As we huffed and puffed our way up the soggy path to the Ve, carrying bags, boxes and a large wicker chair, Grey and I joked about how this is exactly the sort of thing they don’t tell you in Pagan 101 books. The behind the scenes work you never think of when attending a ritual. Carrying a massive, heavy chair over swampy ground while being eaten alive by all manner of bugs.
After Grey left me alone in Ve, I set about setting up. Laying out the altar, lighting candles, all that stuff. I must have exited and then entered the Ve a dozen times during my preparations. At first I properly curtsied and said “Hail!” each time. Then after about the 4th rendition, I switched to my old standard, how I greet the spirits that reside with my own craft room “Hey guys!” or “Back again” or “Knock knock”. But finally I simply gave it up entirely. They were watching, those gods in the poles. They knew what I was up to. I chatted at them the entire time, telling them every silly little random thought that entered my mind as I worked until there was nothing more to tell Them. With my preparations complete, now began the wait.
It’s a rather uncomfortable thing, to realize you have to pee while in the woods, outside a sacred site, with no restroom nearby. I moved into the bushes as far away from the Ve as I dared to go, and found myself wondering how many volvas and the like throughout history had snuck off to empty their bladders before the folk arrived for a mind-blowing ritual? I glanced sideways at the god poles standing tall, barely seen over the weeds I squatted in. I grinned up at Frig’s pole. “All of them, at some point, I bet!” More things they don’t tell you about, or they simply don’t think about.
The sun set and the mosquitoes came out. Birds sang and the small creatures of the forest skittered about in the tree limbs. I pondered the stuff they don’t tell you as I stood outside the Ve, leaning against the weapon rack, smoking a cigarette.
My black princess satin robe with black eyelet over-robe had bell sleeves that had been hemmed short to avoid catching fire – one of the things they DO tell you. But the hem of the robe’s skirting was rather long. Perfect for prancing about in a temple room, wearing shoes (the better if heels) but barefoot or sandalded in a, outdoor Ve? Not so much. Ah well, I would just have to watch my footing and hold the skirting up a bit. Nothing to do about it now. Not with the folk soon to be on their way, and me squeezed into a fancy robe that is so snug it takes a coven to get me in and out of it.
One thing they don’t tell you about is the wait. Ritual space has been prepared. Candles have been lit. Incense burning. The witch has been carefully squeezed into her elaborate robe. Now, the wait.The wait can ruin you if you let it. Butterflies begin to form in your belly. The what-ifs reach insidious tendrils into your mind, spreading fear and doubt.
The wind will blow out the candles. The bugs will be so ferocious that it will ruin the mood. You’ll trip over that stupid robe. They are all going to laugh at you. Frig will refuse to ride you, refuse to answer questions, refuse the offerings. The high seat, which is really just a wicker chair, doesn’t look like a high seat, it looks like a wicker chair.
The wait will ruin you, if you let it.
So I didn’t focus on the wait. I focused on the coming storm. I could feel it there, gathering at the edge of Ve, gathering around her newly raised god pole. I could feel it gathering at the edge of my own mind. The storm that I was to call, to invite, to invoke, to summon, to funnel into my own head and unleash within.
I finished my cigarette and stepped back into the Ve. With careful steps I approached Frig’s god pole. I wrapped my arms around the pole and rested my head against it. I repeated each step of the ritual out loud, three times.
I knew she was listening. The storm was gathering. I whispered words to her that I would repeat later during the ritual: Frig I ask you to do this thing, not for my own ego. Not so I can impress my friends. I ask you to do this for the folk. These folk who honour you. Who study and research and read the lore to learn about you. These folk who talk about you and share your stories. These folk who sing your praises and give offerings to you. These folk who have gathered here this weekend, who have carved this pole and raised it. Do it for these folk who seek your wisdom and guidance. They deserve it. Please.
The gathering storm is even stronger now. I can feel her within the god pole I lean against. Waiting, watching. I hear steps coming down the path to the Ve. Deliberately loud so as not to surprise me. “That’ll be Auz” I whisper.
Amusement and mischief run down and through the god pole. I find myself grinning. “Shall we make him wait then, Lady?” I ask.
Yes. She seems to be a playful mood. So we ignore the steps and wait until he politely clears his throat. With a final pat, I step away from the god pole. It’s time to take our places, the folk will be coming soon. The ritual to begin.
I am clumsy and awkward throughout the first part of the ritual. The storm is building and it takes away my ability to focus on the here and now. Grey acts as my handmaiden and without her I would have been lost. My concentration is on the coming storm. I drop something once and another time find myself accidentally reaching into the thrunble, my fingers touching the red-hot incense coals, my fingers come out black and sooty, yet they feel no heat. No burns, though there should have been. Her storm is building and she is protecting me.
I step up to the altar and make my offerings, promising more at the end of the ritual if all goes well. I entreat her. I speak the words I had so carefully practiced before. Now I am in the calm before the storm. My ability to sense energy and the unseen has become deaf-blind. All I feel is a nearly painful anticipation. As Gandlaf would say: the deep breath before the plunge. I am told later by the folk that they felt the energy in the Ve pulse outwards with each sentence as I entreated her and begged her participation. I sense nothing. I feel nothing. If she has acquiesced to my request, I do not know.
I step up to the god pole anyway. I rest my hands upon it and lean my forehead against the smooth wood. Touching it with my third eye. I breathe. Grey teaches the folk my power song, to help me enter into trance. They begin to sing.
I find the storm again, gathering around and within the god pole. Adjusting my stance, holding up the hem of my damnable robe with one hand, I begin to circle the god pole, wrapping my hand and arm around it for balance and connection. After the first couple of slow and careful rotations I begin to worry. I’m totally going to trip. Earlier Grey had warned me to be careful as I spun around the pole, the last thing we needed was for me to fall and brain myself on Odin’s pole standing right beside Frig’s. I’m uncoordinated in trance. One reason why I generally don’t do trance-dancing around the fire, I simply dance. Ah but walking, and this spinning around a pole or tree, this works for me, so long as I don’t trip. I bite my lip in concern.
Just then I feel a hand cover my mine, clasping me gently to the pole. Steadying me. Guiding me. She wasn’t about to let me fall. Trustingly I spin. I spin and I spin around the pole widdershins. Gradually taking faster and firmer steps. I close my eyes and focus on the storm within.
I have no sense as to whether my steps take on a rhythm. I do not think they matched the odd beat of the song the folk sang to me. The words of the chant are difficult to wrap your mouth around. The chant doesn’t rhyme, the meter doesn’t quite match up. But it has certain words that can be triggers for me and a certain urgency needed for the occasion. An odd and awkward song for an odd and awkward witch.
I breathe deeply. My feet pound the earth. I spin around the pole. Chaos rages in my mind, a swirling mess of a thing. Unfettered and unhinged. Thoughts cannot fully form before they are swept away in the storm. Ring-a-ring a-widdershins, whirlin skirlin widdershin. The storm inside builds momentum, matching the quickening pace of my feet. I spin at a pace that feels dangerous. I am held fast by that spectral hand. A greater storm, a hurricane, rages above and within the god pole itself. My insignificant little human mind does it’s best to match, a tempest in a tea-cup. Here we go round the mulberry bush, so early in the morning. I am stretched thin, pulled by the spiraling forces outwards. My consciousness swirls at the edge of myself, expanding outwards. I spin even faster, the chanting is louder. I throw my head back, then down. Ring-a-round the rosie, pocket full of posie. The sound of the folks chanting has become a distant thing, overshadowed by the rushing in my ears. My little storm slips just beyond the confines of mind and body, swirling at the threshold, neither without nor within. It brushes against the hurricane that is Frig. Electric. Wild. Not as force of nature, but a force of the multiverse. I can comprehend her as well and an ant can understand my foot. I could just let go completely, surrender. My little storm would be swept away into the maelstrom like a crow feather in a hurricane. Ashes ashes we all fall down.
Enough. I’m not sure which one of us decides. But it is enough. I halt, bringing my other arm around the pole, facing it again. Returning to my original position.
I am not dizzy.
I have reached the calm after the storm. After the rain has washed away the detritus, the wind has blown away the debris. Now the smell of freshness after the rain. the brilliant quality of sunlight after the clouds move on. The clean crisp feeling in the air after a summer thunder-storm has passed by.
Perfect, painful clarity of mind. A spreading out and in of consciousness. With my now heightened senses I am aware of everything within the Ve. Sharp as a tack, clear as a new day.
This is what lies beyond ecstasy. When one has not strayed from their body.
I am a clean vessel. A hollow bone.
Grey moves towards me silently and gently takes my arm. I disengage from the god pole and allow her to lead me to the high seat. I land in it pretty hard. Such an uncoordinated witch. Ah, well.
Grey teaches the folk the next song. The chant to call Frig within. For a moment I lean my head back and open my eyes to gaze at the stars. Thier beauty is to grounding, to real, so I close my eyes again and turn my focus inward once more.
As the folk take up the chant, Grey begins to dress me. A shawl, draperies, a dish in my lap, spindle in hand, distaff in the other, and a veil over my head. I am only dimly aware of this happening. Instead, I am reaching for the door.
Somewhere, deep inside, where the mind, the soul and the body meet there is a door. A quiet little backdoor. I do not know if everyone has this door. I do not know if anyone can find it. I do not know if everyone could open it. I do not know if anyone could close it back up again. I do know it wouldn’t be safe for most people to try.
I can’t tell you where to find it. I was shown the backdoor by a very different god than the one who I was about to invite in.
Reaching back, I find the door and cautiously open it. Standing on the threshold, I call out an invitation. This way, this way, here I am. Come in and be welcome.
Grey ties a cord of red linen (that I have spun with my drop spindle) around my neck, runs it the length between the high seat and the god pole and then ties the other end around the pole. An umbilical. A pathway. A noose. I hang from the god pole and wait.
Are you there Frig? It’s me Juniper.
I step aside from the backdoor and press myself against the very wall of myself. Making room for her. I wait. I am unsure if she is coming. I have never invited this god in before, never been her horse, her hollow bone. With others, there was a rush. An entitled barging in, helping themselves. Pushing me aside so that I have nearly no control, no awareness, little say in the proceedings.
Frig was so gentle, so delicate that I wasn’t sure she had come at all…until she laughed, using my voice. A raw, rough cackle of a laugh escaped my lips. It startled me and I think it startled Grey who was standing beside the high seat, reciting words the entice the goddess.
I felt here there, filling me. She didn’t shove me down to some half oblivion. She didn’t put blinders over her horse’s eyes. She let me stay aware and awake. Pressed up against the wall of myself, out of way but welcome.
Grey steps away from the high seat and assumes her position between the seat and the side altar. She says something, but I can’t recall what it was. I was preoccupied with the hurricane. Getting used to her in me, as she was getting used to being in me.
My mouth worked silently a few times. My tongue rolled around in my mouth. It’s a strange thing, to stand back and witness another get accustomed to using your face. It was only a few seconds, but it seemed like an eternity.
“We should say something, to get the ball rolling.” I suggested.
I could feel her consider what to say.
“What do you WANT?” tore from my throat. Still rough, still getting used to using my voice.
I think Grey was taken aback. I think Frig found this incredibly amusing. My face contorted into a rictus grin. I was glad the for the veil.
Grey asked Frig something. Asking permission to go ahead with the questioning.
I think it took a few moments to get a response, as at that time she decided she wanted use of my hands. Since she was being such a gracious guest and had actually asked politely to have use of my upper body, I agreed that would be fine.
She waved one hand around, inexpertly. “Very well”
So it began.
My memory of the actual questioning is spotty. Dream like. I remember some parts very clearly and others not at all. For example, at some point someone gave an apple as an offering. I have no memory of this at all. I only know an apple was given because after the ritual was done, I found bits of apple stuck in my teeth. I asked Grey and she confirmed; someone had indeed given an apple.
Some offerings I remember and others I do not. In some cases I remember who gave what, but mostly I’m unsure which person gave which offering. I know that she liked mead more than ale or beer (but she still really enjoyed the ale and beer). Frig was very interested in hand/home-made items, she seemed to approve of them quite a bit. One person gave a very personal and valued object, a true sacrifice, and she was deeply touched.
I also learned that Frig loves plums. One of the folk gave a plum (along with something else). She approved of the gifts, answered the question and then as the person was going back to their seat, Frig suddenly wanted more plums. She was about to open my mouth and demand more plums. In an instant I had to go from polite host leaning against the back wall, idly watching the proceedings, to stern little Hedgewitch. “No. Not right now. People are waiting to ask their questions. I’ll let the whole world know you like plums, there will be more plums in the future.”
Can you tell a god “NO”? Do you have the strength of will to tell a god, who is currently inside of you “no”?
To be continued …
This is super long, apologies.
