Posts Tagged ‘Frigga’

No mother is perfect, that’s just a fact.

We had a spirit supper to All-Mother Frigga during the blue moon of 2012, and I was her horse (medium if you will). I remember feeling, well, motherly. Not in a judgmental way. Rather in a “these children are struggling. How can I help them?” Even she wasn’t sure how best to do that.

Our human parents often fall far short of perfection. So if you need a little extra mothering… consider praying to Frigga. Sadly we have little of her stories surviving to give us comfort, but I would suggest this website to fill in the void. Perhaps you can make the reading of these letters part of the answer you get from the All-Mother.

Your Holiday Mom is a site for LGBTQ youth

You can find it here: http://www.yourholidaymom.com/

“Welcome to Your Holiday Mom – an online space where supportive moms gather to post a holiday message to all LGBTQ children, teens and adults who are without family support and who would like a “stand-in” holiday family. We know that not every mom is ready to accept her own LGBTQ child exactly as-is (as hard as this is for us moms here to imagine), so we have written to extend our love beyond that of our own family.

Who are these moms? We are everyday friends and family from everyday homes. Many, but not all, have LGBTQ  children of our own. Many, but not all, are straight. Each mom speaks to the holiday/s she observes, from Thanksgiving to New Years Day. In other words, even our writers here represent diversity.

The vast majority of us came together because they heard about the project, yet most have never met me or each other. The common bond we share is that we are so full of love and pride for our own children – LGBTQ and straight – we wanted to extend ourselves beyond our own families and do something more.

We wish you a happy, love-filled Holiday Season!

With Love, Shamama & Lisa”

Trigger Warning. Sexual Content. Fertility rites.

 

I was so young, barely a woman, on the day everything changed.

Those descended from the royal line of Nerthus are gods among my people. I never wanted to be a goddess, but that choice was not mine to make. By order of our Queen, I was sent to the remote plains of Northern Vanaheim with a single servant – to be the local goddess among common folk who had not seen me grow up.

My temple was a large hollow mound, with standing stones all around. Within it I reclined on my couch, sipping smoke from the long stem of a white clay pipe, and awaited my supplicants. A dim orange light infused my hall from the wind-eyes[1] all around; holes covered with thin vellum leather, stretched and oiled.

Beaten gold coins hung as jingles from my breast-band and belt. Below those, a blue string-skirt hid what little modesty I had left.

My dark-haired handmaiden led the couple in, all of them wearing only breechcloths[2]. The pair clutched each other, nervous as they peered through the misty hall. He was a bare-cheeked lad and she a young woman, recently married no doubt. They showed identical braids of light-brown hair down the middle of their backs, as they approached the tripod brazier on the left side of the room.

“An offering,” he said, taking herbs from the bowl beside the burning coals. “To please the goddess we honor, that she may bring us fullness.” The fumes rose as he cast them, with tentacles of smoke spreading their heady scent through the room. He inhaled and stepped back.
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Part 7: Lady of Dance

The initiation done and my divinity revealed, I inspected myself in the tall mirror of my new chambers. My skin was now a perfectly smooth and soft alabaster white, barely contrasting with the white dress I wore. I saw the rosy tint of my cheeks, lips red as raspberries, and hair golden as the ripened wheat. Gone was my earth brown wavy tangly hair, and gone was my dark skin. My rough Giantess beauty had been replaced by the refined facial features of an Aesir maiden. I daintily brought a hand to caress my necklace – each bead beckoning me to a different dance of power – shocked speechless by my transformation. Even my fingers were delicate, as were my nails, such hands that had never seen hard work. I looked like every story princess awaiting her prince. (more…)

Part 6: The Hired Help

“What do you mean, farmhands?!” Odin bellowed from his throne, voice echoing in the rafters. “Gefjon, I gave you land as you wanted, and now you want to recruit Asgardian Gods to work your fields? Preposterous!” Three steps separated us as I petitioned below, with Frigga’s high chair to the right and Balder’s on the left. Neither were with us, though a shaft of light from the westward window graced the Bright God’s empty seat. This was a private audience.

Throne

Throne

 

My buckskin dress was sweaty, smelly, and clinging uncomfortably as I crafted my response, though it was a relief to cast off the fur coat. I thought my feet would be clean from the snow, but too many trampling boots had made mud of the patriarch’s path. Normally I enjoyed the feel of mud between my toes, but it was now adding a distraction to my rising irritation. (more…)

Horsing Frigga at the Vé

Very interesting post by Juniper, a competent spirit worker from Ottawa, Ontario I see at festival every year. Frigga apparently really likes plums, I’ll have to remember that. Everyone’s experience is of course a little different, but this sort of sharing is how we get an idea of what to expect and what’s appreciated by a spirit. I also like Juniper’s method of opening the little backdoor to let them in. I may try that next time I’m the vessel, to facilitate entrance rather than passively waiting to allow it. I’m looking forward to reading part 2. Here’s the link to her post: http://walkingthehedge.net/blog/2013/07/the-hedgewitch-and-the-hurricane-pt-1/

Frigga at Her Spirit Supper

I was going to write about what a lovely impression Frigga made when she came to the spirit supper we hosted in her honor last summer, but struggled to remember who of my people was her horse. (more…)