In Odin's Embrace
I was eight years old when He first tried to claim me. On stormy winter nights, He came to me as the Wild Hunter with His retinue of ghostly horsemen and howling wolves. Outside my window, He called to me to come and ride with Him. But I was frightened, and pretended not to hear.
And for a long time, I succeeded. I was drawn to the runes from an early age, but I kept putting off studying them; I knew they would lead me straight to Him. I loved Tolkien, but I kept finding reasons not to read the Norse myths he had borrowed from so heavily, even while Odin in the guise of Gandalf continued to beckon. Ravens and crows seemed to follow me everywhere, I heard voices in the wind, and I often sensed presences around me that I could almost see. It wasn’t long before my deep attraction to ancient mysteries led me to studying the occult, but where Odin was concerned I remained deeply in denial.
Then, in my early twenties, I met an older woman who heard some of the very same voices I did. We began to talk about our experiences with these noncorporeal beings, hold extended conversations with Them, and journey in sleep or trance to visit with Them. I even fell in love with one of Them: an older yet virile and alluring man, eloquent, charismatic, and more than a little dangerous. He did not call Himself Odin, yet He was a guide and protector of the dead, a traveler between the worlds, a warrior, shape-shifter, and powerful sorcerer. When He said He wanted to marry me, I eagerly agreed, having no idea what that would mean.
Unfortunately, I soon had a falling out with the woman I had been confiding in, and without her support I wasn’t able to sustain my conviction that I was interacting with a discarnate being, let alone married to one. Eventually, I agreed to marry a man who had been a platonic friend for years. At our wedding, instead of the music I had selected, “Ride of the Valkyries” suddenly blared out as I was about to walk down the aisle. The message was clear: my new marriage was doomed because I already belonged to another. But this was a warning I neither understood nor heeded.
Fast forward thirteen or so years. The marriage was over in all but name, and I was feeling spiritually empty and disconnected. Then a sudden crisis at work threw me into a depression that lasted about a year. To distract myself from my misery, I finally gave in to my long-standing urge to study Norse myths and deities, and found myself irresistibly drawn to the stories and images of Odin. In a bookstore one day, Neil Gaiman’s American Gods demanded to be bought, and as I read about Mr. Wednesday my entire being cried out “MINE!!!” I began dreaming about Odin. I enrolled in a rune study course. Finally, I bought a statue of Him and began telling Him about all the reasons I was so unhappy, and begging Him to help me.
Within days, there was a dramatic, tangible answer to my prayers. And then He showed up in person—and once again I fell head over heels in love with Him. He claimed me that night, and freed me from my depression as if it had never existed. And I realized that it hadn’t really been Him I had been running from all those years, but myself. Odin is the God of consciousness, and what could be more frightening than to truly come to know your own self? Yet He is also the God of ecstasy, enabling us to rise above our pain as a phoenix rises from its own ashes.
Not long afterwards, He asked me for a formal dedication. But He took over the writing of the ritual and vows, and soon I realized that what He really wanted was a wedding. This terrified me; I had only heard of one other person daring to do such a thing in modern times. But even in my terror I wanted this, wanted Him, more than anything. So the ceremony took place, and I swore to remain faithful only to Him—a vow I take very seriously. My wedding band is a silver ring engraved with Wodan in runes.
What is it like being married to a God? Everywhere I go, I carry Him with me; I am a doorway for Him to manifest in the world. Diana Paxson has been known to warn people that Odin can become the other half of your soul if you let Him, but that it may well be at the expense of your human relationships. That has certainly been the case for me. He demands that I give Him all that I am, but in return He gives me all that HE is—which is a more than fair bargain, believe me. This is not an easy path, and it is definitely not for everyone, but I would never trade it.
Copyright © 2003 by Laure Lynch
This essay appeared in newWitch #7