Ostara Meditation

Ostara Meditation

Taken from Raven Kindred South

You are walking in a dense forest. The sky is overcast, and the woods are gloomy, although occasionally, a feeble ray of sunlight makes its way through the clouds and the trees. The branches of the trees are bare, although the tips are just beginning to bud. Old leaves from last year’s fall scurry about your feet as an occasional gust of wind blows them about.

The ground is for the most part bare, with occasional patches of snow in the shade. Hints of new green life make their way up through the snow and dead leaves.

As you walk, you notice a grove of beautiful white birches, the pale glint of their trunks and branches a pleasant contrast in the otherwise dark woods. You walk towards the birch grove and then start to walk into it. When you are surrounded by the birches, you notice a large tree that looks as if it has been struck by lightning. It’s upper trunk has been split in two, the inner wood has been exposed to the air, dead leaves have blown their way into the nooks of the tree, in every way this tree looks as dead as it can be.

For some reason, you look up from the tree, and are surprised to find a woman present. She is clad all in white, and holds a covered basket. Her gaze is steady, her eyes make you think of clear streams running in the middle of old forests, her skin reminds you of the first fair flower of spring, and her hair is long and unbound. At her feet sits a small brown hare nuzzling the hem of her skirt.

She gestures, indicating that you should come forward, and you walk towards her. She points at her basket, and lifts the cloth. Inside, you see an astounding array of colored eggs, all colors, all patterns. You can think of nothing better than to pick one of these beautiful eggs, and have it for your very own.

Your hand reaches out, and she shakes her head, no. You realize that while she wants you to have an egg, she wants you to pick it sight unseen. So, you close your eyes, reach out your hand, and reach into the basket.

Eyes still closed, you draw your hand back, holding an egg. You open your eyes, and look upon your egg. What does it look like? Think to yourself what the decoration on the egg means, and why Ostara wants you to have this paticular gift for the coming spring.

After you have looked at your egg, you raise your head to thank the Goddess, and she is gone. You look about for her in vain. You wonder if it has all been a dream. the reality of the egg in your hand tells you otherwise, and you know you have received the blessing of the Goddess Ostara.

As your attention moves from yourself and to the forest, you realize that the trees now have tiny, but beautifully formed green leaves at the end of their branches. And you notice that the birch tree struck by lighting, the one that looked dead, now has green shoots rising from its split trunk. As you make your way out of the birch grove, it seems that the clouds have lightened, and even as you think this, the sun comes out. Small, barely formed flowers lightly scent the forest floor, birds are singing, and the rich smell of moist earth fills your nose.

As you make your way out of the forest, you wonder how you have found the place gloomy, it seems so alive, and pleasant to walk through.

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Baldurs Dream

 

Balder’s Dream

(as translated by W. H. Auden & P. B. Taylor)

The gods hurried to their hall of council,
Gathered together, goddesses with them,
All-powerful, eager to unriddle
Baldur's dream that such dread portended.

Up rose Odhinn, unaging magician,
Harnesses Sleipnir, the eight-legged,
Sped down from Asgard to Hel's Deep.

The blood-dabbled hound of Hel faced him,
Howling in frenzy at the father of runes.
The High One halted at the eastern gate,
Where loomed a tumulus, tomb of a witch.
Runes he chanted, charms of power:
Her spectre rose whom his spell commanded
To enlighten the god with the lore of the dead.

Who is he that on Hel intrudes?
Who calls me up, increasing my grief.?
Drenched by hail, driven by storm,
Dew-frozen, I am dead long.

I am Struggler's Son, Strider, Way-Tamer,
Your secrets I ask: all earth's I know.
Why are Hel's halls hung with jewels,
Her chambers rivers of red gold?

For Baldur our mead is brewed strong
In a shining cauldron, a shield over it.
Odhinn on high in heart despairs.
Unwilling my words: I would no more.
Far-seeing witch, your words unriddle.
More will I ask: all will I know.
Who shall slay Baldur, best of the gods,
Who suck the life from the son of Odhinn?

Hodur the blind the branch shall throw,
From his brother's body the blood to drain,
Sucking the life from the son of Odhinn.
Unwilling my words: I would no more.

Far-seeing witch, your words unriddle.
More will I ask: all will I know.
By whose hand shall Hodur fall
And Baldur's bane be burned with fire?

Rindur the blessed shall bring forth Vali.
Though but a night old, he shall be the avenger,
His hands he shall wash not nor his hair comb
Till Baldur's bane is borne to the pyre:
Unwilling my words: I would no more.

Far-seeing witch, your words unriddle.
More will I ask: all will I know.
Who are the maidens who shall mourn then,
Toss up to Asgard their trailing scarves?

Way-Tamer you are not, nor are you Strider:
You are Odhinn the wily, unaging magician.
Witch you are not, nor woman either:
Womb of monsters, you have mothered three.

Go home, Odhinn: air your triumph.
No guest shall again my grave visit,
Till wild Loki tear loose from his bonds
And the World - Wasters on the war-path come.
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The Sumbel

The Sumbel

When Beowulf came to Hrothgar, the first thing they did was to drink at a ritual sumbel. This was a way of establishing Beowulf’s identity and what his intent was, and doing so in a sacred and traditional manner.

One of the most common celebrations noted in tales of the vikings is the Sumbel, or ritual drinking celebration.

The Sumbel and Blot (the two primary rituals of Asatru) are two sides of the same coin. A blot is a ritual to enhance the relationship between ourselves and the gods/goddesses. A sumbel, while certainly strengthening this bond, is more about strengthening the bond in our community.

A sumbel is more “mundane” (less religious or magical) than a Blot, but in many ways is more important.

The sumbel is simple. The guests are seated and the host begins with a short statement of greeting and intent, and then offers the first toast. The horn is then passed around the table and each person makes their toasts in turn. At a sumbel toasts are drunk to the Gods, as well as to a persons ancestors or personal heroes. Rather than a toast, a person might also offer a brag or some story, song, or poem that has significance. The importance is that at the end of the toast, story, or whatever, the person offering it drinks from the horn, and in doing so “drinks in” what he spoke.

The sumbel is an important time for people to get to know each other in a more intimate way than most people are willing to share. People within our modern society often behave at one of two extremes. At one end are individuals who remain distant from their own emotions, either because to display emotion would be inappropriate or because they have been socialized to believe that self-sacrifice for others is the only desirable way to live. On the other side are those who cultivate their “feelings” and who spend their lives consciously attempting to stir their emotions and who force an unnatural level of intimacy between themselves and others. There are some levels of emotional intimacy which are not meant to be openly shared with strangers. Doing so reduces their meaning to the mundane. At sumbol, barriers can be lowered in a place which is sacred to the Gods. Thoughts can be shared among companions and friends without embarrassment or forced intimacy.

One format for the sumbel is to drink three rounds. The first is dedicated to the Gods, the second to ancestors s, and the third to personal ancestors, heroes, or friends which have passed from this world. An alternative to this for the first round to be to the Gods, the second to an ancestor who has passed on, and the third a personal boast.

Another theme for a sumbel is past, present, and future. This type of sumbol is more of a magical ritual than one of celebration. The idea is to make toasts which bring up some aspect of your past and present situation, and a third toast or brag which represents your wishes for the future. One might make a toast to the first ritual one attended as the past, a second to the companions and kindred then gathered, and for his third toast might state that he intends to be dedicate himself as a Gothi in the coming year. The purpose would be to link the coming event of his dedication with the two already accomplished events of pledging Asatru and finding a kindred — two other important rites of passage. In this case initiation as a Gothi then becomes something which is linked to a chain of events that have already occurred, rather than an isolated action which might occur. Thus magically, this moves the person towards his goal.

A third and ever popular type of sumbel is a free-for-all where stories are told, toasts are made, and bragging is done until all gathered are under the table. Perhaps this is not quite so esoteric or purposeful as the previous ideas, but it’s certainly in keeping with the examples of our Gods and ancestors. In any case, no matter how relaxed a sumbol has become, I have never seen one that was merely a drinking event. Some of the most intense experiences I have had with people have come from such “open ended” sumbels.

These are only ideas.

The sumbel is a very freeform type of thing and the framework is very simple to adapt.

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