The Road to Helheim

“Hermod Before Hela” (1909) by John Charles Dollman

As a part of my work with The Catskin Sisters, a small group of seidhr women based in Central Illinois, we journey to some of the Nine Worlds within the Norse cosmos. Generally, we choose to visit worlds that are known to be (at least somewhat) hospitable to human travelers. One of our most recent journeys was to Helheim or Hel-Home, the realm of Hela, the half-living half-corpse ettin-maid with jurisdiction over the teaming hoards of the dead. Before journeying to Hela’s realm I held a blot to her. I offered good beer and incense. I also made prayers for safe travel. The runes delivered a favorable message from the Queen of Hel and so I set off on my journey.

I slathered myself in a goodly amount of The Witch of Forest Grove’s Aves Salve, sat down on my loveseat, drew my white silk veil over my head and shifted left out of my body. I departed on the back of my Barn Owl fylgja through the kitchen window after brief conversations with the housewight and the spirit of my staff. My fylgja and I headed north here in Midgard until we reached the Tree, then north again and down its trunk and down one of its roots we went. The journey was fast and sinking. We “exited” at the edge of Niflheim where Mist-Home meets a set of dark gates that lead into Hela’s realm.

I was shrouded in mist and cold, and more than a little flustered. I waited at the gate until I felt comfortable continuing. I spoke the runes given to me for entrance to the realm and the gate opened. I was greeted by a spirit clad in white. Birch imagery immediately came to mind. The spirit was stern in manner and speech, and clearly empowered to halt any antics I might perpetrate in her mistress’ realm. While she gave me directions to Hela’s hall, I noticed the dead as they moved. They appeared to be grey-washed or sepia, not the color of life. I tore my eyes from the dead and instead focused on the road to Hel’s hall. Barn Owl reiterated the White Lady’s advice on the walk to the hall, warning me not to veer from the path if I ever wanted to leave Hel-Home. Of course I complied though the “water” flowing under the bridge there was sorcerously entrancing.

After a short walk, I arrived at the entrance to Hela’s Hall. Once invited, I entered. I was more than a little nervous to meet her. Hela was not much for pleasantries. She could smell my fear just as surely as I could smell her rot. The Queen of Hel was not pleased to see me there if I was not ready to be there. She reached for me with her fleshless arm and drew me close. I wanted to freak out, then I thought better of it. She offered counsel on my work with the dead, showed me a landmark on her property that might aid in my work, passed along a message from another Mighty Northern Power, and then sent me on my way. I followed the White Lady’s instructions from earlier, but in reverse, and ended on the other side of the gate not much worse for the wear.

Barn Owl and I gathered ourselves and got back on the expressway to this world. After emerging from trance, I did another rune reading which helped to verify many of my experiences in Helheim. I also reviewed my notes from other trance encounters with Death deities. I was pleased to see that they have a united front on many points where it concerns me and my Work with the dead.

So much Work to do, so little time! Well, that just means I gotta keep movin’.

Sleep, the Little Death: Encountering the Baron and Maman

“Each day is a little life; every waking and rising a little birth; every fresh morning a little youth; every going to rest and sleep a little death.” ~ Arthur Schopenhauer

Around this time last year, shortly after my amazing visit to St. Louis Cemetery #1 (the well-known “resting place” of the famous Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau in New Orleans, Louisiana) I was visited in a dream by the Lwas of Death. In a night-cloaked necropolis, Baron Samedi, often referred to simply as the Baron, stared into my soul, grinned, and offered me his hand. Some say you should never shake the Baron’s hand because he will drag you into your grave. With that sage advice in mind, I bowed my head in deference to his authority and reverence of his greatness. I did this instead of offering my hand in return and I firmly believe that in so doing I politely avoided dying in my sleep. As we walked among the gravestones, raised tombs, and crosses, we spoke of many things, but mostly of the dead, of their hunger for interaction with the living. He reproached me for being intermittent in my work with them.

Baron Samedi VeVe

Our stroll through the tombs led us to one of particular interest, the Baron gestured for me to step inside. I followed his instruction and when I crossed the threshold, I emerged into a little sunlit room with music from the 20′s or 30′s playing, a tangible fog of tobacco smoke, finely decorated tables of rich and decadent food, people taking a turn around the room, and other people sitting and chatting softly. Still others in the smallish but comfortable space simply stared at the strange woman who’d just walked into the room and who clearly didn’t belong because she was very much alive. I politely acknowledged everyone and continued to listen as the Baron helped me understand why he delivered me to this place.

Maman Brigitte VeVe

Between useful bits of information, the Baron insisted on reminding me that I was in the land of death. He’d lift his shades and let me see the maggots writhing in his eye sockets or blow the stench of decomposition into my face. He thought it was hilarious every time I flinched. It was real work limiting my adverse reactions to only a flinch! I was thoroughly creeped out and the Baron knew it but I think he thought of it as desensitization therapy . Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, Maman Brigitte emerged from one of the corners of the room. She looked nothing like what I expected but I knew it was her. Maman looked like a gardener. After greeting me and telling Baron to ease up on me, she walked over to the high windowsills and engaged the various plants growing there for a moment before returning to talk with me. She offered me some much needed advice and then indulged in more banter with the Baron. I thanked Maman for her hospitality and then the Baron ushered me out of the sunlit room and back into the dark cemetery. Among the stones I thanked the Baron for his time and aid. Before I left I asked him why this encounter was so clear. He relied that sleep is the little death and so when I sleep I am close to him. I thanked him for the clarification and exited through the main cemetery gate. I woke up after that.

Fast forward closer to the present now. Earlier this month, I had another dream involving the Baron and Maman. Accompanied by a psychodelic onslaught of skulls, crosses, and dissonant music playing just out of step with the current times, they instructed me to plan and host a Fet for them and the Ghede. I am neither a Haitian Vodou practitioner nor a New Orleans Voodoo practitioner so I do not know how this festival is done within those traditions. But, I will do research on the subject and try my best to use my knowledge base and magical skill set to give due honor to Baron Samedi, Maman Brigitte, and the Dead.

Before I began my current path, I was not a part of a spiritual tradition with a structured and ingrained theory and practice for honoring the dead. So, now that I am paving my own way, I often feel that I am blundering in the dark in my work with my ancestors and the dead in general. That is why my work has been intermittent. Via my dreams, Baron and Maman helped me to more deeply connect with the importance of communing with the dead – the dead are beings with powerful ties to this world, ties to the living, and those ties must be recognized and honored. The dead and the living are important to each other’s health and wellness. In a way, we have a symbiotic relationship. Baron and Maman’s visits helped me to realize that truth on a deeper level than I had in the past.

With renewed meaning and purpose, I relish the opportunity to engage in more regular cult for the dead/ancestors, and also to plan a Fet!

So be it.

Reaching Deep Roots: Reflections on My Ancestor Altar

On March 30th, I posted an image of my Ancestor altar in its infancy. My altar at that time reflected my young relationship with my Ancestors. Fortunately, my ancestral connections and thus my altar have grown quite a bit since March. 

Not only is my altar space occupied by images of my Beloved Dead but it also contains waters (pure water, Florida Water, and an Ancestral Scrying Water), offerings (candy, copal resin, candles, and alcohol), and symbols (cowry shells, rattles, skull images, pennies, beads, charms, dried flowers, veves, etc.) that speak not only to the Ancestral Dead but also to the two Orishas with whom I work, the two Lwa with whom I am building a connection, and a few Saints who have offered me some quite unexpected assistance in the last several months or more. My awareness of my roots has deepened and my altar has become more integral to my spiritual practice. I conduct my rites of offering at the altar as well as divination rites and other informal rituals of reverence and connection. Thus far my Ancestor altar has been a wonderful gateway to the realm of the Ancestral Dead and to making connections with the Orishas, Lwa, and Saints. When I started the altar, I really did not expect my roots to reach so deep. I did not expect to begin profound relationships with the Spirits (i.e., Orisha, Lwa, and Saints) that many of my ancestors honored.

At the moment, I still consider myself to be deeply engaged in the early building phase of my relationships with these very different but connected entities so I try not to light candles and make offerings for the purpose of making requests and having them satisfied. Instead I make offerings in recognition, to give honor/reverance, and out of appreciation. Does this mean that I will never ask for anything? Well, no, I believe in reciprocity – a gift for a gift, but I also believe in having a strong and respectful connection, a meaningful relationship. That is the foundation on which exchange and reciprocity are laid. Out of respectful reverence, I try to acknowledge and show appreciation for the myriad gifts that have already been given. I feel I am still in that phase. I am sure the time will come when I feel called to ask for something but right now, I am enjoying the process of appreciative gift giving. Overall, I am super energized around these budding relationships and I look forward to strengthening connections, and reaching more of my roots.

Deathscape

Skeletonised Remains, from the Forensic Archeology site

Of late, I have been thinking quite a bit about death. I have waking visions of putrefaction that distract me from my day to day routine for a few minutes at a time (though nothing yet that interferes profoundly with my functioning). In the most recent vision, I saw both human and animal flesh decaying. It was so vivid I could even smell the process. It was not “pretty” but it was increasingly beautiful, the longer I entertained the vision. I am having these thoughts, seeing these images, smelling these smells and I am growing more fearless of Death and Dying – and perhaps most important – more fearless of the Dead themselves (though not to the point of becoming naive and reckless). Prior to these visions, Death, Dying, and the Dead were fairly unapproachable for me on a deep emotional level. Sure, I had an intellectual understanding of Death and Dying and an intellectual connection to the Dead, but since the visions I feel Death and Dying on an emotional level; The Dead seem tangible on a relational level; I have an intuitive, emotional, visceral grasp of them that I did not have before! It’s actually been kind of amazing. I think that this new encounter with Death, Dying, and the Dead marks a huge step toward improved relations with the Dead and the Gods, Orisha, and Lwa that lead them. This whole encounter with the Three D’s has actually been life affirming in a roundabout way because ultimately we stand on the rot and decay of previous ages. We etch our roads from the bones of the Dead, from the processes of Death and Dying.

And now, I will leave you with a very cool article on decomposition from Forensic Archeology, the site from which the above photo was taken. Hail Dying! Hail Death! Hail the Dead!

Offerings at St. Louis Cemetery #1

From June 30th through July 5th, I visited New Orleans, LA for the Essence Music Festival. As a part of that trip, I also reveled in the rich spiritual heritage of the city. The highlight of that revelry was a visit on Tuesday morning to St. Louis Cemetery #1 where Marie Laveau, the “Voodoo” Queen of New Orleans was laid to rest in 1881 (just over a century before my birth). What can I say? It was a powerful and completely amazing experience to be near the resting place of such a well known, well respected, and highly magical person.

Marie Laveau by Dimitri Fouquet, native New Orleans artist

Around 11AM, I arrived at the cemetery gate with three others who knew nothing of M. Laveau or the spiritual heritage of the city. At the gate, I made offerings of Bacardi Gold Puerto Rican Rum and an old penny to Elegua as the Opener of the Way and the same to Oya as Lady of the Cemetery and Queen of the Dead. I had the intuitive sense that the offerings were accepted and so I entered. Of course my friends were already inside, starting to course through the Necropolis in search of M.L. We knew that she was near the front of the cemetery but with no map and no prior experience in such a place, we wandered. In our 20 minutes of searching, we discovered several places in the cemetery where spiritually-minded visitors had left offerings for the Dead. Each place was awe-inspiring, sacred, and beautiful. Between secret smiles and silent personal reflections, I explained to my three friends the significance of the offerings and the ways in which New Orleans style “Voodoo” and similar African-derived, syncretic traditions diverge from mainstream Christianity in terms of what constitutes an offering and the reasons for them.

Marie LaVeau by Holly Sarre', a contemporary folk artist and native of New Orleans

At the 20 minute mark, we found her! One of my friends saw the plaque on the tomb and signaled the end of the search. I was so giddy I could hardly contain myself. I waited for the picture takers and tourists to roam in other directions before I placed my hand on her tomb and paid my respects. I left pennies for her and her neighbors, the other residents of the Dead City. A sense of contentment and peace washed over me after I laid the offerings down and said my prayers of honor and respect. I did not get a creepy feeling in the cemetery, which was actually a little surprising, but then again, I was not alone roaming the Necropolis at midnight under a moonless sky; it was 11AM, birds were chirping and people were out and about in NOLA.

I will never forget the experience of entering that place, laying down offerings, sending prayers, and touching the sacred. I am so grateful to have been granted access and to leave offerings. My givings did not have strings attached. I was not asking for anything in return; I just wanted to give to the spirits there, M.L. not being the least of them. I took pictures of the tomb for my ancestor altar because I think of M.L. as an ancestor-in-spirit. The pictures that I do not use for my altar will be destroyed. Also, if and when my altar changes and the inclusion of M.L.’s tomb no longer seems right (either to her or to me), I will destroy that image too. The way I am thinking about it at this point: I entered St. Louis #1 for spiritual reasons and a photo without a spiritual purpose would be disrespectful to M.L. I don’t want to hang it on my wall, to put her on display and say look how cool this is. That scenario just seems wrong to me. So, if the picture’s spiritual purpose (in this case, as a private altar item) ever expires, it will be destroyed. But until that time, I look forward to having M.L. among those that I honor as Ancestors.