A stunning new approach to the myths the Vikings loved; enlightening and challenging for the novice and veteran alike.
The Gods and Goddesses of the Nordic Mythos Prose Poems were created following research for Gods Bless Ya!! Rock Opera with Alda and Sigrun Bjork Olafsdottir and a forth-coming book with SigRun Viking Art & Design.
All for the Love of Gerd
Norse Gods and Goddesses Prose Poems – #14 All for the Love of Gerd
As one sits in the long house in the depths of the winter there is light here, look out there, among the hardships and hope there are glimmers, amazingly bright in the ice is the sunshine. It will return.
Freedom of movement is in the heart and wishes as it is in the heart of the fertility God. Lord of the Sun. For he will go where he will. Come here to us as we remember your tale.
Go anywhere you wish, he was told but not ever to the seat, the great high seat where everything can be seen. That is the seat of Borsson alone and his bride the foreseer Frigg his queen.
They talk like to a child for the ancient God of the Earth is reborn anew in his visiting here. He dwells now with the elves as a part of the Aesir and is childlike in the eyes of some.
Go there he will, by his will he will go anywhere. Even there. In silver-rooved Valaskjalf, he steps in there, he sees. The great high seat, he sees, Hlidskjalf, and he must sit there.
What would you see there, if you stepped? If it is true that an ordinary mortal went there, stepped there to the seat of the Gods and looking out he saw everything, all at once in the everything, and remember there are far more worlds out there than you can see from your long house. In the seeing of it all was the going mad, in that instant there was everything, then there was nothing. A sublime moment of madness, of powerfulness and then he was no more.
So now Freyr steps towards the seat of seeing and he dares, or course, to sit up there. What does he see, his destiny. The woman of his dreams, of his heart and of his sense of being. Nothing else is showing. All of the nine worlds are as nothing. For this is love. Love that is meant to be. Love of the impossible, the total, the only.
And she is beautiful.
As all worlds fade there in the centre of his vision is a great hall. In the mountains of the lands of ice in Jotenheim home of a giant of a man. From those handsome halls of giant Gymir steps his daughter. The object of Freyr’s existence. She is so far away. So very far away.
In the frost lands it is that she is made of light. Of ice, of reflection or brightness overwhelming. He was overwhelmed. He sees the shining. The light of this his love.
He shall go to her. He cannot. It is so far. A God such as he would never be able to travel so far in the lands of the giants. Never would a woman such as her be willing to look at him.
His gleaming. Her shining. Reflections of opposites. For even the Lord of the Sun cannot walk among ice and cold.
It was not a living being which fell from that high seat, it was but a shell which walked away. The image survived as clear as clear and it haunted this shell of a being who was no more. In his room laid forever he was nothing. No food or drink shall pass his lips, no words of welcome, not fertile blessing. This was the Sun God in darkness in shame and forlorn. The light of all hope was gone. Death.
Death of love within love, of love and all is love., all is love lost and lovelorn. Live not without love once love has been tasted for that is all that there is and it is gone.
All that there is is the flash of light of the moment, the stepping out into view of the wondrous of beauties. The Winter and the Springtime, the life and the death, the birth and the rebirth, the frozen, the glimmering. The impossible proximity of the forever, returning perpetually.
She had stepped from her father’s hall and walked to her own hall and then disappeared within.
She had stepped from her father’s hall and walked to her own hall and then disappeared within.
She had stepped from…
Over and over he sees her, and he cannot look away, as when he saw her, she is blinding, burning his eyes. Over and over.
She is made of light.
He lays there.
All Gods are worrying. There is shadow where there once was sunshine. Nothing is growing or hoping. Worlds below are forlorn with him. Men are starving and lost. Elves are diminishing, losing the belief in the dancing. A darkness of shadow is encompassing everything. All gods are worrying.
Old father Njord is in despair for him and calls for the servant man, the one who has been with Freyr for all time, the shining one Skirnir.
Scirnis is just as worried, but can never be broken. He is as Freyr but not with the lovelornness which is breaking Freyr. He is like Freyr. Skirnir.
This is the brave element of the Sun, which still glimmers here. This is the embodiment which offers to help. There is no point though. No use in even trying, she would never agree to yield to him, her father will not allow it, and all of their lands of her kindred would rally against it. This is forbidden by ice and by sunshine, by life and be rebirth.
He goes anyway. I shall take of your horse as a means to be getting there and will keep it as a reward if success comes. Taking all that I need with me, for nothing is important or valuable without the Lord of the Sun.
They had grown up together and Skirnir loved and supported, supported beyond the will to live his own life. There are no elf beams to shine in this shadow gloom. The grief which is so great is a little lighter for sharing and now there is hoping and travelling. Let my will and sacrifice be the hope which we need.
Rides to what all gods forbid.
The horse which fears not flames, which rides beyond magic bares him far and distant. Nothing will lose this beast from its path. Through darkness and flame. Through bleakness and pain.
In his cloak is the only weapon which would stop Surt and his fire giants, the cost of this mission will be the end of the end of the worlds of the Gods. He carries the sword which Freyr will die without at Ragnarok. Such is the cost of love.
Hooves struck fire from the stones.
We shall be home from this fast or be eaten by some troll or other such fiendish beast. Ride now, ride.
Beyond the Banks of Iving they are ferried. At last to where frost giants abide. First though those flames. High in the mountains they climb through steep sided pass. There in the path of them is the magical wall of protection which stops all. This is blue flames. Cold so cold it burns and diminishes. Ride on. Ride on and through for this is the horse which is afeared of nothing, which succumbs to no pain or tiredness and is ridden by a heart which is strong and is protected by greatest of powers of the Gods and of magic.
A strong timeless staff in his hand points the way and they are through there.
Here now in the daybreak see a wide bowl of land, soured grass and sparseness with a great hall in the centre of it. The hall of giant Gymir is here now in front of them.
Beyond tall fences, beyond fierce hounds chained, beyond. Yet here on the hillside is a herdsman who watches, it is he who is approached for he sees everything. He must surely know of a way to placate the dogs and to open the great gates unheeded. He has one thing to say, “Are you doomed to die or are you dead already?”
Skirnir knows that the length of his days are numbered and are prewritten, if this is the day then this is the day, for the threads are stitched and knotted long done now.
The feint heart of he who puts his nose out the door is his failure and fearlessness can win over hopeless in a heartbeat.
Let us see if this heart can continue to beat.
He steps off his horse and leaves him to the sparse hard grass. Stepping towards the dogs with little expectation of survival. The gates open, the dogs are pulled aside and quietened. The servant bids him enter.
Anyone this brave or foolish must be of evil intent and must be welcomed as if they are trusted. For in this trust is the advantage. In this welcome is the death of the enemy. Step forward in false hope stranger.
“A horn of mead awaits you, come drink of it.”
There tall in the cold is the shimmer of light, the whiteness of the gown, the brightness of the beauty. Freyr’s heart feelings are understood. This is Gerd.
She fears this is her brother’s murderer who comes to usurp her. She also fears the unknown and must know how this creature came here. Who can ride through the ice-flame unbidden? How could any being do so? Is this elf magic? Is this a God I see before me? She contemplates and must know.
It is known only that he passed for he came here and can be seen. There is power to show for now which is enough. Eleven apples, eleven of the golden apples, eleven of the apples of life. Do you even know what these are for they are the apples of life, eleven of them.
These she can have but she must make agreement. To love a God, to love the Sun God! Yes Freyr is waiting for her word and would be with her. He loves Gerd more than any being could imagine and would have her. Oh yes.
These are the apples of forever, forever, it is hers to have if she will have Freyr. Have him forever. Forever youthful. These are eleven of such apples. For her.
It is a good thing that she will not be bought, for this is a sign of a good heart. Yet how can her love be won, for death of the sun is at risk here.
Even a promise of endless youth together will not win her.
No matter how little she may live as a result of this, there is no buying her, she will not share a roof with the Sun Lord. Not even at the expense of forever. Let all existence perish at it may.
Here then is gold aplenty for you, the power of the funeral pyre returned, the power for the ancient dwarven races, the power of the old golds, bring Draupnir. Gold upon gold every nine days, every nine magical days shall it be multiplied none fold. Eight from the one. The one ring. Draupnir.
He lays the ring upon her belly. This is yours if you take him.
There is enough gold in the halls of the daughter of Gymir to last her, to do her, to keep her and more far more, There is enough gold here.
See this sword. This is the end of all time. The Ragnarok of Freyr. See already he dies in flames. This is the sword which would save him. This is the sword which may save us all. This is of the future of the nine worlds and it is given away. Death shall come from the want of love. That is the cost of the heart. There is nothing or there is love. There is nothing.
‘If you offer me death or the love of that God bring me death’, she said, ‘come cut off my head’.
The sword is laid to the floor but not in failure, in a last desperate attempt to win her love for Freyr, a last chance before he curses to endless torment in a death-like life ahead. The last chance is the laying down of the sword.
The sword which follows commands is bidden to rise up at the sight of Gymir Gerd’s father stepping to her halls, stepping in as she knows he will. Let this sword swing in, to slice through the father or her. To pierce his heart. To spot him from existing.
What will it be? Will it be death as an outcome? Or will it be agreement?
Even on the blood of her father she would die.
So it shall be, yet even worse than death is the curse. For this is the magical staff which rode the way through the iced flame. So powerful ice burn of a wall cannot stop it. Skirnir the shining one stopped off from his journey here to cut such a staff as this. Such a staff.
To the edge of heaven staring upon Hel’s gates you go, never to be spoken to or visited except by the vile, the disgusting and unspirited. On Eagles Hill. All is vileness though you must eat it, will be as foulness in your mouth, like deathly snakes down your throat. You shall be poisoned till the very sight of you makes blood run cold. Many-headed monsters will gape before they force themselves upon you. Corpses shall bring you horns of succour filled with bladder waters of the long dead. You must drink. No matter you rage and twist and turn in tormented tearfulness you will never ever escape. Double misery ever doubling, ever more every nine days doubling more. Crawl hopelessly among spiteful picking sprites, shake with sobs and grieve unloved; unlovely ever more.
Yes you Gerd I touch with this staff to teach and tame you. In the dark wood I walked, the dripping forest, this is such a branch and with it and all the wrath of Gods, with the power or written runes, with the power of the three songs, I curse.
The curse I speak echoes loudly round the nine worlds, where giants tred this curse will fill their minds; there will never be love or joy again, in all Jotenheim, never again because of thoughts of your suffering. Endless it shall be.
I touch you with this curse.
Yet one last time he relents, and offers chance of live with love.
Gerd would rather take the curse and suffer endless so than be bought where love should lift and serve and empower through light. No mite of force or fear or dread will brength eb=thing called love.
She embraces suffering instead.
Before she goes however, she will meet this God. In the one condition that her father is freed from the curse of the sword and live. She will meet this God Freyr and tell him so, she will tell him how no force can make her love, she will tell him he would rather suffer the curse which has been heard around the nine worlds than pretend to love.
I shall walk to meet him, the nine day walk, I shall meet him, then bring Hrimgrimnir in shroud of frost to press upon me. Bring all your endless curse.
Barri would be the place the place of the barley, the fruit which brings the plenty, where we know we shall feast on the early growing of the spring in the form of ale brewed out of excess of everything. Filled we are with plenty when we know we can brew beer. Yet the barley is the first to grow. In this field of beauty she will be met by him before she goes to dwell above Hel.
How Skirnir rides, how Gods all stand in pensive hope. They have heard the curse and they are awaiting the meeting. Out steps Freyr.
Ready to journey. And down he strides towards the field of barley.
The woman who is the winter field the shining light of reflection reflects now. The gleaming shining one the Lord of the Sun he steps towards her. He brings one thing. He brings his love. It is enough. See how she glows with the glimmer of the sunlight upon her. This is spring and life shall love again. One look at him it melts her heart and she must have him. This is love. An impossible love made true. He loves her and she loves him so all the curses melt way and we all can live in a new day. For this is love.
Every year shall turn again to turn to the new one and on and on.
All for the love of Gerd.
Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #36 The Poetry Mead
Norse Gods and Goddess Prose Poems – #37 Kvasir