The Niflheim Ordeal
by Galina Krasskova
This is an account of the second ordeal out of a nine-ordeal cycle I went through in order to gain power and understand myself better. This one was linked to the world of Niflheim, and it was a physical ordeal of Cold.
One of the things that became powerfully clear to me throughout my
ordeal cycle was that I have been immensely blessed by a handful of very
dear, very close friends. It’s not that I neglected my friendships
before this, but having everything in your life, especially in your
interior life stripped away to the bare essentials really does tend to
realign one’s priorities and bring a certain perspective and clarity.
Certain truths are brought home when a friend is willing to walk into
hell with you and, moreover, to care for you during and after such a
trek. Niflheim, above all other worlds, taught me gratitude.
Looking
back on my first ordeal, I’m amazed at how terrified I was at the time,
at how overwhelmingly difficult it was. I realize now, that each of
these ordeals were pushing me, challenging me, training me, and
preparing me for the next one. That wasn’t their only purpose, but it
was something that occurred consistently throughout the cycle. I could
not have begun with the third or fourth ordeal. This was a gradual
building process and Hela laid the foundation stones. All the ordeals
hold places of remarkably stark clarity in my memory and it seems that
there was a huge leap in physical difficulty from Helheim to Niflheim. I
suppose when dealing with this particular world and the lessons it
brings, that is only to be expected.
Niflheim is the Norse world
of ice and cold. It is a world of stasis and contraction, of inertia and
rot. In the beginning, before time was, before even the Gods were,
there was Niflheim (and its sister world Muspelheim, the world of fire).
They spun in opposition to each other, and in balance. Gradually they
began to draw closer to each other and one day collided in a great,
primordial conflict, a big bang, if you will. From this collision of
diametrically opposed dimensions, all life burst into being. Niflheim is
the home of the dragon Nidhogg, who gnaws the rot from the roots of
Yggdrasil. It was this being I had been ordered to meet.
The
following is transcribed from my journal account, written two weeks
after my February 2007 journey into the world of ice. Odin is pushing me
to post these much faster, much closer together than I otherwise would.
Any reference to my mother is to my adopted mother, not my bio-mom.
It’s
been two weeks since my Niflheim ordeal and I’ve only now been able to
gather myself enough to write about it. I know that it’s important for
me to keep clear accounts for myself, but this particular ordeal pushed
me to the limits of my physical endurance and ripped me open emotionally
in ways I never, ever expected. I’ve had such an aversion to the whole
experience that I even left all my camping gear with W. and F. after the
journey was done. I just didn’t want to look at it for awhile.
The
shape and structure of this ordeal was determined at the tail end of my
Helheim ordeal in November: I was to seek the dragon Nidhogg in the
wilderness over a period of three or four days. It was very important
for me to experience Niflheim not by spirit journey but in the actual
flesh, so that I would truly understand what that realm was all about
and, I now suspect, so that the sheer physical discomfort would further
contribute to the process of ripping me open. W. and F. volunteered to
take me up into the woods in Lincoln, NH for four days of winter
camping. Eventually, we scheduled this to take place the first weekend
of February and I set about purchasing my gear. I had never camped
before and I have a severe back and neck injury so there was a strong
element of potential danger in this ordeal. I’d never gone camping
before, or hiking, or really done anything out of doors. I’m coming to
realize that my childhood and early adulthood were very sheltered
things!
I traveled up to their home as planned on February 1st.
It’s odd how many important situations and ordeals in my spiritual life
seem to take place around Imbolc. Before going, in honor of that, I
performed a brief Imbolc ritual and made a necklace as a gift to Brigid,
since it is Her holiday. For all that I am Heathen, She does seem to
crop up again and again in my life, though I have no particular call by
or to Her. Still, it never hurts to be respectful. I made sure to pack
my prayer beads too and a journal, as well as scalpels and bandages in
case the latter were required as part of the actual ordeal. After
arriving at W. and F.’s, I spent a night at their apartment and we set
off in the morning.
We stopped at EMS to pick up some last minute
supplies and food and arrived at the park rather later than we
expected. We got geared up and headed off on a four mile hike to get to
the actual woods. I knew I was in trouble the moment they put the pack
on my back…it was much heavier than I thought it would be and I
staggered under the weight. To get to the actual woods, we had that four
mile hike ahead of us. The four miles were on a wooded trail, but one
fairly well traveled by other hikers and skiers. W. and F. had selected a
route for us to follow weeks in advance of the actual ordeal trip and
the route selected was perfect. We entered the initial path by crossing a
suspension bridge. The water was beautiful. It was the most vibrant
shade of icy green that I have ever seen, in part because of the layers
of ice that had formed beneath the surface of the water. Upon crossing
that bridge, there was the palpable sense that we were crossing not into
Niflheim but into an in-between place, a place of passage form one
world to the next, neither our world, nor Niflheim. We weren’t just
walking; we were path-walking, journeying between realms, between the
nine mighty worlds.
It was cold, but not terribly so as we began.
The first couple of miles of the hike weren’t bad. By the fourth mile,
my left hip began to spasm badly. Since we started late, we were rapidly
losing light and W. had gone on ahead of us to scout the campsite and
start setting up the tents. F. stayed with me and encouraged me through
the worst of the pain and really kept me going. Finally, we came to a
second bridge and the end of the populated trail. On the other side of
the bridge lay unbroken woods and she challenged me, letting me know
that if I wanted to back out of this ordeal, this was the last
opportunity to do so. I knew that I couldn’t though and so we crossed
that second bridge walking and path walking and there was the palpable
sense that by doing so, we were crossing into Niflheim.
A half
mile later we were at the campsite. It had started to snow by that time
(W. said the only thing worse would have been icy rain) and we hurried
to set up the two tents. Since I’d never been camping before, W. and F.
did almost all of the actual work setting up, teaching me as they went
how to manage my gear. For the entire time we were there, we had a cold
camp (no campfire) and after boiling a bit of water on a tiny portable
stove, I ate a couple of bites of a dehydrated meal and went to bed.
Late
that night is when the emotional weight of the ordeal began to hit me. I
knew I was in Niflheim and as much as I may dislike Midgard and feel
myself an alien there, it was rapidly brought home to me that it is my
home. I am as much a part of the human world as I am any of the other
worlds and it’s important to honor that. There are emotional ties that I
have to people in Midgard that could never, ever have existed in any of
the other worlds and we live, despite how badly we fuck it up, at a far
higher level of comfort here than in any of the other worlds,
especially Niflheim. Ties here are based on emotional connection and
caring, not, as in Niflheim, on ruthless survival. This ordeal was also
the first time I’d really courted my own mortality. It’s one thing to
work out in a dojo with folks wielding edged weapons. That’s dangerous,
but it’s a controlled danger. Here, there was no such control. We were
completely at the mercy of the elements: ice, cold, and snow.
It
wasn’t my mortality that I was confronted with though. Late that night, I
was hit hard by the mortality of those I care about the most,
especially my adopted mother. The reality of her impending death really
hit me terribly hard (This part of the story is not mine to tell. Those
who know her will understand why it hit me so hard. ). That knowledge
was sudden agony. I do not know which frost etin came to drive the point
home, but I felt the presence and I was rapidly reduced to sobbing. She
nourishes me in ways I was never before able to express and the thought
of her death struck home, a blow for Midgard, like nothing else. When
she dies, it will leave my life as barren as Niflheim was that night I
huddled in my tent.
I couldn’t stop crying and I was told that
Midgard is the brightest of worlds. We live and love here with a
uniqueness that I still don’t quite understand. I was told that this
uniqueness is unknown elsewhere: Midgard is the meeting place of Gods.
We carry that forth causing both confusion and brilliance in our lives.
We carry those bits of Gods in our DNA. This is the place where
creativity can flourish and the friendships and love bonds that we have
are so precious and unique precisely because they would be impossible
elsewhere.
That night, the temperature dropped ten degrees below
zero, the coldest I’d ever endured. I started noticing things about the
woods around me: trees have their own language and talk to each other if
one listens carefully enough. It’s even possible to understand their
speech a little bit. The cold has a different smell at night when it’s
coldest and in the morning, when light warms some of the chill away. Ice
can sing.
Saturday it was very, very cold throughout the day and
we mostly huddled in our respective tents and sleeping bags. I was
allowed very little contact with W. and F., though they kept an eye on
me to make sure I was alive. I spent a little time with them that
morning, telling them what had hit me so hard about my mother, about
Midgard, etc. Then I went back to my tent to write a bit in my journal
and to write a letter to my mother. We were originally going to pack up
and move to a different site and then come out of the woods two days
later by a different route but the brutal severity of the weather
changed our plans. Since I’d found a place where I could go to call the
dragon later that day, and for safety reasons, we decided to stay at our
original campsite and depart the following day, provided I did all I
needed to do with Nidhogg. Around dusk, I prayed my prayer beads and
went to the clearing selected to call Her.
I have to admit,
huddling in a freezing tent (which at night iced over inside), colder
than I’d ever been, completely cut off from anything Midgard, being
slowly opened emotionally and ripped raw (I am a very private, reserved
person who would generally prefer to eat glass than talk about her
feelings), I wondered what on earth I was doing there. For the first
time, I really regretted being a spirit-worker, having sought out Mimir
and having asked for more skill. I regretted everything and wanted
nothing more than to live a quiet monastic life without any magic or
shamanic crap. I knew this was impossible but still, for the first time
regret hit me so very hard. I even felt immensely resentful of Odin and
wondered if there was any point to what I was doing at all. The whole
experience was like some sort of vicious experiment in sensory
deprivation and I still feel rather traumatized by it…far more than I
expected I would, though I knew these ordeals would rip me open and
change me. I found myself missing my connections to Midgard, especially
those people closest to me, longing to hear their voices, especially
longing to speak to my mother. At one point I had to fight down the
panic that I would not get back to civilization again and she. wouldn’t
be there, would already be dead. I found myself praying to the Gods to
get me through this. Magic, shamanism, the rest of it held at that point
utterly no allure for me. I just wanted to love the Gods with the
humility my mother has in her devotions. I found myself questioning
whether being a spirit worker (as though I had a choice) was really the
way I am meant to serve. I have never before felt cut off from
everything that I am, and everything and everyone that I care about.
I’ve always considered myself a solitary person but my mother (she is my
adopted mother) had pointed out that she felt that was only because I’d
never had a choice in the matter. Now I began to realize she was right:
I need the people in my life. I need the contact, both to give and to
receive. Despite the way that Midgard has harmed me, and the pain it
continually evokes, I saw that through those I care about, I have a
place there. Maybe the beauty of Midgard lies in the fact that love and
friendship can overcome that terrible hurt that it can so easily and
readily cause.
I was so damned cold on Saturday that I found
myself actually thanking the Gods that we were leaving Sunday. I don’t
think I could have taken one more day in that place. Even now, it makes
me sick to my stomach to think about those three days. Anyway, Saturday
at dusk, I prayed my prayer beads (though I felt like doing anything BUT
praying to Gods that had brought me to that desolate place) and headed
out to the clearing I’d selected to seek the dragon. W. and F. stayed in
their tent while I went out. First, I laid a large pouch of cardamom
tea (a favorite of mine) loose in an organic linen bag by a log. This
was an offering to the frost etins for granting us safe passage (more or
less) in and out of their territory. Then I spoke aloud, explaining why
I was there and I began to sing to the dragon. I had been told at the
end of my Helheim ordeal that I would have to sing to the dragon. I
tried over and over to prepare a song in advance but nothing would come.
I managed part of a chant to the dragon of rot but ultimately I was
moved simply to galdr and I sang the rune nauthiz for quite awhile. I’m
not sure how long it was until this massively long blue dragon appeared.
She (although S/He told me S/He could appear as either gender or none
depending on Her wishes) took the remains of the poison from me, not in
blood, as I’d expected, but in tears.
Hela had infected me with a
poison during my Helheim ordeal, a poison designed to bring up my
contempt and all the rotted parts of my spirit and psyche so that it
could be extracted by the dragon. Nidhogg did extract it, but through my
tears. As I galdred, W. and F. told me later that they could hear a
second voice counter-pointing and answering my own. When I went back to
my tent, I stopped by theirs to ask W. if there was anything more to be
done (I was very glad not just to have two friends there who were
experienced campers, but to have one who was also a shaman to double
check things). He said I looked like a weight had been lifted, that I
looked completely different from before meeting with the dragon.
I
went back to my tent and slept as best I could. Kari sent His son Frost
to watch over me, a gift I appreciate immensely. That night, the
temperature dropped to 23 below zero. We had all planned to get up and
get an early start Sunday and every time I woke up during the night of
terrible cold, I’d check my watch and think, “only X more hours until we
can leave.” A little after 8am W. called up to see if I was ok and
after I yelled back that I was, I heard him say to F.: “Thank god, I
don’t have to run to the ranger station. She’s still alive.” It drove
home the fact that had I not managed my sleeping bag rightly the night
before, the temperatures were so brutal that I could in fact have died.
We were camping not too far from where a lost hiker had been found dead
two weeks earlier. (When another ordeal master, L, very experienced in
hiking and winter camping as well as mountaineering, saw the pants and
boots I’d been wearing, she said I was damned lucky not to have gotten
frost bite or hypothermia).
We packed up and were moving out by
9:30am. It was still terribly cold and windy. I naturally feel grateful
that I have all my toes. I’d had to sleep with my boots inside a stuff
sack inside my sleeping bag to melt the ice on them and they got very
cold again very quickly, painfully so. Once we were on the trail back,
it wasn’t so bad, but while we were packing up, it was awful. It took us
several hours to wind our way back to the ranger station. We first
crossed the suspension bridge out of Niflheim and into the in-between
place that we had to travel to get back to Midgard. I was so relived and
seeing the first human being on the trail as we walked and pathwalked
back was both a relief and an odd joy. It seemed to take forever going
back, but as amusing as it may sound, the thought of a heated bathroom,
clean underwear, and getting the god-damned pack off my back kept me
going.
Eventually, we made it to the initial bridge and crossed
back into Midgard. Those passages over the two bridges were physically
palpable things and I have never been so glad to return to the human
world in my life. I went home with W. and F., bathed (we all oh so
seriously needed a bath), changed into blessedly clean clothes and then
we all went out for dinner. I realized that, with the exception of a few
bites of food, I’d essentially just fasted the entire time I was out
there, which L. said later made it much harder on me physically. I just
had no desire to eat when I was there. I was also somewhat dehydrated. I
brought a bit of water back from Niflheim to add to my altar but that
was all and it was days before I could touch it after I returned. I was
originally scheduled to return to NYC on Tuesday, but I had such a
craving to be in my own space, to return to my own home, to call my
adopted mom, make sure she was ok (and alive), and to just be back to
what was familiar to me, that I went home Monday instead.