The Weavers’ Wyrd Wonders

Mightily wove they | the web of fate,
While Bralund’s towns | were trembling all;
And there the golden | threads they wove,
And in the moon’s hall | fast they made them.

~ Poetic Edda, Helgakvitha Hjorvarthssonar I, Verse 3

Weaving has been an integral part of human civilization for millennia. Though I’ve known this for ages, I am only recently learning what it means magically and how to use it. Many weaving related terms and concepts are a part of the magical vernacular. Spinning, warp, weft, and weaving are all terms used by witches and some other magical practitioners to describe spellcraft as well as fate-shaping magic and sorcery.

Die_Nornen_(1889)_by_Johannes_Gehrts

The Norns (1889) by Johannes Gehrts

Spinning had been the most powerful image for me. Women with wheels and spindles working, drawing raw materials up into a miniature cyclone that smooths, evens, and compacts the fibers into thread. The color, texture, and strength of the thread determined by the quality of the raw materials and the skill of the spinner. Then weaving came into my magical awareness but in a distant and detached way. It’s a skill farther from my magical home base. Precious few of the goddesses I know have intricate cultural connections to weaving, but those that do are utterly bound up with it as Fate-Shapers. The Norns and the Valkyries are the ones that I have the most connection with as weavers of fate, until recently.

Threads, once spun, are later woven into intricate patterned fabrics and then are sewn into the finished textiles that make individual and collective lives. I knew that weaving was the laying of threads but that was it. The basic ideas of spinning and weaving were magical but I just knew that in my head. I didn’t yet know and understand that magic within my heart.

At the end of 2017, the third to last day of December actually, I met Isis and Nephthys in a dream. They were weaving the universe, much like the Norse Norns and the Greek Moirai, the best known Goddesses of Destiny and Fate. In the dream, the threads they laid were human souls. The warp. I’d always heard about the warp’s counterpart- weft- but I didn’t know what it was. A basic Google search yielded that information recently. I’m embarrassed that I never sought out this information before now. The search was ultimately prompted by the shuttle that Frigga wielded in a recent trance journey. In trying to understand that symbolism, I researched the shuttle. While the distaff is the tool that holds raw fibers for the spinning process, the shuttle holds the weft thread that is carried betwixt and between the warp threads. Essentially, it’s the weft that connects the warp threads with one another and forms the weave pattern of the fabric.

The shuttle is the true witch wand of fate! It is the tool that allows us to use our inner and outer resources and will to work the threads of being into something beautiful and full of individual and collective meaning. Without the shuttle, everything is just spun thread singular and weighted, held in tension, with no organization, no pattern, no meaning.

Two Women Weaving

In my dream in December 2017, Isis and Nephthys stood back to back weighing and weaving human hearts and souls. The goddesses were the scales and the human hearts and souls were the raw material spun into thread and then carefully woven into the fabric of the star-studded cosmos. There are images from Ancient Egypt of women weaving together, each with a hand on the large shuttle moving between the warp threads. As the Two Weavers they are called the Abuti and they spin the thread and weave the pattern. They hold all in grace and beauty in Amenti, the mighty land of the west that is both the end and the beginning of life.

The Abuti, the Moirai, the Nornir, Frigga, the Valkyries and countless others spin the thread and weave the pattern, holding all in grace and beauty in the Other World that is This World that is Every World that is Our World.

We are a part of it too. Everything is connected. Every human, every animal and plant and insect, everything has been woven, weaves, and will become woven. The tapestry is made of us and made by us.

Hail the Weavers!!

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Calling Up Courage

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Pixabay.com

In the wee hours of a day in late March, I caught a glimpse of a horse, a spear, and a beautiful bronze shield. In an instant, I was in a woman’s presence standing in a temple that was partially open to rich, green fields. The woman’s red robes caught my eye. She smiled warm and strong, her glistening spear held firm in her right hand. I knew she was Macha. I stared in awe, whispered “Your Majesty”, and took a knee. She appreciated the show of respect and reverence. Smiling broadly she took my hand and tugged upward for me to stand. Once I was on my feet again, she kissed my right cheek and gave me welcome in Gaelic. Her words were unclear at first because I don’t speak her language. She observed my confusion and switched to English.

Her words poured over me along with images of spears and horses, warriors at the ready, and Macha herself on horseback. She was battle-ready, laughing and riding free. She told me to be courageous, to stand bravely no matter the enemy at the gate or the fear deep in my heart. She demanded that I fully and boldly express myself in the world and in every way that matters to me because so-called “Others” living unapologetically is a vital aspect of Resistance as we work for change in the world.

I tearfully accepted her guidance and then she was gone.

Audre Lorde Quote

Mari Lwyd’s Weird Cousin

“Mari Lwyd, Lwyd Mari
A sacred thing through the night they carry.
Betrayed are the living, betrayed the dead
All are confused by a horse’s head.”

— Vernon Watkins, excerpt from Ballad of the Mari Lwyd

In late December I wandered into my living room, heading for the kitchen to get a drink of water. It was late evening on a random day and I wanted to satisfy my thirst before going to bed. On the quick trip from my bedroom to the kitchen I shifted my gaze down to my feet and pondered my cold toes. When I looked up again, I saw a black robed figure topped with the bony skull of a horse. He was standing at my front door, on the inside of my apartment  starting at me. At first my brain did not register his skull head as a horse. Then he bared his clearly equine teeth. The being looked like the Mari Lwyd, the Grey Mare, but minus the warm fuzzies. There was no white robe, flower crown, or seasonal bliss. The spirit at my door was quite disconcerting. Along with his large, strange teeth he had unnatural eyes and moved like a horror movie character.

I asked why he was in my living room. He said nothing. I saw the door open into the starry night. I looked out the door and then back at him. He gestured like the Ghost of Christmas Future from every A Christmas Carol television adaptation ever. Still he said nothing. In a few moments he was gone. Days later I received a message, clear as a bell in my mind’s ear: “Go now.” I immediately remembered him and his gesture toward the starry spirit road. The two moments were connected. The dark robed horse spirit had been my guide, or at least my heads up.

The message he made way for could not be ignored. As soon as I received the message to go now, I knew exactly which journey to begin. I’ve been preparing for it for quite a while. The door is open and the time is now. As soon as the message settled into my bones, I gathered what I needed and I set out.

The series of journeys at hand will be long and hard, but necessary.