass they are so so happy – I hate them!

This is the happiest place to live in the world – How irritating!

Oh if only we had so much spare time. As we sat in Sandwichvej, Holstebro thinking of our drive back to Klitvej Cabins it wasn’t like we were on holiday at all all of a sudden. We looked around at a happy happy people who have half a vacation’s worth of time off every week of the year (I swear they retire at twenty nine and a half) it as like we were already halfway back to Drudgevej, Taskmadby.

They are so relaxed they don’t even realise bicycles are for exercise, (actually they are not, they are for getting from A to B cheaply and in a hurry, but there is no way on earth they would get that idea) they are a gentle occupation of the ‘occupy your time’ generations of this Nordic land.

They walk like they have those bouncy blades Paralympians use strapped to their feet, but not to hurry at all, oh no.

Slow cycle, slow, we have a lot of time to fill, a lot of time.

They haven’t rushed since they leapt off the Viking long-ships and charged into your land roaring.

Ah, all of those guys stayed in Iceland, Belfast or the Gorbles. These are the descendants of the remainder.

Not a lot of these oceans of spare time are spent on appearance; utility is the only option – and hairdressers for women must only possibly survive if they charge an immense amount per cut to whip it all off. Not one woman in Denmark has long hair. Boy cuts. Dead straight forward boy cuts, but hey ‘we gotta get out there and cycle slow looking happy’.

‘We are so relaxed we can not even be bothered clapping singer songwriters why should we have long hair?’

‘What do you think we are – Vikings?’

Hang on – there’s a fashion statement – there is someone coming up the street in a T shirt – with something written on – it says – it says – Let’s Party and Dance. They even need extra instructions on how to party!

Here on the way home I reflect in a more serious mood on how nice everyone was and what a great time we had.

I sit now with my sandwich of bacon, wettuce and what-once-was-tomato and recall the beautiful scenery. The forest deep in the centre of the country was my favourite part. The centre should be designated an area of outstanding unflatness as it is less like Bonnie and Clyde land and more like Yorkshire with extra wildness. It rolls.

We got lost. All we had to look out for was a particular tree but it could only be seen from the west of the trees and we were driving from the east (I think). My favourite part of the trip, of the whole holiday in fact, was getting lost in the wrong forest. I don’t think the three drivers were as chuffed, indeed I guess, Jonas wished he had come in his truck. It was magical nonetheless; and we did eventually find our sacred forest with its large carvings of the old gods and goddesses.

We will be going there again – by a more direct route.

I almost forgot – I am a Viking Chieftain!

We dressed up – no we didn’t – ‘we became’. Off we went to the meandering magical village of the ancient Danes.

guide
Our guide

This village has been built so well, modelled on dwellings and arrangements of the area and on buildings from other regions of the Viking empire such as Iceland.

The variation added to the natural appearance of the village which rolled and wandered just as if it had gradually developed.

Now, when I go back to Norway I have sailed the sea in many ships over in Denmark as soul command.captain

Christian (Schuetz) the storyteller from Germanythree in hut was so impressed with my interpretation which cannot be described as untrue that he invited me to the long house to sit upon the tall imposing chieftain’s throne. This I did and promptly declared myself chieftain. I can tell you that I addressed my subjects and all those around me obey my every command; wave I command and they wave etc.

In this land where I sailed those ships I had sat as chieftain yes.

And if you want to prove wrong my cheeky descriptions of boring unimaginative Danish people then go to the marvellous Café Sajd in Jelling and their highly exciting Mythological Festival. – http://www.cafesejd.dk/mytologiskartfestival/

That Viking village in Denmark

Gods Bless Ya!!! Our Rock Opera in Jelling

My Viking Saga in a Nutshell

My Viking town link – Gudvangen

thorsmind
Yes these are the things Thor has on his mind

klit

Image from Jelling Mythological Arts Festival:-pixie

tellers hut

All photos by Sigrún Björk Ólafsdóttir

 

 

 

Part of the Viking Mythos series: Without Even a Mirror to Know She Was Beautiful – Gunnlod; Guardian of the Poetry Mead

history-tabviking-life-taboldman-tabviking comics inc tab.jpgpoetics tab.jpgrants tab.jpgchat tab.jpgspooky tab.jpggby-tabnewsnext

Without Even a Mirror to Know She Was Beautiful – Gunnlod; Guardian of the Poetry Mead

(Modelled on the tale from the Norse myths)

This deeply moving piece is not illustrated with art but with storystrations.

blue greenland.jpg

He was suddenly there, impossibly close, the handsome stranger. In his long blue cloak and wide-brimmed hat; he seemed somehow too big for his skin, and he loomed over the workers of the farm.robe diana.jpg They should not have looked in his eye, for they were drawn in, to fall among the worlds. Swirling wildly among the nine known worlds and all the unknown worlds as well, they could see and hear everything, and presently they came to hear their own inner voices; each other’s thoughts … “I’ve never liked you.” “You treat me badly.” “I work harder than you.” There should be less reward for you.” “I quite like your wife.”robe silver wind

The knives were out, they fell upon each other in rage, and presently all were dead.scene 002

The stranger turned towards the farm, “You suddenly seem to be short of workers.”

“Yes I do.”

“I shall work your farm for you, and all I wish in return is some small piece of information.”

The work was done in no time. The fields tilled. The seeds in. The plants they grew and were harvested. In an impossible time, the barns were fuller than they’d ever been.crops.jpg

“All I wish in return is to know where your brother keeps his treasure.”

“I could not possibly tell you, I have promised.”

“You have promised me, and all you have to do is point to the place.”

They climbed the hill and peered down at a wide stone plain. He pointed.plain of stone.jpg

The stranger went to the place and called down lightning.lightning.jpg

It cut and turned and wound and burned. Down to a cavern miles beneath the earth. In this dark cave with no entrance and no exit sat Suttungr’s daughter.gunn sat cropped diana She sat there long, without even a mirror to know that she was beautiful.

The handsome stranger turned himself into a serpent and twisted his long way down the deep burrow to appear far below suddenly in his handsome robes. serpent tipped rainy day.jpg

A torch appeared already light, “Oh you are beautiful, more beautiful than any other woman ever seen. I love you and I wish for you to come with me. All I wish in return is one small sip of your father’s treasure; the poetry mead.”

“I couldn’t possibly, I have promised, and my father would beat me terribly.”

“Yet you shall come with me and be my bride. You shall be my queen in my great citadel in the sky. In love forever. Just one small sip.”citedal

She slowly, tentatively, pushed the three barrels forward. He took it all, wrapped it in his cloak, turned back into the serpent and left her alone.

The figure that now flew up to Asgard had the power of the mead; one sip would let your words cause love or war.asgard.jpg

Yet deep below the earth in a cavern with no entrance and no exit, without even a mirror to know she was beautiful, Suttungr’s daughter Gunnlod sat alone.cave pipe charcoaled.jpg She cared not of the endless beatings she would receive; because Gunnlod was broken.plain of stone flipped.jpg

This story came to me in a dream before I had read the original myth, so doesn’t stick to the story set in ink by Snorri and the Irish scribe women! The atmosphere gives a feel of the drama of the mythos event I reckon. I put this to type recently as part of my research for the rock opera Gods Bless Ya!!!

Gods Bless Ya!!!

Great Gig last night – Union Mash Up, Hull

history-tabviking-life-taboldman-tabviking comics inc tab.jpgpoetics tab.jpgrants tab.jpgchat tab.jpgspooky tab.jpggby-tabnewsnext

Great Gig last night – Union Mash Up, Hullmoody umu.jpg

Yes it was a great gig, and it was very important to me. I wouldn’t have got there if it wasn’t for Gramey of Slim Knows Time, (That’s us below pictured with Ana Maus), he was nearly dying from a virus, but he picked me up and dragged me there. At my insistence of course. I just had to be there. I had my first chemotherapy the day before and I was supposed to be totally washed out and unable to get out. I was in a terrible state, but yes, I had to be there.

Gra hadn’t been able to lift his guitar the day before and still was unable to turn his head (which made for an interesting drive) but he got me there and even managed to play for a short set as Slim Knows Time in the middle of the show.

We finished the night with a few at the end plus an amazing encore set when half the audience had gone. A drummer friend had been unable to come due to possible malaria, so gra and ana stepped in at the end to do some of the pieces I had planned with her. Notably my praise poem which includes all the Norse Goddesses and which was described as very moving and unlifting by a lady wiping tears from her cheek. We also did a bit of Elliot, Whitman, WCW, Kenneth Koch and a few of mine all in a beat poetry style.

A little thing like a bit of chemo can’t stop me doing the things I love to do. And this was the first gig of a whole new series I have planned. The beginning of a dream.

For some strange reason I am calling it the Provinces Tour. I started in the vibrant city of Kingston Upon Hull  the City of Culture 2017, and I plan to do parts of the tour in St Andrews, Edinburgh, Bergen and London; so it is hardly the provinces – but the idea has been in my mind for a long time.

The idea being that I do an evening of storytelling in cosy venues where I can just do my own thing; fitting in exactly what I fancy at the time I am aiming to include Scarborough (of Soldiers, Sailors and things a bit fishy), Malton (Steam days, Vikings and a bit about Beer) and little villages and towns along the way

For this one I brought a story back to folklore from the work of Chaucer, I did the thousand plus year old Tora in the Tower, mixed with modern mystery, and Hobb tales (among others).

I am starting to look at where to go next (there were already a couple of interesting ideas for returning to Hull (including a return visit to the smashing Union Mash Up.

Yes I am going to keep doing the things I love. My good friend Mary said I should blog about my health issues. and it does seem to fit in with telling you my plans.

I met my maker only about eight weeks ago now. In my mind I decided where I was going and what I needed to do before I went. Things change fast though, and from down there was a way up. Life looks horrid, but for me this is a horrid road which leads to being better.

It will be a year long journey of chemo and a rather nasty op so I am going to be really struggling over this year. But I did it, I went out there and dragged my self in and people ended up say what amazing energy I have. So I can do the things I love.

I am not going to be working totally full time. Just the things I love and that are important. So it looks like I am moving, I wont be able to keep up with the rent and am moving for recooperation. This will be though in such a way that I can still do my main things.

This will of course include blogging and selling online audio books and Spendlow TV!

It will also mean I shall carry on the drama work with We Are Theatre and some brilliant community projects as team leader (to date in, Bridlington, York and Hull). There is no way I can not go to Norway, in particular as Skald to my blood Brother in the Viking Town of Gudvangen (among other places), I am also hoping to be asked to return to the Mythology Festival in Jelling, Denmark and of course the very exciting tour of the rock opera Gods Bless Ya!!! with my amazing Norns Sigrun and Alda.

My next excitement is Rollercoastival in February as the Pied Piper of Scarborough taking you to a magical place.

There will also be a few lovely festivals and stone circle stories plus a few sessions as Celebrant.

So quite a bit really 🙂

Wishing Health and Love and Light

slim-at-umu

Oh yes, and Ruthy says I am going to be like a lat!

Update:

I am also planning to follow a couple more of your suggestions Ruthy. One is a new style to go with the skinny look – I am planning to go Mod with brogues an’ everyfink.

There is the brand new short hair cut (long hair falling out was a bit upsetting). But in no time that will be all gone and I will follow the other piece of advice and have a head tattoo.

O course the hair will all grow back, but,,,,

They tell me it grows back different!!!!!

I am putting in a request to the gods for a Ginger Afro!

A word of love to others, I am told I will be well again, and I know I will be touring and performing far and wide as 2017 progresses forward into health.

This is a time to think of others though. Many friends and others I have talked to are not so lucky to be given such a promise. I send love and respect, for everywhere where people are suffering with cancer I hear a balanced loving positive approach. I have so much respect for you all and send healing love. x

 

 

The Horned God and the Wild Hunt – Viking Comic Inc. II – The nature of this beast is changing, it has become a platform for unique artwork! – like no other Graphic Novel ever seen..

God’s Bless Ya 02 – Hel – Ragnarok Mythology Festival, Denmark

history-tabviking-life-taboldman-tabviking comics inc tab.jpgpoetics tab.jpgrants tab.jpgchat tab.jpgspooky tab.jpggby-tabnewsnext

God’s Bless Ya!!! 02 – Hel – Ragnarok Mythology Festival, Denmark

(for bookings visit our site.)

Hel

As part of our show featuring myself with Alda and Sigrun Bjork Olafsdottir and our stunning models we present costume, music, song and story for a Goddess experience.

Here are poems inspired by Lady Hel herself, ruler of the dark lands of the in-valiant dead followed by my narration for the cat walk and the stunning Hel costume designed by Sigrun is elegantly shown for us by our talented model displaying for you to the unique magic of Alda’s composition.hel

The Hel Poems

Warning; Enter if you dare – here is contained the Viking history of belief in death, suffering and hell.

Read on only if you are of strong mind, will and maturity.

Ride beyond Modgud the bandaged and bleeding one if brave enough to cross her chasm path.

See eyes in the dark as growls rumble; guard hound Garm will let you in – yet will never let you out: see fire-eyes, hear blood drip as you slide by.

Hear forever screams from the long long long drop of the worthless as you leap the abyss.studio

Hel Poem 01 – What is Done Can Never Be

Born her of giants,

their shape-changer essence perverted her form

Until she matured monstrous

Living and dead

Rotten and luscious mixed

Yet somehow alluring

Empowering

Attracting you into her power

Commanding in presence

She pulls you into her will

You forever admire

Beg to endlessly serve

Wise Norns spoke of the danger of her

Born of beings of evil

Begatted by badness

The evil pretender god

With the hulking death volva

She was destined toward greatness

Forever to be fearful

hel press

Hel Poem 02 – Kenning

Stronghold-builder

Greif-giver

Tear-bringer

Flesh-rotter

Death-perpetuator

Glad-torturer

Witch-burier

Decrepit-concealer

Beautiful-enchanter

Toxic-user

Hel-builder

Coward-welcomer

Truth-despoiler

Serpent-inflicter

Balder-hater

Loki-daughter

Volva-loin-springer

Deathship-constructor

World-ender

Scream-mother

God-stealer

Light-hater

Hermod-scarer

Wolf-sister

Gloom-harbourer

Harm-danger

Cursed-leader

Misfortune-sleeper

Nightmare-enterer

Corpse-mother

If you wish to share,

Hel is just down there…

door 02 coloured.jpg

Hel poem 03 – Go Now Down

To where the cursed one fell

Ride nine days down

The north beneath the north

The world beneath the worlds

Hel’s citadel in hel,

Her Niflheim

Built forbidding from her mighty will

The darkest of powers of construction

Power out of destruction and death,

Here recreated from dread essence

Built of bitter cold,

The unending nights very core

All that remains of the dust of suffering

These her tools

The falling screams

Welts poisons spray cements and bonds

And builds

Take not your toe nails with you long

Naglfor is rising in the rising sea

To fly to war, to death of all

Oath-breakers island over rivers of spears

Living serpents bind and twine,

to bite the liar encased within

Niflhel her misty hel

Her towering walls are thrusted

Meer strength of will these gates forbidding built

From living witches buried deep

There grows the putrid plants of undead sustenance

Hel built all this

From dastard whim

falling darkness 04 up painted.jpg

Hel Poem 04 – Enter Forever

Doors open for you

To cavernous hall

Countless faces turn to you

Slowly the new dead turn grey face

The rotting and green see you

Further in the darkness,

are the less flesh than bone

Hear a drip drip drip

Watch your footing as you walk

Welcome to the land of the dead

Of the waiting

Lives of the countless

The pitiful, the unanswered,

The resigned and the scowling

Here are the leering, the most treacherous

You are stared at by the murderous

Feel if you can for the agonised

Beyond them the angry

Eyes only for you

Speak not to the dead

For then they can all speak to you

All, all at once

In their many moods and wishes

Many broken sounds.

From her glimmering veils of misfortune

She steps dangerously forward

Mottled and mouldering

Be caught in a tear fall forever to have seen her

Cry now

To be doubt-filled, untrusting, contrary to the full.

This is a testing, so beware her

Let all weep for your passing

Or scream silently forever in living hungry death

Shades in the shades see you

She holds the very god of light and beauty in her power

Weep;

Your tears melt the rime, these are meltwater tears

Beware her lest she summons her father

In his shape-shifter form he will remove all your hope.

She has you under her power

Will feed and keep you, all bedecked in gold;

Except witches,

those of you who see yourselves witches or herbal

Prepare to whimper under deep dark earth buried forever

Enter all

You are summoned

Weep now

Weep till you weep dry tears

Hel Poem 05 – Witch Burier

Rust Red the cockerel awakens the dead

There is one who has not slept

Hel’s Mother

Alive she is buried

Buried by Hel,

Daughter of Angraboda, born in Jotenheim

Here in Niflhel she buried her witch mother

Aware under there

So she Angraboda will know forever

That she is dead

Summon her from the earth if you dare

She will answer three questions

Yet all she wishes is,

to return to her dark earthen misery

She will take you with her too if she can

All she needs to know is your true name

Down you will go

Hel Poem 06 – You Cheater

If you spat in barrel,

and then broke your word

Then yes you shall go to her

Are you a liar?

All oath-breakers travel to her

Worst of the worst is the unfaithful

That is a promise which must not be broken

Meer human you have faults

So hence you will go to her

You know in your hearts

You are unfaithful; a liar

You cheat and you steal

And the tower awaits you

Step now though the waters

The icy waters of the river

The fast flowing river

Forged only of frozen

Each of the ice parts

Is formed as a spear head,

A seaxe or a dagger point

Bleed as you scream as you wade

Do not hurry though

For a torture of forever is waiting there

A tower of serpents

They will bite you forever

They will burn you with poison

Forever is forever

Oh how you will scream

Hel poem 07 – To Dream of Hel as Balder Did

Escape dark shapes in nightmares if you may.

For she will call for you

And oh yes, you will offer to go

As now each night in readiness she grooms

She brings you the despicable. Yes,

Gasp and moan. Be in half light, turn grey.

Whitening to the emptiness of the whitest weed

Feel not the sun’s warmth ever,

even when you walk awake

Seek deeper sleep…

Shadow skulkers shapeless now

Ghostly skull guests creep

Monstrous forms will snuff you

Thrash and kick all you will

Oh hope your screams will wake you

The lingering feelings will remain:

Naked doomed fear has grasped the living

As she was hurled into mist and darkness

You too now yearn for the world beneath worlds

Odin’s curse Hel wishes to share

And you,

are falling and falling

Hel (Prose) Poem 08 – Half Dead She Will Kill US

In her home beyond the sheer rock, she still hears the curse words,

“Share all that you have with the dead, adorn them in gold and feed them your putrid foods”

Her brother encircles the world.

While her other brother above bound to earth howls to be rescued.

One day her father will howl out in agony with hope in his dark heart that his offspring shall aid him, vengeance will be theirs together; Oh yes.

Capable of great structures, dark creation, from dark materials.

She has a ship readying, a dread vessel filling with undead.

Her Man-servant Ganglati and Maid-servant Ganglot they move so slow as not to be seen, until they are upon you; like weeping dark angels of stone.

She eats from Hunger with her knife Famine thinking only of the moment.

Sleeps in Sick Bed, her bed curtained by Glimmering Misfortune.

She dreams of the death of us.

Vengeance shall be theirs, Oh yes.

Hel

The Catwalk Talk

Born of a giantess who loved the unfaithful-one she was taken away because of her monstrousness. Her mother Angraboda was bound in her sleep by the Gods who despised her, and so hated her daughter. Hel is a putrid thing, half dead half alive. They cast her to Hel as her home down below us. As she fell and fell through the misty dark gloom the words of Odin echoed through her. “You are cursed, in your half-rotten half-beautiful self you are fitting only for death, live the forever death building cities for the dead.”

As she fell, as she landed, as she built, she swore her revenge. Oh how the world will end. Her great halls are filled with the myriad dead, only those fallen, who lost badly or while running, none of the brave go there. Die well my friends or you will join her. She looks at you now and feels the lies in your heart, the fears from your dreams and she knows. Your twisted dark desires glow out from you like a punishment, you have it in you to be one with her. For yes Hel is beautiful, entrancing, but once in her power when she turns to her other side there is the putridness you will worship forever. Oh yes, she knows. She knows you will be coming to her, you will feel the call in your nightmares and then forever in her halls hungry and bitter, awaiting the battle, the final battle to end all battles where everybody dies: Ragnarok is coming and you dark ones are ready, to rise up, rise up, rise up.

See also God’s Bless Ya!!! 01 – Skadi the Huntress

God’s Bless Ya! 01 – Skadi – Ragnarok Mythology Festival, Jelling, Denmark

history-tabviking-life-taboldman-tabviking comics inc tab.jpgpoetics tab.jpgrants tab.jpgchat tab.jpgspooky tab.jpggby-tabnewsnext

God’s Bless Ya! 01 – Skadi  – Ragnarok Mythology Festival, Jelling, Denmark

rag poster

Skadi

As part of our show featuring myself with Alda and Sigrun Bjork Olafsdottir and our stunning models we present costume, music, song and story for a Goddess experience.

Here are poems inspired by Skadi the huntress goddess followed by my narration for the cat walk and the beautiful Skadi costume designed by Sigrun is elegantly shown for us by our talented model displaying for you to the unique magic of Alda’s composition.

group press

Skadi 01Follow Her Way

Thrymheim – storm-home

Huntress Skadi

Beyond loveless lava flows

Where ice burns

Beyond the burning blue crevasses

See her icy fury

Pale eyes growing cold in rage

Vengeance upon murderers

Stars of the father

look upon the just and fair

Be safe with Skadi

for as long as there is night

Her kind wildness in your heart

skadi side

Skadi 02Finding The Warmth

Let love of winter lands

Bring firm cool flesh

Breasts and belly proud and smooth

By the cold

Yes fresh is best

All the better to fire the pulse of man

The beat of the heart

The firmness

The stand of the man

To find and join at last

With the inner secret warmth

Let flow the icy breath of ecstasy

ice cities -01coloured

Skadi 03Free Will’s Arrow

Goddess of the victim

Bringer of justice

Rights of the underdog

Huntress protection

Skadi will make you strong again

Watch for the buck’s run

Or the burst of icy waters

The stag’s breath

Be quick of eye; back on target

Laugh with all your heart

A giantess among women

The stars shine especially for you

Go where you will;

Free to love

Or free to love life alone

As and when it suits

The huntress in your heart

 

Skadiskadi model

Beware, for here walks Goddess Skadi, wild huntress of the far north. Beyond the blue crevasses, far over highest mountains, far beyond the loveless lava-flows, there is her abode; where stones crack, there stands her towering halls upon dark rock heights. Here she oversees the winter. Looking across the worlds of men and gods and darker beings. She sees you. She watches, ready, so beware, Skadi: judging the harsh, the cruel and the killer. She is your guardian dear victim, if you have been painfully treated you can call her spirit to you. You, yes you, she is here for you today. For she would stand against gods. Let her father’s eyes the stars look down upon you from the blissful dark.

Snow-dweller of cool firm flesh she has an inner secret warmth that she would share if you have the heart to be as free as her, yet how she loves, let old man Njord of the noisy sea dare to climb with her above the scree and ice crags, his beautiful feet clad in woven shoe, and he will find a young heart within him when he lays with her. Yes, she has joined with the oldest element of fertility, the ruler of the very winds, the tides; his currents flow as young as ever now. He brought her bounty and she brings bounty too.

Be swift of eye when she is with you, watch the buck’s dash and let your arrow fly. Let men wish for your darts of command so they may be with you for just one night. Let the toxic sharks dangle on your hook with forlorn hope, that they may be reeled in to breath the ice-cold air of redemption. You who brings in the wild goodness and embraces the gleam of low light that shines through the sheets of blue and yellow and silver ice. Let tall battlements be nothing of obstacle to those who know what is fair and just, for strong will be the icy rage if your Skadi-heart is not listen to with expected respect. Stand and face gods and Giants you follower of Skadi you.

Brave tall peaks of the impossible with her beside you for she brought laughter from the gods for all the worlds to be giants of reckless joy.

We are thankful now. For your wildness, for your beauty, for your joy, for your strength of heart and keen arrow. Skadi, we thank you, thank you Skadi.

 

Thank you

Adrianme

ice-queen-on-tower

And here is my Poem of the Goddesses, I have blogged it before but as it covers all the Viking Goddesses and the empowerment they bring you I thought it was worth you having a look see here. Besides, it just might give an insight into the future for Sigrun of just how much sewing she will be doing as our show grows and grows!

 

Goddesses of the Norse Mythology

Blessing the Goddess; Blessing the Earth

Experience again your Viking rebirth

Battle for love; believe in Freyja

Dive naked through waterfalls, Brinhild is here

As Amma will harvest and all will grow,

So Lin will serve; all beauty to show

Be old yet young be gathered by Berchta

Gently remember who you are through Snotra

Let Lofn be stirring your belief in romance

Be not forbidden feel Sjofn’s advance

Syn will defend you: Gefion make pure

Sunlight dances on water for the eyes of Saga

Birth be powerful; be proudful as Rind

Fly high with Sun; dance on the wind

Gna washes us clean; Audumla feeds

Fulla will fill, bringing forth all your needs

Jorth is at one with you, ever aware

Skuld, Urd, Verdani: your self is laid bare

Sif brings us gold; the sun on the corn

Nanna’s womanly peace gives joy reborn

Nurture regardless Angraboda

Be the mother of Gods; be as Bestla

Stronger than Thor, learn Glima with Elli

The power of Eir for healing and mercy

Nerthus has berthed us be at one in the world

Be guarded Sinmorano no wounding unfurled

As mighty as Thrud you are Thorsdottir

Rule your own soul, the power of Skirnir

Var fills our heart to make oaths of love

For Vor nothing is hidden within or above

Gleam with a beauty for Menglad will heal

Rise again with Gulveig to truly feel

Nine Mothers rise over us, take us away

Feel as strongly as Ran does; be free to say

Walk the plains with Ida you animal spirit

Be mother as Mothir as moments befit

Sygin forever brings freedom from pain

View the future with Groa; tomorrow is plain

These are the Goddesses bringing rebirth

Fjorgyn’s children – Mother Earth

These are the Goddesses bring rebirth

Fjorgyn’s children – Mother Earth