within, Within - An Odin Poem

One of my Walking Dream poems, written from a glimpse of a heavily wooded hillock across a grain field as we drove the interstate in northern Ohio. heading back to Illinois from Massachusetts.

This is an encounter with Odin.

within Within

29 Ostara 2252 RE

29 April 2002

 Into the Grove – adapted by PiparPix

Island of trees, upon green field

Shrouded by mist, secret and calm

Harboring what, unknown and strange

Hidden from sight, lying in wait

Larger it seems, as I come close

Than it appeared, from far away

Three hides and more, wild and green

Touch of the old, forests of yore

Looming ahead, as I stride forth

Mixture of oak, maple and birch

Willow and elm, hickory, beech

This place beckons, dense, dark and cool

Off to my right, faint path is seen

Draped by branches, of a deadfall

Down on one knee, small hole is there

Twig framed tunnel, then way is clear

Faint call is heard, sounds like my name

Inwards I go, seeking to find

Who would be here, that I would know

Who would be here, that would know me

Two man lengths in, tangle is passed

Underbrush thins, way is more worn

Dimly Sunna, shines through the fog

Down past the leaves, all is like dusk

Whisper again, speaking my name

Floating on breeze, from up ahead

Puzzled am I, interest piqued

Nod and a shrug, onward I’ll go

 

After awhile, way angles up

Small tor rises, heavily treed

Stones are now seen, laid down with care

Forming a walk, to the hilltop

Over a swell, of the knoll’s flank

Flagstones level, forming a flat

Before a gate, blackened with age

Two men tall and, four spears lengths wide

Oaken timbers, hand-hewn they look

Dark iron bands, spiked cross the door

Twin leaves they are, framed by more oak

Set in a niche, carved from the hill

No rings are seen, on the door’s face

I pause to think, what now to do

Walk up to it, push on one slab

It shifts a bit, swinging within

Pausing again, looking at gap

Handspan it is, deep black inside

Name comes again, out of the dark

I will go on, riddle to solve

Set back to door, push with my legs

With some effort, both sides open

Mist has cleared some, sun is behind

Afternoon light, shows a broad hall

At the far end, archway is seen

Large as the gate, open it is

Faint light is there, within its depth

Deed to be done, onward I go

One hundred steps, in from the door

Great stone arch stands, arm stretch ahead

Hallway bends right, glow is now strong

Flickering like, flames on a hearth

Three more steps in, look down the hall

Another arch, carved from the hill

Closer this one, voice calls again

Breath and a blink, nod at the sound

Fifty paces, second arch passed

Enter into, flame lit chamber

Vast size it is, ceiling is lost

In shadowed height, atop the walls

Benches, tables, along the sides

Firepits burn, down the middle

At the far end, raised from the floor

One large, lone chair, massively built

Whisper again, out from the throne

Figure is seen, seated thereon

Flickering light, playing its tricks

Sight is not clear, so I draw close

As I walked there, others appeared

Crowding into, corner of eye

Ghostly shape of, men sitting there

Shadowy feast, from out of Lore

Two hundred strides, to face the Seat

Shadows shrank down, flames leap up high

Clearly now I, could see a man

Sitting enthroned, upon the rise

Around me now, clearly, also

Feasters appeared, silently watch

As I gaze round, wonderment plain

Taking in sights, awe-fully struck

My name again, plain spoke this time

My eyes snapped to, One on High Seat

Startled I was, ravens and wolves

Now did appear, I stood slack jawed

Bright blue His eyes, pierced me with cold

Chill the power, within the Look

His eyes narrowed, as if in thought

Hint of a nod, seemed that I’d do

Words I now spoke, poem and song

My work and that, of others who

Verses I knew, verses I liked

Long did I sing, before He waved

Grim was His face, but friendly, too

A smile came, and a full nod

Sounds now arose, from the Hall Folk

Calling my name, calling me Skald

He waved again, silence fell down

Beckoned me close, looked In again

Smiled anew, tossed me a ring

I bowed in thanks, He nodded back

I sensed the time, of Wonder Walk

Had come right close, to its good end

My name once more, did He speak out

Then did He wave, me to the door

I backed away, fires grew low

Feasters did fade, shadows lengthened

He was still there, with birds and beasts

But grown misty, as in a dream

Odin, I said, cold washed o’er me

Last Sight I had, was of His eyes

Piercing and blue, grim and kindly

Wisdom I saw, and Kingly mien

Alone in the dark, I found myself

Surrounded by, trunks of tall trees

Oak and maple, willow and birch

Hickory, beech, and rough barked elm

Within this grove, body had stayed

While mind and soul, walked twixt the worlds

Was it the Hall, of Battle Slain

Visit I did, within Within

The Holy Ones, live in this World

Live in Their World, live in all Worlds

Visit They do, and so do we

Bound by Orlay, deep in the Well

Island of trees, upon green field

Shrouded by mist, secret and calm

Harboring what, unknown and strange

Hidden from sight, lying in wait

A visit to the Well of Mimir

Far Faring, Again...

A journey man, I have become,

Upon Midgard, and far beyond,

By Sitting Out, by writing down,

By Looking In, by thinking up.

                I have eaten, rich words of Lore,

                And drunk my fill, from Wyrd's deep Well,

                Been warmed right good, by Wod's bright flame,

                They sustain Me, my Might, my Maegn.

I lost my Name, as sleep took me,

Across the Gap, twixt Wake and Dream,

We traveled there, Me and Myself,

To gain new Thoughts, to gain new Words.

                Through darkling wood, o'er rough cut stone,

                We strode along, our eyes in gloom,

                But glowing moss, gave bits of light,

                So steps were sure, upon that ground.

The way was straight, almost a road,

Alike, unlike, another path,

We well have walked, beyond Midgard,

To seek Yewdales, and Wise One there.

                But this Land was, not Where we sought,

                No wolvish cries, nor nip in air,

                Nor thickets green, with yew trees leaves

                Nor snow clad peaks, to greet the eye.

Shadowy wings, pale grey and wide,

Soared overhead, against the stars,

Glided, silent, at edge of Sight,

A teasing hint, then gone on Wind.

                Was it a bird, looking for prey,

                Nighthawk seeking, owl hunting,

                Or passing shade, of Helbound wight,

                Pausing a bit, ere moving on?

Is this Helroad, we pause and think,

Or other Road, to other Place,

We must go on, for Voice inside,

Does say to us, discover Me.

                We walk along, the path smooths out,

                And green of grass, does replace stone,

                And trees flesh out, as false dawn glows,

                Promise of day, helps steady heart.

After some time, we find a mere,

In oak girt glade, neath westry moon,

Tis broad and long, and banks are sloped,

A gentle lie, to water's edge.

                The verge seems mowed, not trampled down,

                Under foot are, many bloom worts,

                The air is sweet, with scent of them,

                Tis heady stuff, sets ears abuzz.

A clear, cold pool, like crystal fine,

Its bottom free, of stone and plant,

No fishy shape, swimming about,

To shadow cast, and mar its depth.

                No stream flows in, nor out again,

                Yet surface moves, in rolling swells,

                A spring must feed, the waters here,

                Which go out, an unseen way.

A sign of life, across the lake,

A mannish shape, strides neath the trees,

He o'ertops us, by many ells,

His shoulders broad, as longship's beam.

                A few steps he, does pause from us,

                Looks o'er we two, then waves his hand,

                Then I, alone, stand before him,

                All atremble, despite warm wind.

I think his name, but say it not,

His face is grave, as he does nod,

And says to me, you may know right,

Or other wight, I could be, too.

                If for a drink, you've come to Well,

                Then you must know, a fee I'll take,

                You must have heard, the Elder Tales,

                Of others' ways, to pay the Gild.

If you have come, on other task,

One bound by Word, which tells of Deeds,

This too is good, for all do come,

Into this vale, into this pool.

                Gladly would I, speak long with you,

                About the ebb, and flow of Words,

                A river wrought, by all of Deed,

                A worthy seep, into this Well.

The water's sound, did raise a thirst,

A need I'd had, but not like this,

I felt as though, it had been years,

Since water cool, had passed my lips.

                My mind did whirl, about first thought,

                That I might drink, from this Wellspring,

                And be Full-wise, beyond my years,

                Beyond my Mind, beyond Myself.

I tried to think, what could I give,

To pay the Toll, and gain a draught,

To slake the Need, refresh myself,

To give to him, that I might gain.

                I knew it must, be something which,

                Is truly part, of deeper self,

                I must reach in, and find my core,

                Of Heart, of Mind, of Thought, of Me.

I stood and thought, and thirsted bad,

What could I give, what did I have,

And then it came, a small idea,

A man of words, should give his words.

                When all is said, and all is done,

                All that I do, for Folk and faith,

                Is not for you, nor anyone,

                Save the man that, I have become.

My name and Worth, Life and Orlay,

Is all of Me, and no one else,

For in the end, it comes to this,

I'll be alone, on Helroad walk.

                I do not think, this is selfish,

                Increasing me, in manner right,

                This helps my Folk, my strength is theirs,

                And theirs is mine, while I do live.

I feel sometimes, old beyond years,

Worn down and drained, by burden borne,

But I chose it, and willingly,

Shan't set it down, til breath is gone.

                I cried aloud, as Wind rushed by,

                I AM, I AM, That is the thing,

                The heart of Faith, the heart of Life,

                No other words, are truly Full.

His finger dipped, into the Pool,

And wet my lips, a little bit,

This slaked my thirst, did quell unease,

He smiled, said, t'were wise your thoughts.

                It seems you have, drunk from this Pool,

                Or other Spring, which feeds from This,

                Your self Insight, is goodly mark,

                Of flowing Wyrd, which quickens thought.

For best it is, to know one's self,

To know one's life, and one's own mind,

To be at peace, with one's own heart,

To be whole and, to be, and BE.

                For Wit may come, from inner place,

                Or outer test, of dread ordeal,

                But Wit must come, if one is to,

                Become whole man, and build one's worth.

You have found right, and wholesome words,

To show that you, are part of All,

That Place is known, with Folk, in Faith,

For common Weal, for common Good.

                I thought to speak, give other Words,

                He raised his hand, and stayed my voice,

                You've said enough, for taste you've had,

                Beyond such drop, no man should go.

I found myself, upon the Road,

The dale well hid, behind my back,

I walked along, to cross divide,

From dream to Wake, rejoin Midgard.

                My open eyes, drank morning sun,

                And sight of home, and sleeping wife,

                A sense of weal, came over me,

                I started day, lived more of Life.

A journey man, I have become,

Upon Midgard, and far beyond,

By Sitting Out, by writing down,

By Looking In, by thinking up.

                I have eaten, rich words of Lore,

                And drunk my fill, from Wyrd's deep Well,

                Been warmed right good, by Wod's bright flame,

                They sustain Me, my Might, my Maegn.

How did I come to Asatru?

Written a while ago, so some are familiar with the story.

It is a simple, elemental question, but one, which takes a life to answer...so, I'll sum up =)

I was born without knowledge or beliefs, as were we all ,-)

My parents and family, as I grew, taught me their beliefs, which were to help me become a Roman Catholic.  They also taught me (and my sibs) that I must be an individual, must have my own life, within a good set of values...values not fully compatible with being a good son of "Holy Mother Church."

My parents also taught me to read before I entered grade school and encouraged me to read as widely as my understanding would allow. Favorite topics as I grew were science-fiction & fantasy novels, history, mythology and heroic stories...my pursuits were solitary and remained so with the occasional, personal conversation with a mentor along the way.

The 1st sign of trouble between my Cradle Religion and me was during Confirmation class the fall after I turned 11 (1968).  It is a tradition that one is confirmed within the Church by taking a saint's name as an additional middle name...a Faith Name, as many in Pagan paths do...  It was my bedrock desire to be confirmed as Stewart, my dad's name.  There is no Saint Stewart within Church Canon.  After a lot of sound and fury, mostly the priest trying to overawe me, I was confirmed as Stewart.

Listening, reading, watching, questioning, thinking...fast forward to March 16, 1975, suffice to say, events led me to "give up the Church for Lent."  Later that same year, Jesus and I parted ways, also.

The journey begins in earnest; more listening, reading, watching, questioning, thinking...summer of 1981.

I had been reading up on the traditions of the Mohawk People, to try and follow in the footsteps of my 2nd great grandmother Philomene Allard (nee Gaudet).  She was the daughter of Roman Catholics; whose paternal grandmother Julia was a Mohawk, adopted as an infant by French-Canadians named Dubois.  However, the tribal heritage is what caught my imagination.

I saw in the Native Traditions things that Catholicism lacked: love for one's heritage rather than the Church, a sense of belonging to a People, a focus on family, friends and local community, being more in tune with the Nature of the World...

A distant cousin of my dad's from the Allard side was like another uncle to me.  John was a Mohawk who followed the Traditional Ways (having returned to them out of his childhood Catholicism).  He was not a frequent visitor, but we hit it off, both being interested in nature and wondering.

So I gravitated towards him as a mentor and teacher.

John was such an intense and complete listener..."Steven," after having given me a good afternoon's worth of conversation, "I must think on this, we'll speak again tomorrow."

The next day, we went for a walk in the woods near his home, he gestured for quiet when I tried to start another conversation.  After about an hour we came to a couple of stools and a little table at the back of his yard.  We sat and he asked me to let him have his say without interruption.

"Steven, I know you are seeking a Way of Life, but you will not find it in the customs of Julia's People, my People.  You were not born in the 'Shadow of the Longhouse,' and no matter how hard you study, no matter how hard you want...you will never be a Mohawk, not unless you marry into the Tribe.  I do not believe that is what you seek.  Your Way lies towards the morning sun.  Look to your Grandmothers in Europe."

He then presented me with a copy of the Poetic Edda (as translated by Henry Adams Bellows, 1936 edition) and the Kalevala (the prose translation by Mogoun from 1963).

"Steven, I see in you ice and mountains, sunshine and forests; your Grandmothers across the sea, and their People, had Ways of their own, which contain what you seek."

After another full afternoon of conversation, I took his advice to heart and started looking into European traditions...John passed away soon thereafter, but he smiles on where I've gone, I believe.

I took a turn in my travels; more listening, reading, watching, questioning, thinking - investigating different beliefs and philosophies, and practices...summer of 1988, late in the evening of July 9th until very early in the morning of July 10th, to be exact.

I still wear the Thor's Hammer I bought the afternoon of July 9, on a whim that it was appropriate for me to have.

I was attending an SCA event near Rapid City, SD.  Part of my reasons for attending was that a Household to which I belonged was going to have a ceremony of re-dedication and re-purposing.  Part of this was a sweat lodge to take place from 15 minutes before midnight until 15 minutes after.

During this, I had what I believe is a visit to Uller in a small hunting shelter in the Yewdales.

I had no idea who it was that I saw, but I felt it had something to do with the Hammer pendant I had purchased.

My studies took a hard turn North and I reread the books John had given me years before.

Our household met again the weekend of November 11, 1988, and we heads of the house decided to "Sweat," again.

I once again was in the lodge of Uller, this time I had a good idea of who he was and I got a great sense of acceptance when I thought his name.

In August 1991, at the SCA's Pennsic XX, I found a couple of references in a couple of Pagan magazines I bought to some Path known as Asatru, but I was not really ready to understand.

Two years later I was at Pennsic XXII and happened upon a "Viking" arms merchant.  He had pamphlets and books from the Asatru Free Assembly, Asatru Alliance and Winland Rice of Théodish Belief...I leafed through a couple, bought them...by the end of the event I had over 20 pieces of literature, and a confirmation of a name for what it was I believed and how my instincts led me to offer Drink and Words...

After awhile, I wrote to the addresses in these works, Steve McNallen of the AFA, Valgard Murray of the AA and Garman Lord of the Théods all wrote back.  I was in contact with organized Asatru, and after many years, I am still a friend and supporter of Steve and the AFA.  Valgard and I are on friendly terms, but the AA is an alliance of Kindreds only.  I understand that Garman has withdrawn from organized heathenry and is basically keeping to his own household.

A long way of saying, the way I have lived and learned led me to Asatru.

...and you?