Asatru, Current events, Heathen, Heathentry, Uncategorized

ISIS and the AFA

What do ISIS and the AFA have in common?

Fear

Fear.  I do not mean they inspire it.  Far from it.  I was a professional soldier in the Canadian Armed Forces and understand far better than either one of these groups the reality of force projection, and the complex application of every aspect of military power, from data-space to battle-space, from logistics to lethal force far better than groups whose fundamental unifying characteristics is that they are terrified of a world too complex to be comfortable.

At the root, the AFA and ISIS are groups driven largely by men who don’t understand the world they live in, and wish to drag everyone back, kicking and screaming, to the fantasy they cherish of a simple time when men of their particular belief system ruled as benevolent dictators over a society that existed to serve their will, and praise them as they feel they deserve to be praised, for their patriarchal virtues.

The myth of the benevolent dictator is the one of the most persistent and damaging in human history, and has lead to the cult of personality that we see exemplified today in Trump and Putin.  The desire for a strong father figure to force the world to make sense is one that is common for humanity, and very dangerous.  Let us be honest about the reality of why the peddlers of these dangerous fantasies are so often successful in the court of public opinion when their promised solutions tend to prove to be failures more often than not.

Fear is real.  Fear of change.  Fear that the world may indeed be more complex than people want to understand.  They want things to be simple.  They don’t want to hear that some things they don’t agree with are necessary, and that some of what they are deeply offended by is in fact in the public interest.

ISIS seeks to impose its own harsh version of Sharia Law over the world, remove the voice from women altogether, and make all knowledge that is not contained in their scrolls to be stripped from mankind forever, so the one “truth” that remains is one that they can accept.  Not necessarily understand, they have scholars who can understand for them, but they can accept that all remaining knowledge fits neatly into the world view they are comfortable with.  There is an order to the universe, and they understand everyone’s place in it.

That their vision is a third world crap-hole that now encompasses the whole of the earth, where men live in poverty, ignorance and fear, yet are far better off than women, does not seem to bother them, because it is a world at least they understand.

The AFA seeks to “return” to a vision of a “before times” that was created by romantics in the 1920-30’s of a glorious Germanic tribal past where strong Nordic demigod men ruled over homes filled with adoring blond wives and dozens of small tow headed children of chiseled features right out of a painting of Wagnerian Opera.  Gender roles clearly defined, power vested in only the “right sort” of racially pure, doctrinaly pure, conservative men united in the purpose of keeping their world free of confusing thoughts or ideas that threaten the perfect fantasy that all is not only understandable, but controllable.

This mythological “before time” never existed, and the world was never as simple as they need it to be.  Our ancestors had no time for this dogma of ideological or racial purity as they were driven very much by the survival imperative to always get better, to seek better ways of doing everything, because each generation buried too many of their young paying the price of “the way things always were” to accept that.  Each generation of the ancestors the AFA seeks to venerate strove hard to CHANGE, to adapt and overcome.  Rather than a perfect unchanging world, our ancestors inherited a world that was trying hard to kill them, and sought each and every possible ally and advantage into making it better for those who followed after.  Like Odin, they did not come with the knowledge to succeed, but they came with the drive to find it, learn it, even steal it if they had to.

We see the success of fear marketers.  ISIS recruiting among the failures of young Islamic men who look at a world that is complicated, that requires them to learn, to adapt, to struggle, and to accept others who do not think as they do, even WOMEN, as their equals, and frequently workplace superiors.  Such recruits want a world where they do not have to adapt, to understand.  Where everything they don’t agree with can just be made to go away, where everyone who disagrees with them can just be forced to shut up.

We see the AFA and White Supremacist groups recruiting heavily, even as we see Christian Conservatives recruiting heavily across the same demographics, among the white men and women who look at the same complex world they don’t understand, but feel somehow that they have the inherit right to rule, and want things to go back to “the way they were”.  They want simple, they want a world that does not contain ideas they don’t understand or agree with.  They want gender roles they understand enforced on people.  They want those facts that do not fit their belief structure to simply go away, as if objective physical reality can be legislated because their myth says the world ought to be different than it is.

The Sons of Odin recruit from those who couch their denial of diversity in the myth of defending our culture from immigrants.  You know, I really get a kick out of that as a Canadian of European ancestry.  Do you see the “Sons of Raven” out there trying to protect the actual First Nations against us immigrant descendants?  Nope.  It seems in the Sons of Odin mythology, immigrants are non-white people, which would be more defensible if our First Nations people looked Scandinavian rather than Salish.

I am not a Son of Odin.  I am the son of James Thomas Mainer.  Soldier, construction worker, father, world traveler and deep student of human history and politics.

 

Dad and the girls 2

Dad taught me that you could not look at questions in isolation, that the “simple” solutions offered by historians in hind sight were usually complete BS.  You had to look at the politics, but the politics were driven by the economics and the history, and the history and economics are driven by the geography.  The “simple solutions” largely exist through the ignoring of facts that don’t fit in the models people wish to use, but reality does not care about how wonderful your model is; reality simply exists.  Deal with it or not, reality will continue, but your success or failure depends on your adapting to it, not how well you adhere to your model of how you think the world ought to work.

You do not succeed in life by ignoring facts that do not fit what you wish to be true.  You succeed in life by discarding those models that don’t fit the facts you can prove, and working towards a better understanding so your decisions are based on the best understanding of reality you can make.

My father understood fear, he just failed to let it rule him.  He taught me to listen to fear, like I listen to pain, or the weather report; as information to factor into my decision making, but not in any way the driving force behind it.

We live in a society that, on both the left and the right wings, has decided it is more important to be pure in doctrine, than grounded in reality.  We are living in a society that is beginning to give in to fear.

Fear of change.  Fear of that which we do not understand.

Listen closely, you can hear the howling of your ancestors that their blood should grow so thin as to fear to face the world as it is.

At no time in human history has so much information been available to us.  At no time in human history have so many been given the freedom to chose in so much of their lives.  No longer is the bulk of humanity little better than farm equipment, no more choices to make than the plow oxen.  Now we have the ability to choose, to succeed or fail in a thousand different fields of endeavor.  Now different genders, and even different levels of physical ability can each see a scope of opportunities to prove themselves and make their mark upon the world as NEVER before.  This is a time of unprecedented opportunity to build worth not only as individuals, but as societies.

Faced with the chance to build worth through choices, to prove yourself through word and deed in the greatest scope of opportunity that mankind has ever known, the voice of fear is whimpering in every corner “take away the choices, make it simple, I don’t want to understand”.

ISIS and the AFA both represent the naked face of fear.  Fear of that which they don’t want to understand.  Fear of change.

They couch themselves in language of power, because they MUST hide the core truth, that their message is weakness, is no less than the absolute and abject surrender to fear.  Fear the world is too much for them.  Fear they are not worthy to face the world that is, they must turn back the clock to a world that is small enough that they may stand and not feel like dwarves.

To the crows with both of them!

I laugh at their fear, and embrace change.  The world is vast, contains many wonders I struggle each day to understand, growing deeper in my love of this world with every new understanding.  When I die, I will still have drank only a sip, as did Odin, of that well of ever brimming knowledge, but until my last day I will be drinking as deep as I may of that knowledge, without fear.

I am not a Son of Odin, I am a follower of Odin.  I am a lover of this world, unafraid of the clash of ideas, proud enough of my own choices not to be terrified if another chose otherwise and is also proud.  I celebrate diversity, not because I am not proud of my own beliefs, my own heritage, but because I believe everyone should be free to be as free to do so as I am.

I am not afraid.  The world is vast, and I am small, but I stand tall as I walk up and down in the world, eyes open, ears open, mind open.  I will fight as hard as I must to make sure my children inherit a world in which they have the chance to eclipse my marks because the world offers for them more choices, not less.  When I look to the past, I realize every one of my ancestors that left stories worth retelling had one thing in common; they were all facing forward, moving forward.  Not one of them was trying to look or move back.

Mimir

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Aesir, Asatru, Current events, Faith, Heathen, Uncategorized

Courage and the draft

Invictus

The world came to Toronto in 2017 to see the Invictus Games.  This is the single most Heathen sporting event in existence, and one of the most important to me.  The Invictus Games celebrate the athleticism, drive, and determination of our wounded warriors, our soldiers who marched away to war in our service and came back less than whole.

More than the Olympics, the Invictus Games celebrates those who have had the courage to overcome, who have dared to meet the harshest blows of this world and to rise again, unconquered, and claim their greatness.

70. It is better to live | than to lie a corpse,
The live man catches the cow;
I saw flames rise | for the rich man’s pyre,
And before his door he lay dead.

71. The lame rides a horse, | the handless is herdsman,
The deaf in battle is bold;
The blind man is better | than one that is burned,
No good can come of a corpse.

Our gods teach us that wyrd weaves as it will, there is no judgement in it.  Wounds do not steal your worth, nor do they steal from you the chance to continue to build it.  Wounds are not shameful, but rather the markers of the challenges you have faced in your life.  If you faced your challenge well, then the scars are marks of hard won pride, not shame.

The Celt believed only the whole and perfect man could be King, that somehow a scarred King would wound the land.  The Norse believed almost the opposite; for the accepting of the cost of your service marked you as a man or woman who was worthy of the power in their care.  Odin gave his eye for wisdom, Tyr his hand to show the worth of his word was more than his sword arm, and Thor bears still the millstone in his skull that battle chanced to put there.  There is no shame in bearing wounds, or loss; our highest gods bear their scars and wounds openly, and dare us to do the same.

This is the reality of the warrior culture so many Brosatru miss while swilling cheap beer and boasting of their guaranteed place in Valhalla, based on little more than mead hall boasts and heavy metal lyrics, rather than any deeds of service to the folk.  The reality of a “warrior culture” is the acceptance of loss as a cost of life.

Our whole people lived with this.  Women bore their children in the sure and certain knowledge that many of them would die, and that each birth, they too might die.  Farmers, fishermen, and craftspeople understood that when they took up their tools, a single mistake or mischance could cost them limb or life as surely as any warrior of the line of battle.

We lost that.  Our medicine has been a boon to us, for which I thank the gods and ancestors every day, but it came with a lie.  The lie that we are immortal, that death and injury are banished, and if they should confront us in our lives with their presence, then we have been betrayed!

We have been betrayed only in the teaching of that lie, and this treason we commit to each generation, making them less able to cope with the hard things wyrd weaves for all of us in our turn.  Loss of a loved one, loss of health to chronic illness, loss of limb or ability to serious injury; some or all of these our children will face, prepared or not.  Our only choice is that last one; do we prepare them, or not?

My middle daughter was the one who was most likely to follow me into the service, as she inherited the temperament I had from my father, and he from his.  This will not be anymore as she suffered a permanently disabling spinal injury when rear ended by a truck.  Just eighteen, and permanently disabled; to what extent, we will not know for a while.

Back Pain

I first encountered life changing injury during my time in the Armed Forces.  I volunteered to make of my body an offering to the folk, hoping to offer only my time, dedication and skills, but aware that I could also be offering my health, or even my life.  We don’t really think or talk to much about the various ugly places between hale and whole, and valiant dead, as the middle ground is far scarier than either of the extremes.

You don’t think so?  Well, perhaps when you have seen enough death, and enough crippling injury, you will realize that the dead do not have anything to fear, but the living often do.

The athletes of the Invictus Games are important to us because they bring back pride, power, and most of all, VICTORY to those whom wyrd has woven permanent loss of limb or ability due to injury.

Most important of all Odin’s bynames is Sigfather; Victory-father.  It is not death we fear, for death waits for us all, and can no more be run from than can the coming night.  It is defeat, loss, and the humiliation that attends each that we fear, it is powerlessness, despair, and the shame attendant on weakness.

We are our deeds.  These words ring through modern Heathen practice as the root, the central tenant we all share.  Some understand the whole culture of building worth, and have the full lexicon of terms by which we know how what we do shapes how both we think of ourselves, and how our community thinks of us.  Judgement is a truth we accept;  like gravity, denying it does not make it go away, or make for wise decisions through pretending its not there.

The disabled are left with the corollary of this.  We who have always measured ourselves and found ourselves worthy based on the number and power of our deeds must find ourselves worthless in our own eyes when the chance to do those deeds is stripped from us by fate.

Suicide rates do not come from no where, they come from a despair that looks upon a life and sees no worth in it, nor potential for worth in it.  This is where the disabled are most vulnerable, in the sense of worth that should be the greatest source of their strength.

Our ancestors understood this.  They did not expect the wounded to battle for the same things, or the same standards as the whole.  They expected them to contribute, to give their all and to build worth in the doing; they literally could not understand the mindset that rejected the reality of a lost limb and judged the wounded person by the standards they met when fully able and whole of body.

The lame rides a horse, hand-less is herdsman.  You cannot build your worth through the deeds of before, but there are other deeds you are well suited to meet, other needs of the folk that you can meet.  No one accounts Tyr or Odin as less worthy due to their loss, rather they look upon their deeds in spite of that as inspiration to drive them to find their own greatness with the body and ability they have now.

The soldiers of the Invictus games were volunteers to the field of battle, but they were drafted, as it were, into the ranks of the disabled.  Those of our children, siblings, spouses and friends who find themselves struck down by disease or accident are likewise drafted into this challenge.

The soldiers of the Invictus Games are assumed to be courageous, as they volunteered to risk their lives and health in the nations service.  The truth is, they are among the most vulnerable.  No one who has not served can know how much it shapes you, how the awareness of giving one hundred percent of your ability and strength, to achieve a mission at all costs, and know that you are operating at a level most will never achieve even fleetingly, changes you forever.  Once that is stripped from you, you are not returned to the civilian you were, you are simply a soldier who can no longer live up to the image of ability that had become the pillar of your self identity.

We lose a lot of wounded warriors, which is why the Invictus Games came to be.  The Sig-Father, our father Odin, is not just the Battle Glad, he does not simply love us for the clash of arms, and the feast for his ravens that are the fallen.  Odin is the Victory Bringer, the Wise Counselor, the bringer of inspiration, poetry, and the wisdom of coping in all its wondrous, and wondrously flawed forms.

It is time to heed his counsel, to bring back Victory for our wounded, for our disabled.  Time for them to not hide their scars, empty sleeves, or wheel chairs, but to wear them as proudly as any medal, for they are the spoils of the victor, the survivor, of the strong.

Wyrd weaves as it will, there is no judgement in it.  One of my favourite words when it comes to living with the bad things that happen in life is FISH.  Short for “Fuck It, Shit Happens”.  The gods have never judged us by our success or failure, they have judged us by how we face our challenges, and how we meet our responsibilities.  Victory in the battle is Odin’s to give, but victory in your challenge is YOURS to take.  Who wins or loses may be beyond your strength to decide, but how you meet that challenge is beyond the power of any god, Queen or President, beyond any Parliament or law, it is literally only your own decision that will or can determine how you meet that challenge every single day.

Stop letting the memory of what you were steal from you the chance to find out what you can be today.  Stop mistaking the wound that wyrd wove into your life as being the results of your battle; it is not your loss, but it has changed the nature of the victory that is yours to win today.  Heed the Victory Father, if you are still breathing, you have not lost.  Find your victory conditions, and fight for them as hard as you did when full strength and speed were yours, and you will build your worth not only to yourself, but to the world.

My daughter will never be as she was before the accident.  She is not now weak, nor should you pity her.  She has much less strength and flexibility than before, and will pay a price for each breath and each step that would make a strong man tremble, but she will pay it, because she is not done yet.  She is not beaten, has not accepted defeat as written in her wounds.  I hope I can help her find the ways to define her victory conditions so the will and drive that made her so strong and capable again become a positive, rather than a weapon to use to hurt herself.  The strongest and most able among us are the harshest in punishing themselves when wyrd takes from them the ability to meet their own standards.  My daughter is strong and proud as ever I was, and I hope less foolish.

Odin, Victory Father, I ask your blessing that you teach our wounded ones how to define and fight for their victories every day of their lives, that when they chance to fall, their lives will shine with worth, and their deeds will be many days in the telling.  Tyr the most holy, as you understood the choice between your honour and your power could have only one answer, help those who have had much of their power stripped from them to understand that honour is still theirs to win.  Thor, defender of mankind; laughing god of the common man and woman, please teach those who have been laid low by fate to rise again, to laugh again, and to strive again.

No one volunteered to be wounded, to be broken.  Those who are disabled to a man were drafted into this state, and yet this does not mean that they do not possess courage!  Those who rise each day to a struggle greater than the whole may know, and frequently for stakes far less rich than the whole compete for, require more courage and more strength to rise each day and do battle.  To those who rise to this every day, may the Victory Father be with you always.

Heed the lesson of the Invictus Games,

Invictus Motto

 

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Asatru, Heathen, Heathentry, Uncategorized

Wolf Age: Dangers of Memes

I saw this come across my feed and it bugged me for reasons that will require some explaining.

Wolf Bullshit

This is a typical “bullshit wolf meme”.  Common among Heathens, or among men who identify with the popular culture wolf mythology, which is to the reality of wolves what your average online dating profile is to your actual physical description.

Wolves are important in a spiritual sense to a large number of peoples.  They are as important to me as a Heathen as they were to the natives of the Spallumcheen native band whose women ran the daycare I went to as a child.  Across cultures sharing no common root, the shared experience of humanity growing up sharing the forest, the plains, and the night with the wolves left its mark written in our psyche.

The problem with this meme is it divides the world not into two, but more akin to taking a single percent out of a pie chart, naming it “friend” and labeling everyone else as “foe”.  For those not paying attention, that means that everyone and everything that does not agree with you is an enemy.  That would be “internet wolf logic”.  See the chart below, if wolves acted like this, they would literally spend their days and nights doing nothing but randomly attacking anything that was not pack, until the species was wiped out by everyone else just tired of dealing with their little furry bullshit.

Internet Wolf Logic

I had the chance to encounter wolves while on a late night patrol in Ops C area CFB Chilliwack back in the early 1990’s.  I was on point for my infantry section, it was about 0200, sub tropical rain forest, blacker than half a yard up a bishops ass, cold as a witches tit, and silent as a grave.  We didn’t have night vision gear at the time, Infantry were expected to ghost through the forest because we learned how to see, how to train ourselves to look away from the light, into the darkest shadows, and force our eyes to maximize the light there was.  No depth perception to speak of, but you learned to see, learned to move, and you relied so much on your hearing that you even learned to breathe more quietly.  We were ghosts in the woods, and we were not alone.

We hit a clearing, a place in the heart of the forest where fire had long ago made a wound that now boasted some low shrubs, but otherwise clear.  Moonlight shone cold and white as bone on the open ground, and as we hit one edge of the clearing, a wolf pack hit the opposite.

I froze, FNC1A1 snapping to just offline of target as I evaluated the motion to my front.  My eyes locked with the point wolf’s.  He froze.  We held position for less than a second, but it seemed longer.  I took my hand off the fore-stock and gave the hand signal to direct the squad around the clearing clockwise to the left, while I maintained my position against their point.  The wolves without any signal I could see swept along the edge of the clearing clockwise to the right, mirroring us.

As the last wolf past their point, he dropped back out of the moonlight to fall in at the rear of his formation.  I did the same, falling in at the back of my troop.  As we reached the point the other had entered the clearing, I did my job as the drag walker, and looked back.  I saw the wolf who had been their point doing the same.  We exchanged one more look before disappearing into the shadows under the great trees, going about our own business in peace.

They were neither friend nor foe, they were just another set of troops patrolling in the night, other hunters sharing a forest that was ancient long before our grandfathers were born, and which our grandchildren may one day both hunt in as well.

The world is not us and them.  A more realistic wolf view would beReal World Wolf Logic

Note how the bulk of the life on this planet moved from “Foe” to “Just other critters minding own business”.  There are actual threats to watch, actual prey to hunt, but by in large the bulk of the forest life is sharing along side the wolf, and as long as everyone’s territory is respected, they can all get along fine.

The Internet wolf memes take a world where the bulk of humanity is not aware of your existence, has no real stake or opinion on your life or decisions, and reduce it to a state where if you are not my friend (to be generous, perhaps a hundred), then you are my enemy ( seven point six BILLION ).  I can’t make a pie chart to illustrate that, it would literally be all foe, as the amount you had allowed as your friends would be statistically insignificant.

Sword age, axe age, wolf age.  Shields are riven, families shattered, oaths broken, and the world burns as Ragnarok comes.  The Voluspa tells us

Hard is it on earth, | with mighty whoredom;
Axe-time, sword-time, | shields are sundered,
Wind-time, wolf-time, | ere the world falls;
Nor ever shall men | each other spare.

This is a future in which all we care for is lost, a future the gods themselves work tireless to stave off, and in which the best and brightest of them will fall in our defense.

Stop trying to bring it about.

I am serious, I could join the party of the false dichotomy and say if you are not part of the solution you are part of the problem; but that is yet another false dichotomy, sloppy thinking, and total bullshit.

The cold facts of the matter are the bulk of humanity is not your friend, or your enemy.  They don’t wish you well or ill, they have their own lives, their own problems, their own hopes, dreams, fears and struggles.

Stop trying to divide the world into friend and foe, because you can’t force people to be your friends, but you can make enemies a lot easier, and a whole lot of people seem to be putting in the effort.

Wolves are amazing creatures, social animals who kill with precision, fight with grace, and are masters of not starting shit without reason.  I am serious.  Wolves treat violence with a great deal more respect than we do, and treat every single creature they encounter with a great deal more respect than we humans seem to.  If it is necessary to fight, they fight intelligently and fiercely.  If it is time to walk away, they walk away without hesitation or regret. Ninety nine times out of a hundred, an encounter between a wolf and something else ends in a respectful acknowledgement of each others space and that is all. Only in our pop culture mythology does the wolf run around starting fights because “I’m a wolf, fear me!!”

Meme’s are cute, catchy, and dangerous.  Meme’s shape the way we think, as we accept the proposed image and single catch phrases that appeal to us and incorporate them into our self image, which in turn affects our decision making processes.

Share memes that reduce the world into friend and foe, and soon you will start to accept that anyone you don’t understand, or agree with is an enemy.  These meme’s are not cute, they are dangerous.

This had more letters than twitter allows, required actual thought to process, and will thus be read to the end by less than a percent that were attracted by the pretty picture.  Those few of you who read to the end, understand that the memes that you chose to share are affecting how others will unconsciously view and interact with the world.  Chose the effect you would like to have, and the world you would like to see.  Ragnarok will come, I do not want to see its coming hastened by teaching ourselves to stop seeing any possibility of peaceful interaction with those that are not “with us”.

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Aesir, Asatru, Heathen, Heathentry, Uncategorized

Raven’s and Swords

 

Je me souviens-the motto of Quebec; we will remember.

Ah yes, just about the single most common phrase ringing from any minority crying out for revenge against the terrible crimes of (everyone else alive, and anyone on their side who doesn’t fully agree with them). Oddly enough everyone self defines as a minority for this purpose, making the one great unifying truth of humanity is that everyone can look back and feel they alone have suffered.   Memory; remember the wrongs done you, but be very selective my children, lest you recall the crimes of your own forbearers as well, or hear the cries being directed towards you by those survivors of their victims.

Memory

We are quick to put this on our flags, our swords, our skins, and whisper it into the ears of our children.  Remember the terrible things that happened to someone else long ago, because this will give you the defiant pride to be turned into a weapon by the first idiot who wants to use them to commit terrible things today.
Remember 9-11, remember the Alamo, remember Culloden, Masada, Thermopylae, the fall of Jerusalem, the sack of Lindesfarne, Amritsar, Hiroshima and the Plains of Abraham.  Gods forbid you should ever really look at the history before and after for context.

Ravens

There are two Raven’s who fly throughout the world to bear Odin’s messages, Huginn and Muninn.  Thought and Memory are their names in the tongues of today, and how interesting it is that the one we carve in the tongues of our blades, into our skin, onto our licence plates, flags, banners and political dogma is Memory.

 

I love Odin, and I love my blades.  I have seen his truth, lived it, and I know well the stench of open guts, blood rotting on the ground, the odd stiffness of the corpse.  I have seen ravens and crows wheeling above the feast and understood the truth; the Battleglad does not care why we slaughter each other, we do it for reasons that are entirely our own, he does not need to whisper in our ears or raise the clarion call for blood, simply put, we have never needed it.  We feed the ravens in fact, the corpse eating birds grow fat and plentiful because we heed only one of His ravens, and not both.

 

Thought and Memory.  We find memory rich like mead or whiskey on the tongue, sensual as a lovers touch to fire our desires when poet or politician would arouse us to act, we carve it on our skins to dedicate ourselves to wrongs of the past, carve it on our blades and gunstocks as we prepare to commit the wrongs of the present in the name of the sacred memory of stupidities of the past.  Why is it we are so enamoured of the hot rich blood thick feel of Memory upon our tongue and upon our soul and so terrified of the ice cold calm of Thought?

 

Odin has more to his name than Battleglad, more to his nature than Feeder of Ravens.  He is the Victory Father; but why when we call for him by this name do we never also call him as Wise Counsellor or Truth Teller.

 

I can hear the non-Heathens already smugly assuring themselves this has nothing to do with them.  I hate to break this to you, it doesn’t matter if you believe in him, or his ravens, they believe in you.  You may not know you serve the ravens when you raise your hands to your neighbors; neighbors in other lands or neighbors in your own streets, but you lay the raven’s feast when you stir the strife that leads to burning cities and blood on the stones.  Raven’s have never lost a war.

 

Heathens ought to know better, but seldom do we find it any easier than other folk to give equal weight to the ravens on both shoulders.  Memory is ruled by passion, like sweet mead or the headiest whiskey it fires the blood and clouds the mind.  Thought does not look backward, but forward.  Thought soars from intention to consequence, looking beyond the passions to the price, thought looks beyond the hot words of politicians, demagogues, rabble rousers and activists and looks to the deeds that follows, looks beyond the swinging sword to the shattered limb, beyond the bright torch to the burned building, beyond the shattered peace to the shattered land.

Never forget, for the past is with us always and if we do not own it then we allow it to own us.  Muninn receives offerings from me, as I look to the past of my family, my ancestors, my nation, my faith for the inspiration to fulfil my duty to the present, and to help me remember my duties to the future.  Huginn receives offering from me as well.  Memory must always be balanced by thought, inspiration must never outstrip understanding of consequence or the future will do no more than rewater ancient battlefields with modern blood, layer another generation of hatred, waste and futility on all the generations of waste and mindless slaughter we so narrowly survived to get here.

 

The sword of memory is swiftly drawn and thirsts so much for the red life wine.  The sword of memory flashes bright in the sun and sings as it slays, caring little where it falls, only that it is driven by ancient pride and rage.  The sword of thought is different.  Drawn with reluctance it swings with the full weight of duty, falling with neither lust nor hesitation, a brutal necessity that accepts the cost of every stroke, and will not be sheathed save in victory.

Swords and Ravens

There are two ravens for a reason.  It is Odin’s to understand the inspiration of men, the ways of victory, even as the costs of the struggle are his meat and drink, so are all paths to victory his.

Memory reminds us of who we are, from whence we came, and lets us draw upon the rich strength of our line, of our nation, of our gods and faith to face whatever challenges we face today.  Thought soars ahead of us to seek the path towards a better tomorrow, a brighter future, a path away from the tragedies that scarred our families, our nations, and our history with needless suffering and loss.

I will tend my blades, keep them sharp and my hands ever skilled in their use, but I will understand when to heed which raven.  I will let Thought determine when my blade is drawn, and when my blade is to be sheathed.  I will not draw nor wet my steel for ancient wrong, for passion alone.  I will draw my steel only when Thought demands it, and sheath it when Thought requires it.  Memory shall fire my blood to face the steel of others, shall sustain me when wounds, fear, and exhaustion would bid me surrender, Memory will carry me through the fire, but I will never allow memory to light it.

I read the saga of burning steading and red steel vengeance as good poetry.  I learned the killing of men, of dead friends, the terrible cost of the broken and maimed from those who fed the ravens in my grandfathers and fathers generation.  I stood my time beneath the banners of my nation, and plied my trade with steel in my fist, knowing it to be a duty we were brought to by passion but carried out with the same cold calculation the raven’s have always exercised when feeding upon the fallen upon every tragic field our species has littered with the broken bodies that are the raven’s feast.

Odin is the god of poetry because those who have stood over the dead and the dying with work to do require something that can allow them to put all that they cannot unsee into a context we can live with, because there is always going to be work still to do.  Thought and Memory are both his, as his wolves Word and Deed are both his.  Thought must balance Memory, as Word must always be chosen carefully knowing Deed will follow. Odin is the god of consequences, of price paid.  You may choose to look at bright pages of angels and songs of high sounding rhetoric, but my own gods bid me look down at the shattered lives, burned out husks that once represented homes, businesses, dreams, and hope and consider long and well the costs before I speak, and before I act.

We will remember.  Tragically, we will always remember when we were wronged, never when we were wrong, we will remember victory, and forget the cost.  We will remember those who exploited us, and forget those who fought to bring justice.  We remember every face that screamed abuse at us, and forget so swiftly those who rose up in our defense.

 

It is hard to get passionate about a settlement that makes things a little better, building on a previous settlement that made things a little better, as through halting slow process a people struggle haltingly towards that great unknown destination of justice through tentative and halting steps.  Of the two ravens, Memory can soar unerringly to any place we have been, any wrong we have suffered or committed he can alight on, but Thought must seek in the mists of everchanging and ever weaving wyrd for that mythic land of justice towards which the wise stumble and the foolish believe they may simply name wherever they choose to stop.

It is satisfying to draw the sword and call for revolution, and frustrating to negotiate in good faith and imperfect practice to drive a people through evolution instead.  Memory looks like all ravens to the shiny bits, the juice bits, the bloody bits; soaring loftily over the vast stretches of context, peace and progress, decay and corruption, only to alight on blood and fire.

Thought is a harder raven to heed, yet the only raven that promises a destination other than the next blood soaked tragedy.  Memory is always with us, but memory cannot lead us forward to anything but a repeat of the tragedies of the past.  Thought and memory soar together through out sky and through our soul.  Bring them back into balance, bring us back into balance, so that we have a chance to steer our state closer to that distant star called justice, and in seeking that star find ourselves guided into lands far fairer in every sense of the word than our ancestors ever knew.

 

If you must grave the name of ravens upon your steel, your skin or your soul, do remember to balance thought and memory.  Honour the sacrifice of your ancestors, but draw upon it for inspiration to find a better way forward.  You must first let go the drive to avenge the past before you can ever be free of the chains of it.  Memory can never lead you forward, only Thought can.

 

 

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Asatru, Heathen, Heathentry, Uncategorized

Nazis free to kill on our streets

White Nationalists marched on Charlottesville Virginia.  For those who are even now preparing to defend White Nationalists as not being Nazis, and calling on all those who call them fascists as alarmists, I offer you the following photos of the marchers.

American Nazi shirt

Armed and proud to quote Adolf Hitler, the White Nationalist Nazis, raised on our own North American soil, the same soil that raised the Great Generation who suffered so much to end the blood soaked dream of Adolf Hitler’s Nazi dream of a Thousand Year Reich built on the blood of innocents.

A new mythology has sprung up, rooting the Nazi racist dogma in a romanticized vision of the Southern past, a dream of an idyllic civilization of white, slave owning, America.  Rather than looking at slavery as a great crime and abomination, they glorify the mythological old south, without being bothered by petty concerns like the actual history involved.  We are told time and again not to equate the Confederate Battle Flag (usually mistakenly referred to as the Confederate flag, because they literally know that little about the past they are lying to themselves about) with the Nazi flag.  This is hard to do, when they keep marching them side by side at their hate filled rallies.

American Nazi Flag

These are not proud American patriots; for those who are confused, these are proud American patriots.  This is the 101st Airborne holding a captured Nazi flag they tore down after Normandy, when the drive to crush the Nazi hold on Europe was the focus of the entire free world.

101 Airborne

 

In this picture, you see American patriots, who risked their lives to defend freedom, and drive the Nazis into extinction.  Our grandfathers gave almost an entire generation of their blood to end this nightmare, we had hoped forever.  Then we failed them.  We failed to keep the watch, to honour the sacrifice of the hundreds of thousands who gave their lives to put this nightmare in the ground.  Our generation allowed it to return.

The Nazi’s began with fomenting hatred, escalated to street violence and murder, and ended by subverting the mechanisms of their democracy to remove all legal checks to their abuses of power, and permit the birth of their nightmare racial vision in blood and fire.

We see now the willful fomenting of hatred, but the right wing turns a blind eye to it.  We see the escalation of street violence, but too often the police who will shoot dead a person of colour for suspicion of holding a weapon, will allow these right wing militia stormtroopers to march armed as for war.

Nazi Militia

How does tolerance for Nazi thuggery end?  What is the reward for turning a blind eye to evil?

The murder of our citizens.  This time, the Nazis are killing not on streets far away, where we are free to decide whether or not to join the war to oppose them.  This time the Nazi are on our streets.

Nazi car attack

This Nazi supporter drove his car into a crowd of counter protesters, killing a 32 year old woman, and injuring many others.  Murder in support of the doctrine of inciting racial war.  Murder by the scum who want to begin a war on our streets.

When London saw a Islamist extremist drive his car into a crowd of tourists, our nations were quick to call it terrorism, and demand action against those far distant demagogues crying for Islamic extremists to commit murder on our streets.  When we saw Canadian servicemen killed by Islamic extremists using a car to kill uniformed military personnel, we saw an immediate call to arms against those who call for murder in the name of their hate filled causes, and opposition to our free and open society.

Now it is here.  Those who call for and commit to the murder of our folk, in support of overthrowing our free and open society are here.  They are white, and they are openly armed while calling for their civil war.

What will we do? Admit that we only oppose terrorism when the wrong colour people are doing it?  Or are we the same blood and bone that gave rise to that greatest generation, are we still the people who valued freedom enough to stand against the Nazi darkness, and cast its shadow from Europe, no matter the cost in blood and coin that it cost?

The time has come to treat the Nazi like we do Isis, the Taliban, Hamas.  White Nationalists or Islamic Nationalists, those who are willing to kill our own citizens to tear our hard won freedoms from us will either find us of all races, religions, and political affiliations standing as one, the true inheritors of the great generation, willing to prove that those who died for our freedom in the Second World War did not die for nothing.

The alternative is to do what we have been doing until now.  Ignoring the enemy among us, as long as he is white.

For the record, I am white.  I am a proud citizen of a free democratic nation that understands that all our citizens, of whatever race, religion and gender are free and equal under the law.  I will fight to defend that, as I served in our military to do.  I hope that the nations we all joined to serve still value their freedoms enough to defend it from home grown terrorists.

Odin tells us in the Havamal:

127. I rede thee, Loddfafnir! | and hear thou my rede,–
Profit thou hast if thou hearest,
Great thy gain if thou learnest:
If evil thou knowest, | as evil proclaim it,
And make no friendship with foes.

Well, I see the evil.  The Nazis are just that.  Evil in their very essence, and foes of my blood, and of my nation.  I will make no bargain or peace with them, and woe betide the nation that clutches such serpents to its breast.

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Aesir, Heathen, Heathentry, Uncategorized

The Bet: Does love or gold rule the hearts of women?

 

One morning Freya had been listening to a translation of the newly recovered Hamaval.  In particular she was listening without amusement to Odin’s words on the fickleness of women.  Her ire aroused, the passionate Vanir confronted the one-eyed wanderer and took him to task.

“Your one eye has blinded you, old fool”  Freya shouted with her famous passion “It is the passion of love, not of gold that moves women.  Perhaps in your dotage you meet only those women whose affections YOU must buy.”

As all of Asgard prepared for the second round of their most famous war, the Wise Counsellor laughed deeply and long, his great white beard shaking in mirth.  Odin offered the golden goddess a challenge:

“I will wager a hundred heroes from my hall, that any woman we agree on will chose for gold over passion in the end.”

“Agreed!” Shouted Freya, “No magic from you or I shall sway this, let it only be mortal choice that holds the day.  You may speak only to the couple, nor may you set any other against them, and I will agree to the same”

The couple they agreed upon was an uptight young English woman of good family.  Her name was ancient, and her fortunes vast.  Possessed of a rare beauty and poise, she was much sought after by suitors, as there was no family lord from whom her hand could be bartered, she was free to choose.

Edwardian lady holding white cat, ca. 1920s:

Odin the victory father was watching the young lass (Cassiopeia) carefully.  She doted upon the cats that she kept, and once tossed out a young man for scaring one.  She rode often to the hunt with flare, and kept only the finest blood stock, and mocked other riders who had lesser mounts or lesser skill.  The suitors that surrounded her were the height of fashion, wearing only the best, eating only the rarest and most fashionable of dishes.  Odin saw all of this, and cast his plan.

Freya goddess of passion and magic saw with other eyes a woman surrounded by men obsessed with petty pursuits, elaborately bored with life, and obsessed with the games of social status.  She smiled casting her own plans.

Jonathan was the third son of an ancient family.  Sent to the new world to pursue his fortune, it was expected that the eager but not overly bright lad would take his remittance and stay gone, but to everyone’s shock he succeeded in mining in the Yukon, winning for himself much gold and renown, and returning to a somewhat shocked and bemused family.

Frontiersman II

 

Lacking guile utterly, and with the friendly eagerness of a puppy rather than the elaborate courtesy of the court, he had been corrupted by the loose frontier ways and lost most of his early graces.  His family despaired at finding a match for him, and so set for him the impossible task of Cassiopeia, whose wealth and grace were such that she would swiftly and gently send the half wild boy home to consider more modest prospects.

He began the courting journey sitting upon a well bred horse that he rode poorly; having spent the last years with mules and donkeys rather than high bred horses.  Wrapped in the latest fashions, he held a roll of large nuggets from his claim tucked in belt, and a thick wad of paper money in his tunic.

As he rode, he came upon an old man at the side of the road leading two of the most beautiful donkeys he had ever seen.  He stopped and asked the old man where he came by such beautiful beasts, and the old one eyed gent advised him:

“Only a fool would risk a great lady on a stupid and flighty horse, when a good solid donkey is available.  These fine donkeys are the finest breeding pair in all of Britain, and I bring them to London to trade for a stallion.”

Jonathan saw his opportunity and offered to trade his flighty and overbred stallion for the two donkeys, and began his ride to London.   Everywhere he rode, men and women pointed at him, and he just knew they wished they could be rid of the overbred horses and ride big eared sturdy donkey like he and his wife to be would.

As he rode further into town he saw an old man with selling meat pies.  The smell made his mouth water, and he stopped to buy one.  The taste was like nothing of this world!  He begged of the old man what was this meat, and the old man swore it was cat.  The old man said the Lady Cassiopeia was famed for her cat, but few enough men would eat it, let alone ask for it.  Jonathan swore right then he would be the first!  Riding away, he began to wonder what plague it was that left so many old men with but one eye!

Coming upon an old man standing bare chested in the street, giving his clothes to the poor, Jonathan asked what the old man did.  The old man replied that Lady Cassiopeia had said no thing spoke better of a wealthy man than giving the shirt of his back to the poor, after all they were rich enough to replace it a hundred times!  Jonathan thought Cassiopeia was the best among women, and right then gave his fine coat and shirt, and damnable riding breaches to the poor, determined to out do the other suitors.  Besides, after years of working the gold fields, he was unused to tight clothes and heat, and his massive muscles did poorly in the tight clothes of modern England.

Sure that victory was his, Odin looked in to see how Freya fared.

Freya sat beside Cassiopeia, wearing the guise of a widowed aunt.  Cassiopeia looked at the delicate men picking at the feast, sipping wine delicately while picking daintily at the food, each piece carved to be an artwork itself.  The men talked of the hunt, politics, gossip, and ignored her completely when not competing with each other to out compliment her.  With each she dueled with words and gestures, each weighed for effect in a play more elaborate than any stage, each calculated and bloodless as any card or board-game, with points won and lost in high societies game of status.

Freya whispered to Cassiopeia,

“Do you ever dream of the days when half naked barbarians would sweep in and sweep up a woman not because of her land, or horses, or wealth.  Wouldn’t it be nice to have a man who wanted to spend the time with you, not riding to hunt, or playing at cards?   The suitors here all seem soft of hands, without a drop of passion in them, hardly the sort to rip a bodice, nor strong enough to carry a woman off without at least two servants for lifting.”  Cassiopeia just sighed deeply.

Jonathan approached the fine mannor and laughed to see the poor fools had all come in carriages, with not a single donkey among them!  Lace and waist coats seemed the order of the day, and they seemed to be eating pastries. Clearly they knew nothing of women!  Determined to make a good impression he rode his donkeys up the stairs and into the courtyard, hearing the amazed gasps at his entrance.  Seeing Cassiopeia in all her loveliness standing proud and imperious at the head of the table, he slid off his donkey and spread his wide well muscled arms and smiled.

Cassiopeia stared transfixed as her suitors and guests gasped at the heavily muscled tanned gold bearded savage standing in a breach-cloth between the two snow white donkeys.  Her eyes travelled his smiling face, down his tanned and sweaty rock hard chest and to his, frankly, hugely bulging breach clout and gasped.

Seeing she was taken by the obviously fine donkeys, he proclaimed their strength and endurance that she know they were not just pretty, for he was a fine judge of donkeys.
“I swear if you take me as husband, I will ride that ass all day, and still have strength to ride all night”

The men gasped, and some of the maidens swooned; Cassiopeia felt her heart beat faster

Gesturing to the pâté, goose, quail, and beef on the heavy tables, Jonathan remembered the old man’s words about her pride in the cat she served, and the generosity she sought in her men.  Boasting proudly he proclaimed:

“Marry me, and I swear I will eat nothing buy your sweet pussy for the whole honey-moon. I have given my clothes to the beggars in the streets, for with you I will not need them!”

Knowing that women have practical needs, and well pleased with his success in the gold fields, he slapped his breach clout where his rolled up deer-hide held his heavy gold nuggets, and gave it a tug, as frankly the sight of Cassiopeia was making it a bit tight!

Pointing to his bulging underwear, he proudly boasted:

“With what I have in here, you will never want for anything again!”

The assembled suitors were shouting now, the maidens fanning their faces and swooning.  More than a few of the servant girls were eyeing him openly and whispering, but the room grew still as stone when Cassiopeia leapt from her vantage point with a growl that could shame a leopard, tackling Jonathan to the ground in a confused kissing tangle.

One hundred heroes walked from Valhalla that evening, for all the tricks of the Evil-Worker are no match for the passion of youth. The couple lived long, passionately untidy lives littered with adventures and children.   The gods blessed their union and line, for steadfast hearts are the gods true wealth.

Donkey Kiss

 

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Asatru, Heathen, Heathentry, Uncategorized

Never Again: Muslim Internment

Muslim Internment

japanese-canadian

My thoughts on Internment are those of a Heathen Canadian. I am Heathen, so I know a gift for a gift, is the way that we build our worth. I esteem honour, courage, self sacrifice, and give praise where it is earned. I also do not lie about ugly truths, and we have to be really honest about some really ugly truths.

Interment camps have been done before. They were not done to Enemy Aliens, they were done to non-whites, by whites, for the crime of not being white. Fear was an excuse.

Hate was the reason.

We interred this man below, and his family, as “Enemy Aliens”, during WWII. This is Sgt Masumi Mitsui, winner of the Canadian Military Medal for courage under fire. We are not a demonstrative people, what dozens of nations would hang a hundred medals around you for, we consider your duty as a Canadian Solider. When we choose to decorate someone for bravery under fire, this is a thing that other soldiers will stop and praise.

masumimilitary-medal

Masumi was far from the only Japanese Canadian to choose to fight for a land that was his by choice, not by birth.Of the 222 who had enlisted, 54 had been killed, 92 were wounded and 11 had received Military Medals for bravery.

We interred him as a threat, an enemy alien. Understand this, I am not saying he was as good a Canadian as I am, or you are. Neither you nor I have any right to claim equality with a Military Medal winner; his right to his honours as a citizen is paid in full, yet racists who had never served a day in their lives stripped it from him, stole his property, because they used fear to let the public indulge them in their hatreds.

When you allow Internment of the dreaded “other”, you do not look for causes, for justice, you look for those you hate and fear, and punish them for your weakness, not their crimes.

A truly Heathen concept is this: Own Your Shit.

The Internment of the Japanese in WWII was an act of racist thuggery motivated by fascism and greed, carried out like nothing other than banditry by law.

It was shit, an act that stains our national honour even now. A hundred yeas ago, some of the men we interred helped our nation come of age in the blood and mud of Vimy Ridge. We rewarded them by stealing their lands and businesses and locking them up as “threats”.

Never, FUCKING NEVER, again.

Tyr, Leavings of the Wolf, Most High, Keeper of Honour hear this rede; it shall never come to pass that my nation will stand by and let her citizens or subjects be interred not for what they have done but for who they are.

Thor, Defender of man, know that if we do not defend our own against hatred, we do not deserve your protection against our foes.

 

 

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