Ordeal in Helheim
by Galina Krasskova
In November 2006 I began the process of dying
for my God. Over the next three years, I would undergo nine ordeals, one ordeal
for each of the nine worlds in Norse cosmology. I started at the bottom of the
World Tree, Yggdrasil, the Tree of life, death, wisdom, and sacrifice. I
started at the bottom because I belonged to Odin. Throughout this cycle, I
would work my way, through terror and pain, through love and devotion up the
Tree toward Asgard, toward Him. This accomplished several things (no one can
ever tell me our Gods aren’t good at multi-tasking!): I was able to undergo my
shamanic death and rebirth, I journeyed to all the worlds and established
contacts and allies there, I learned about His journeys and the path of Odin
that I’m on.(1) It was horrible, terrifying, beautiful, painful, joyous,
ecstatic, and transformative, just like this God that I serve. It was three
years of calculated, on-going terror beyond anything I had experienced to that
point. I did it willingly but that willingness did nothing to lessen either the
pain involved, the loss (and there was much) or the fear. Yet … one other thing
I learned through all my ordeals: if He asked me to do it all over again, I
would. Joyously.
The following is from my journal, which I kept
throughout the cycle. The death cycle spoken about is something many shamans go
through: a psychic/mental/emotional and sometimes physical death and rebirth,
wherein the Gods remake the shaman in any way They see fit. For many, it occurs
in one traumatic incident. For others, it is a process. Mine was a calculated
(how could it not be with my Lord) cycle.
Today I began my ordeal cycle. I’ve known I had to do this for months now. I’ve
had it confirmed by two different diviners and shamans. The only way out is
through. Odin is killing me in pieces, bit by bit, because I do not love life
enough to come back were He to do it all at once. That is what He said: I
simply do not love life enough. He cannot simply spear me and be done with it. I
would not have the passion for life to drag myself back. Nine worlds, nine
ordeals and I will walk into them all … and I’m terrified. Today, I began with
Helheim.
My adopted Mom flew in from CA and came up to the home of my shaman colleague
with me. It was so good to see her. She is my touchstone of normalcy, of
rock-solid steadfastness. She belongs to Sigyn and Loki and while she’s not
happy about this ordeal, I know she trusts the Gods and is praying that I can
see it through. She cannot be present at the ordeal, but she will be waiting to
provide any necessary aftercare. I’ve been a warrior all my life and I have
never felt so weak … and hopelessly unprepared.
We arrived at the farm about 1pm. Another shaman friend arrived about an hour
later to assist. The actual ordeal started a little after 4pm. Between the
nerves and the terror, I felt like I could barely breathe for the hour or so
beforehand. For weeks I’d been experiencing this intense sense of dread and
impending death. I was worrying over my adopted mother, who is not in good
health and over my oath-sister, thinking that perhaps something terrible was
going to happen to them. Then I took a good long look at the threads of wyrd
and realized that sense of impending doom had my name all over it! I was
heading toward death. I was heading toward Helheim. I was heading toward that
place where no one returns unchanged. All that sense of doom was me.
It was quite cold outside but fortunately I was allowed clothing. My colleague
had made me a robe out of a warm white blanket. He also permitted me to wear a
woolen, white cloak – white the color of death and rebirth in so many
traditions, and of cleansing. My Gods were with me, even though through my fear
I couldn’t feel Them much. Loki had told me months ago that if I got a specific
tattoo for Him, He’d walk with me as far as He could through my ordeals. I had
hunted and hunted, but had not been able to find what He wanted. The night
before the ordeal, awash in nervousness, I asked Him if He’d walk with me
anyway. I couldn’t hear His answer though. I could not calm myself enough. Right
before I was about to robe, my colleague went out to get herbs to burn to ash
and came back with two huge mullein leaves. He said he didn’t know why, but
Loki had told him to pick them (mullein is one of Loki’s herbs) and to give
them to me: one to put in each of my shoes. I almost cried. I knew it was Loki
telling me that yes, He’d walk with me. I would not be alone.
After I robed, and at the appointed time, I took a basket of altar supplies and
walked alone down to the field. Our second shaman friend was already there having
been selected to witness (he volunteered and fit Hela’s criteria, having
recently undergone his own shamanic death). I set up the altar and poured Her
an offering of alcohol. Then he directed me to kneel at the Northern Gate, a
torii-like structure marking the North perimeter of the ritual space. I did so
and each wrist was secured by rope to either pole of the gate. Then I waited.
After what I thought was about a half hour or so, Hela came. She had possessed
the body of Her shaman, my colleague. Her presence was unmistakable. Death
walked the field that night. She circled behind me as though I was less than
prey, as though I was nothing, as though contemplating what She wished to do to
me, what would be the least blow to do the most shattering. Then came to the
front of me and extended Her hand to be kissed. It was Her skeletal hand and as
soon as my lips touched the bones, this indescribable, icy shudder passed
through me. Then my ordeal truly began.
She was far more merciful than I expected or deserved. She challenged me on
several fronts: my massive contempt, my hatred of life especially my corporeal
nature and all the fear and weakness that I hide away. Hela facilitated my
colleague and friend’s death ordeal and in that ordeal, he was rarely permitted
to speak. For me, who prefers to remain silent on those matters I hold most
closely to my heart, for whom speaking of pain, or fear, or love, or anguish is
the hardest thing in the world, well, She made me speak. She forced me. She
allowed me no quarter, no breathing space in which to hide a single motivation,
failing, or ugly, ugly fault. At one point, She slammed my face down into a
large cauldron of water, holding me just long enough. I was surprised She let
me up so quickly, after the initial shock. Then She took out my heart and made
me beg to have it returned. She forced me to give voice to my deepest fears.
All must go, She said, whether I would or not, all save my fear that Odin won’t
want me. That I’m allowed to keep, that is fitting reminder, a memento mori or sorts.
The Goddess of death and decay chastised me for my hatred of my body and my
ill-conceived abuse of it. She held a knife to my throat and taught me to be
grateful for breath. My hatred of my flesh invalidates the offering of the
ordeal and She charged me to examine that and to give it up. She drew forth my
contempt, plucking at its roots. She took my blood, forcing me to take blood
oath in the river Hvergelmir that I would break it down and give it up. That
was my sacrifice to Her. I who am not ever fully of Midgard, must learn to
connect and build threads there and contempt causes whatever roots I lay to
wither away like dust. She forbade it. Then She laid a challenge on me that
caused my stomach to roil and every fiber of my being to protest: I was charged
with finding three people that I held in great contempt (rightly or wrongly it
does not matter) and apologizing to them. Contempt in Her eyes damaged me. It
was not about the other person. They might in fact deserve lawfully every ounce
of contempt I could muster. I was still not allowed this indulgence. It
destroyed my own worth and by doing so, made me unfit for Odin’s service. It
poisoned my soul. It must go.
As of this writing, I have already taken care of this. I did so almost
immediately after the ordeal, calling one person and contacting the others by
email. My words were mocked and misunderstood but that matters not. It only
matters that I did as Hela bade and gave what was not mine to hold, back to its
rightful owners. I returned contempt to its source, allowing it to run out of
my heart like water through a sieve. It was wrenching. I was required to choose
those people that I least wanted to contact, those people who had slandered,
harmed, attacked, and libeled me for over a year causing me no end of trouble.
I was required to choose people who had attacked my relationship with my Gods,
especially Odin, my value, my sanity, my worth, and my right to call myself
Heathen. I was required to contact those who had forced me out of what was then
my tribe. I only realized afterwards that this was Hela’s blessing: in
apologizing, I freed myself. My only caveat was that I should not choose
someone for whom my anger was worse than my contempt.
After Hela gave me this order, the ordeal was not over. I was flogged with a
bundle of thorny roses, which was more symbolic than anything else. But then
She grabbed me and carved a great bindrune in my lower back with a scalpel. I
did not find out until my next ordeal a few months later, that in doing this,
She worked a charm into my flesh that prevented me from dissociating from pain.
I had committed to my ordeal cycle, so I would feel everything. I had long been
used to simply turning the needs of my body off, including pain. I had been a
professional ballet dancer for years as a young woman and learning to not feel
pain is a necessary skill. This was no longer acceptable to Hela. She locked me
down into my flesh.
She said she both bound and poisoned me, that if She were to rip it all my
contempt out now, it would kill me. Instead, in addition to binding me to my
flesh, She poisoned me with a charm that would rot the crap within me that
needs to go. She told me it would be painful and that at my next ordeal,
Nidhogg would suck it out of me.
Finally, She cut the cords binding me to the gate posts, tossed the knife point
deep in the dirt and left. I got the ropes off my wrists which were both
bruised and burned and sat for awhile, getting feeling back in my legs from where
I’d been sitting seiza. My shaman friend had previously rescued my glasses – I
hadn’t noticed – and brought them and a towel.
Hela had challenged me to be the type of person I’d have others emulate and to
explore my failings there. Eventually, my colleague came back to the fire and
had to sit and twitch, recovering. Hela is very still, so it’s hard not to tic
afterwards, after She leaves the body She had possessed. We talked and
debriefed each other. There was one shocking moment when we realized that
despite the fire, everything Hela had touched, and only what She had touched,
was frozen over.
Before this night, I’d expected physical pain but this was a humiliation
ordeal, one that reduced me to tears several times. At one point, I just sobbed
and held Hela’s hand, nuzzling it. She was hard and very just as only Death can
be.
Aftewards, the two men took care of my bloody back. I found out later that they
were a little concerned at how deep the cuts were. As I have since experienced
several times, the Goddess of Death has a very firm touch with the scalpel!
They cleaned that and a cut I had gotten on my head when we got up to the
house. There, Hela gave me one more gift.
I have the berserkergangr. It runs in my family very strongly. Odin has long
told me it is one of His gifts but also that I must learn to master myself in
the storm of its fury. I had been failing at this utterly. That rage-beast that
lay in wait within me was always close to the surface, always ready to explode,
to attack. It might be a gift, but by not learning to value and discipline it,
by not learning control, I was not serving Odins’ will. Hela helped me. She
allowed her shaman to give me a charm, based on the charm that the Gods used to
bind Her brother. He gave me the first three parts of the charm: breath of a
fish, spittle of a bird, beard of a woman. He told me how to get roots of a
mountain and footfall of a cat. He said to wait on nerves of a bear, the final
piece of the charm, until I find out what that has to be for me. It’s different
for everyone. I was instructed to gather these things, put them in a pouch, tie
it with a dog’s choke chain and keep it on Hela’s altar. He also gave me the
bones that had been part of Hela’s regalia glove. I was gifted with several
other items from other friends, all of which now rest on my altar to Hela. I’ve
decided that out of gratitude to the Deities facilitating these ordeals, I will
maintain a small altar to each of Them. I began with Hela’s.
Footnotes:
(1) This is an interesting concept, the idea that each Deity has multiple
‘paths’ through which devotees can serve. I first learned about it in Santeria.
Each orisha has different paths and when a person is dedicated to that orisha,
divination is done to reveal which particular path the person is walking. This
helps him or her draw closer to the Orisha in question and also provides
important clues as to what challenges may be required. Over the fifteen years
or so that I’ve been serving Odin in one form or another, I’ve come to realize
that the same holds true for the Norse Deities. They have multiple paths that
They walk and often times, this is reflected in how Their devotees are claimed.
I know that Loki, for instance can come as the gentle Husband of Sigyn, the
Breaker of Worlds, the young Hellraiser with Odin, and several other paths as
well. Odin has over a hundred names and each one of those sacred by-names
represents a path that one of His can walk. I recently met an Odin’s woman who
was following Odin as Bolverk. I walk the path of the Wanderer, the path of
Odin in His quest for knowledge, Odin as ordeal worker, as the One who
willingly sacrificed…everything. This is a new idea within the Northern
Tradition, but it is one that, I believe, has its merit in the stark realities
of service.
(2) Mugwort, yarrow, plantain, elder, agrimony, aconite, rue were burned in a
brazier and then Hela rubbed them into the cutting on my back. This causes the
wound to heal in stark, black relief against the flesh.
