The curve of a tree, weighed down by blossoms
is my favorite place to find you, one with the
roots, your antler curved like the branches,
hair the gold of yellow ochre fall leaf bower,
buckskin leggings the color of bark, green knit
sweater smelling like basalm, pine needle eyes
that open and shudder with morning grass frost –
I sat down with you in the grove, you showed me
how to become one with the trunk, the flowering
of Yggdrasil, Ratatosk and Nidhogg in their quiet
burrows – you are a part of that tree, Gebo light
as falling leaves, for the gift of the gods flow
down to Midgard, where we revel in the roots, god
and devotee, man and girl, my beloved Shining One,
your frith fruits with compassion, and your sword
was given for love long ago, and service is your
true name, to kindred kith and kin, you tell me
that there is no greater gift than noblesse oblige
forefather of my Yngling clan, Hail the Golden God.

Freyr Woos Gerd

I came to you with open palms, a gift
of my sword to your gardens, we met in
Barri Woods, I stripped golden in sun
you silver with shining arms, dear Gerd –
mistress of my heart and my kennings
when I first saw you from Odin’s throne
I knew what it was to die, more than
being cut as the first shaft of barley
come harvest, my rain and bounty are
nothing compared to your Etin grace,
my ship and boar and humble antler just
trappings to adorn our bower of trees,
we were wed then on dewy grass, we took
pleasure in summer sun, echoing fjords,
does and bucks danced in Vanaheim and
the Ljosalfar sang dead elven songs
as we knew each other, became one, you
are my orlog, my wyrd, my life and fate,
and our children are all of men, love
what we reap, my Jotun maiden, seer of
frith and faith, peace and good seasons
you till from my body in the soil, and
together, we blossom into Yggdrasil.

The Lay of the (Spiritual) Land

So if you are a reader of my blog, you might wonder – what is Allie?  Is she crazy? (Probably)  Is she an eclectic pagan?  An angel fanatic or shitposter about demons?  Why does she write so many angsty poems about archangels?

Trust me, I’m confused too.  I’ve been pagan since I was 7 and started out as the elementary school version of a Hellenic (prayed to Hermes in traffic, Athena for tests, Pan for longer recesses).  Still, I was connected to the angels starting at seven, and had known Samael since I was two (the idiot’s my first memory – 2 1/2 year old Allie crying in a crib as red-eyed Barney Samael rings her with mutilated ghost children and says I LOVE YOU in a voice like pure evil distilled down to clanging chains and screams of the Damned)  I didn’t watch Barney for a week.  Anyways, when I was seven I started dreaming about who I later learned was Ariel, Samael-Nergal, Uriel, and Metatron.  There were tons of other characters that I later learned were actual demons or angels, like the demon “Bane” (Eff you, Bune) and Ragnar the Space Viking Demon, who was also another thinly disguised Samael.

Anyways, so in elementary school I considered myself a pagan – the only one in the world, I thought, before I discovered the Internet, which took about until I was ten – and mainly worshiped the Greek gods.  When I learned I couldn’t be the Messiah in Sunday school because I was a girl and couldn’t be a priest I decided the Abrahamic faiths were evil and sexist and that God was a mean grumpy old man.  I was also terrified of Satan.  Deathly terrified.  Now I just think he’s a turd.  Anyways, despite constant dreams of angels and demons, I thought they were just my characters, nothing more.  Uriel was my protective older sister, Ariel was my prankster brother, Samael was the bad babysitter that took me to archdemon councils and hid me under the table with a bag of chips and book to keep me occupied, and Metatron just gave me healthy snacks and tea and told me to behave and do my homework.

The Hellenics, while nice, didn’t stick.  God knows I tried to trade in Samael for Athena about a bajillion times in middle and high school.  In middle school I entered my fairy-vampire phase and devoured everything I could about Celtic mythology, but still, that didn’t fit, despite Manannan being a badass.  I devoured books on world mythology and was eclectic as hell, all while ignoring Michael and Samael and Beelzebub and all the rest of the Abrahamics until I was 18, when I begrudgingly accepted their existence outside of my self-insert urban fantasy novels, after I started a Samael roleplay blog for creative writing purposes and had all these pagans and Satanists coming to me thinking I was channeling Samael or believed in him or whatever.  Misha was one of them, now his godspouse, and we’ve been best friends since I was in high school.

Anyways, I grew to appreciate the Abrahamic faiths – Islam, Judaism, and Christianity, and considering I was already well-versed in angelology and demonology and the Bible and apocrypha (Gnostics smoked some dope weed, yo) and had nightmares about the Book of Enoch, something else was going on around the time I was 17.

That something was Loki.

Loki showed up in my dreams, best buds with Samael, and we did dumb shit in the astral and they played pranks on me and I had to go to too many bars where they hit on spirits and served as each other’s wingmen.  Like most teenagers, I went through a HUGE Loki phase – I made a blog named after him, took the moniker lokisdattir that he had given me, and started exploring Norse mythology.  It resonated with me and I loved the gods and their antics and the Eddas and sagas.  It felt like a hole in my heart had been filled.

Loki came and went and came again, he shows up when he feels like it, and the Abrahamics were a near constant as usual, dominating my spiritual interactions.  However, I was missing the name of a spirit that had been with me since childhood: one I had described in my writings as the Green Man and having green eyes and golden hair and looking like “a Norse god in winter wear.”   Samael was jealous of my affection for this mystery spirit who I majorly platonically crushed on in middle school and high school, this Green Man who I wrote an entire novel about, complete with Odin and him searching for Freyja and the Wild Hunt led by who I later learned was Frau Holda.

Blond Norse god of the harvest and fertility whose blood fructifies the Earth, a Golden God of the North.  I had all the clues, and while I’m usually pretty smart, I’m pretty dumb when it comes to discovering the name of spirits.  I literally googled “Blond god of the north” and “Green Man of Scandinavia” and somehow, after over a decade of searching, I realized, omfg, the guy you fawned over in middle school and wrote an entire NaNoWriMo project on was Freyr.

I’d always considered the Green Man my patron god, but he took on a very familiar face, and that face was Freyr.  I finally officially met Freyr when I was 21 over the summer and he affirmed that he had been watching over me my whole life and that my life, as an environmentalist and caretaker of nature through river cleanups and biology and ecology, was a fine way to serve him.  I asked if he would be my patron god and he accepted.

I’ve been exploring heathenry since I was 17 and now, three weeks away from 24, I feel very comfortable in its framework.  I’ve devoured the myths, devotionals, blogs of devotees, and am very close to Loki, Thor, and Freyr, with a love for the likes of Nerthus, Njord, Skadi, and Idunna, with a healthy respect (AND FEAR) for Odin.  Out of all pagan traditions, heathenry most aligns with my world view and spiritual practice, with the focus on community and service and being an upstanding individual.

So, after nearly seventeen years of exploration, I’ve chosen my spiritual framework: a Heathen spiritworker.  I love the Abrahamics and am oathed to Michael and Samael, but my astral home is in Vanaheim and my ancestry and blood as a Norwegian and German and Anglo-Saxon tie me nearly completely to the Norse pantheon.  They always return to me year after year, month after month.  I’m an Abrahamic mystic, but I am a Heathen layperson that participates in blots and acts of living devotion and service to my gods.  I am not a professed Heathen, as I do not want to cut ties with the angels, demons, and other gods I know that are dear to my heart, and much of the spiritwork I’ve been called on to do is interfaith work between different pantheons.  It would be unfair to pledge myself solely to the Norse gods, so I suppose I’m eclectic in that sense that I work with other spirits, but do not worship any but the Norse.

To me, the overarching Source of all is Mother Nature, and I view the angels and demons as part of that, having never met Yahweh, but his deep love for his people, temper and mercurial nature remind me of nature at its best and worst.  Worshiping Nature as the ultimate Source of All is the only way monotheism makes sense to me, but I am far from a monotheist – I believe in Mother Nature and her children as different parts of the cosmos with individual identities and personalities.  I guess that makes me a hard polytheist.

Choosing a religious path never worked for me – the spirits that wanted my service always came to me, and me offering myself to Athena never ever worked.  I’m the rare example of someone that doesn’t get much choice in who they work with – I can love and respect other spirits of other pantheons and be inspired by them, but they are not my gods.  I’m a budding Freyrswoman, a devotee of Loki, and oathed to Michael and Samael, whatever the hell that means.

What I can choose, however, is how I practice, and I chose to honor the gods of my ancestors and the ones I most resonate with – the Norse gods.