Aeva-Otr, or: how to learn about unknown deities

A practical and experiential guide to learning more about a spiritual entity in Heathenry once the lore runs dry.

At Trothmoot 2019, I attended a Myth Embodiment workshop lead by Cara Freyasdaughter, who explains the concept here. Using improvisational acting (and occasionally some mild, casual hints of channeling), we retold the story of Thrymskvida, one of my favorites in the lore. It was tons of fun, hilarious, and thought-provoking. Participants were asked not to act as their patron deities, in order to branch out and experience different perspectives, as well as to avoid any accidental deeper channeling. This was meant to be an engaging psychological exercise to explore the lore, not a possessory rite.

Since that left my desired role (predictably, Loki) off the table, I volunteered for the role of Thrym’s unnamed sister. She will be the focus and example deity for this piece.

Possession: Loki

This is a personal narrative of my experience with Loki during a possessory rite at Trothmoot 2019. I hope to publish a collaborative writeup of the event as a whole soon, but this part demands to be written first. I also encountered Odin: that post is forthcoming.

One of Trothmoot’s major themes for me was accepting emotional vulnerability. Posting this publicly  without intellectualizing my irrational, emotional, romantic, mystical experience is one more step in that direction. So here we go.

Possible trigger warning for brief mentions of past trauma.

Poem: “Sigyn, Sweetheart” and author’s notes

Sigyn, Sweetheart

Hail Sigyn, sweetheart,
stance amidst the flood,
hair trailing on mottled stone.
The weary bow bending, sagging,
but refusing
to drop,
drip
after
drip
after drip.

Sigyn, unceasing,
you are the promise we keep.
The daughter who holds a flat palm, wall palm,
to the father.
The mother
with twin on each breast,
and water in her eyes
that knows the heft of ice,
the set of ice,
though melted
and warm.

Sigyn, steadfast,
soft belly, ferocious song,
may you ever find victory
in your absolute will.

(Bat Collazo, 2018)

Simplicity in spirit work

I started a second job recently. At this new workplace, there are some statues with offering dishes of coins. I recently confirmed (though earlier suspected) that the statues serve as homes or vessels for spirit guardians of this space, originally put in place by the previous owner, who has since passed away.

Though the statue appearances are totally benign and not at all startling or out-of-place as decor, the first time I noticed a particular pair of them, before knowing anything about them, it felt like a physical jolt or shock of energy passed through me. Yesterday I witnessed a stranger experience the exact same thing, unprompted. Coworkers say this is common.

Poem: “How Loki Steals His Silvertongue” and author’s notes

How Loki Steals His Silvertongue

“I’m not your baby bird,” Lopt says,
laps the mead, skáldskapar,
from Bolverk’s tongue
like a snake,
like the serpent that will spit… not yet.
“Unless you want me to be,” laughs, lapping, lascivious,
sharp teeth, slick mouth. “Sick fuck.”

“I’m in good company.”

The Old Wolf’s mouth pours,
but
somewhere in the flow of verse,
thoughts fly far to the flow of Ván.

(Bat Collazo, 2018)