Honor: 0 [ Give / Take ]
3 entries this month
The Great Theft – Part 3
07:45 Mar 12 2014
Times Read: 405
The sky outside the window had darkened, and the snow was falling quickly now. The Old Man stood again and looked out the window. He could see no sign of his family, and the tree line just a few hundred feet away was barely visible through the falling snow. Far off he thought he heard the sound of thunder. Thunder! With snow that could only mean they were if for a rough few hours of weather. He hoped his family had turned for home. Daylight was fading and the weather was definitely turning. It was almost as if the weather reflected the anger he felt inside. It had been a long time since he had told the tale of the Great Theft, and it always made him angry to do so. He shook his head to clear such thoughts from his mind and returned to the chair. The Boy was adding a few more logs to the fire.
Each day is sacred for us, each day we do what we do and although we would never use such a word to describe such things our work becomes a kind of prayer. By doing our daily tasks well and with good intent they reaffirm our connection to each other and to the Gods. For our ancestors it was the same, but lived more immediately; if they failed at their daily tasks it could mean death. Not enough food would see people starve through winter, poorly build homes would see people exposed to the harshest of elements. Badly built boats could be the death of many. This immediacy is not so strong in the modern world; but it could quickly become so again.
But even we had days of extra special importance; days when we made extra special effort to affirm our relationship with the Gods and with Nature. Now some of these days changed depending on where you were, different Folk celebrate different days as important depending on local circumstances. A Folk living by the sea may have a special day to celebrate the return of the fish; a Folk in the Northern woodlands may celebrate the ripening of a certain berry. But the intent was the same, to thank Nature and the Gods for a fruitful harvest and to reaffirm the intrinsic connection between man and the land.
In Spring, at the time of the Spring Equinox, we celebrated the rite of Ostara-Summers-Dawn. It is a time of purification, of the rebirth of nature and it is a time sacred to the Goddess Frejya. As the warmth of the sun awakens that which has been sleeping the days grow longer giving more time for growth. As the world around us grows so do we, if we have been poor shepherds of the land at this time of year it will not bear enough fruits to see us through the winter later in the year. This is the core of our relationship with one another and the land. It is something we forget at our peril; but nonetheless many seem to have forgotten it in these modern times.
This time it was The Boy who got up to look out the window. While the weather had not worsened it was getting darker as the day was drawing to an end. The Boy looked slightly worried but was trying hard not to show it. After a minute of staring out in to the snow he turned and sat back in his chair by the fire.
In Summer we have the Summer Solstice. The longest day of the year, the day on which the sun has the most influence upon the land. After this the days begin to shorten; but for now we celebrate the sun in all its glory and we celebrate Balder The Shining One. It is a time when we celebrate the promise of the future; when we come together to make binding oaths that will strengthen our Folk in the times yet to come. Balder’s death brought the first great winter, but here we celebrate the promise of his return and the reforging and rebirth of Northern Folkdom. We celebrate the bright future to come when we have completed our labours.
In the Autumn we have the Autumnal Equinox, the second day of the year when the day and night are of equal length. This is a crucial and pivotal time of year. The sun begins to lose its power over the land. Life rushes to maturity to gather strength for the coming winter, the fruits of the land ripen for harvest. To symbolise the sacrifice the land makes in giving up its bounty to us there were many varied rites and festivals. At some a Corn-Baby made from the previous year’s harvest would be buried in the corn field, returned to Mother Earth to thank her for her bounty and to lessen the pain of the coming harvest. As summer dies our thoughts again turn to The Shining One – Balder, and we honour him and the sacrifice he made. In some areas it may be that this was the time of year for formally dissolving oaths and contracts, so as to do so without bringing shame to your people.
Between the Autumnal Equinox and the Winter Solstice we have, perhaps what was for many early Folk the most important of festivals. It was a time to remember our ancestors, those who had gone before us a shown us the way; those who had died in conflict, especially conflict to protect the Folk and preserve our ways. But not only do we honour the warrior; for the warrior is in many ways a meaningless concept unless he has something to love, to defend and to fight for; his wife, his children, his home, his Folk, his Faith and his way of life. All of these things are also honoured, for without them not only does the warrior have nothing to fight for but he would have never even existed.
In Winter we have Yule, this marks the ending of one year and the beginning of the next. It marks the shortest day of the year after which the days go from getting shorter to getting longer. It is symbolic of rebirth and through that association it is a sacred time for all mothers. Originally this festival spanned many days, at a time of year when little could be done in our ancestors’ time it was appropriate to have such a festival. It was a time for families and Folk to come together and exchange gifts as tokens of good faith with one another. We used to burn a Yule Log, a huge log that would last for days in the fire pits in our great halls. Nobles and common men would mix as equals; indeed many cultures saw this time of year as a time when normal social barriers were weakened; perhaps because at the harshest time of year everybody was dependent on the aid of everyone else as they all worked, and celebrated, together.
The Old Man again went to the window. He needed a few moments to still his mind. As always talk of the Old Ways had brought peace to his mind and to his heart. But he needed to temper that peace, to lock it away and hide it and not allow it to soften his heart as he told the last tale of The Great Theft.
Outside the storm has abated a bit, the snow was falling less heavily and the wind had dropped. The sun was almost hidden behind the trees and the light now had an almost unearthly splendour to it; the setting sun was bright and orange, barely visible between the clouds on the horizon and the nearby forest; what light there was reflected off a million snow flakes and the air itself seemed to glow. This was the calm before the storm, he hoped with all his heart that his family were close to home now, when the storm broke it would be dangerous to be caught out and exposed to it. From the mountains he heard a rumble of thunder, a deep grumble of anger, the storm was waking.
Before returning to his chair The Old Man lit a small oil lamp and stood it in the window; its light would guide his family home as the sun lost its battle with the night. The Boy was looking nervously at the weather outside, huddled in his chair as though the warmth from the fire would save him from the pent up anger waiting to be released outside. The Old Man knew deep down in his soul that it would not.
So, now you know of our five main festivals; four to mark the turning of the wheel of time, the passing of the seasons and the natural cycle of life and death, one to honour our ancestors and thank them for their sacrifices and wisdom. Almost all cultures had such festivals in the time before the Usurper God and his Slave-Priests.
There were hard times back then, and life was no easy journey; but individual integrity, community strength and an understanding of our relationship with the Earth and with the Gods saw people through more often than not. But the Slave-Priests, The Deceivers, were cunning, they were dishonest and over time they took these most special of days from us.
As I told earlier they slowly introduced rites of the Usurper God in to out rites, and then they slowly did away with our rites and we were left with nothing but the lies of the Slave-Priest and the rites to the Usurper God.
The Old Man could feel himself filling with anger, and a little shame as he told the final part of The Great Theft. The anger had an obvious source, but the shame was more complicated. Why should he feel shame at the actions of others? He had never felt shame when retelling the tale before. But did he not share in that shame to some degree? The blood of some of those who many years ago had turned away from the Old Ways was the same blood that ran through his veins. Must he not shoulder some of the burden of shame and guilt as well as the glory and integrity of those who stayed true? He felt the anger grow stronger at his frustration to understand this new feeling.
***
Outside the wind started to pick up, the snow fall gathered pace and almost as if from nowhere a blizzard struck. The strong winds almost hid the sound of thunder, and of something else; something more primal than thunder, something that called to every fibre in The Old man, it gave him a message he had always known would come; he hoped he had time to finish the tale, he hoped his family would find their way home.
***
The Deceivers made their strongest attack on our ways at the places and times that would cause the most pain, the most damage, the most disruption. They stole from us the Yule Festival, they claimed the son of the Usurper God – the Dying Carpenter – was born on our holy day. They stripped away the association between birth and mother to prevent us remembering that this is a festival to Mother Earth. In the modern age they added Father Christmas / Santa Claus, even this is likely based on Odin. They commercialised it in to a frenzy of spending and guilt; when the monetary cost of what we give as presents is far more important than their value. They stole from us a spiritual connection with Mother Earth, they stole a celebration of the turning of the years and the seasons; and this is indeed a part of The Great Theft.
The Old Man’s voice shook with anger, his hands trembled with rage and outside the storm grew in intensity. The Boy looked at the window with alarm; the wind howled through the roof and down the chimney bringing with it a scent of cold, of anger and of dread.
They stole from us the festival of Ostara-Summers-Dawn, claiming that at this time the Dying Carpenter rose from the dead to save the world; as if he was the only God ever to rise from the dead. They turned another time for veneration of the sacred cycle of life in to a travesty of itself. The modern age commercialised it, as it does with anything of true value, and sold our children bad health in the guise of treats. They stole from us a sacred time of fertility and purification and this was indeed a part of The Great Theft.
They tried to steal the Summer Solstice, but for almost all Folk the world over this was a major festival. It was hard for them to get their claws in to this time, none of their own lore, their own ways, held much of significance for this time of year. And so at the time when our ancestors would make binding oath to one another The Deceivers sought to make us remember those who had betrayed the Old Ways. They made June 22nd the day after the Summer Solstice the holy-day of St. Alban, the saint of converts, to remind us that the theft of our Folk Way would not have been possible if it were not for those who turned away from our Gods and knelt as slaves before the Usurper God. In this they stole a part of our pride, a part of our joy in our ancestry and this was a part of The Great Theft.
The Autumnal Equinox was often associated with festivals of the coming or completed harvest. The Deceivers tried to steal this from us too, and in some way they succeeded and in other ways they failed. They succeeded in having most harvest festivals become associated with the Usurper God, the rites carried out by his Slave-Priests; but even where they did this so much of it was just a continuation of the Old Ways and in this they left a foothold for the Old Ways to be remembered; but over time even that this was part of the Old Ways was forgotten by many people. Complacency stole our vigilance, time stole our memories and although this can not all be blamed on The Deceivers this too is a part of The Great Theft.
They stole our sacred places, they stole and corrupted our sacred rites, they stole our holy days, our pride, our honesty, they stole our money through taxation and gave it to other Deceivers to wreak more damage and destruction on the Old Ways; they stole so much, but for one thing they stole along with all these others we should thank them – our naivety.
Never again will we be naïve enough to believe that to allow even the smallest of compromises with Deceivers is acceptable. Each small compromise, each small concession was like a snow flake, individually they were almost imperceptible and so was their effect on our Folk Way; but together they were like an avalanche that swept our Folk Way before it and buried it beneath a mountain of deception and lies. The Deceivers of Usurper God had almost won; one more theft would complete The Great Theft.
***
As if the talk of snow and avalanche had been a catalyst the storm outside found another level of fury, a fury matched in The Old Man’s heart and soul. It was as if each snowflake was an ancestor, demanding redress for the crimes and betrayals that had gone before. The wind howled as if it were a great wolf signalling the pack to come to feast. Yet it carried other messages too, the thunder was deafening but even it did not hide the voice of his wife, it did not hide the call of his brothers. He knew he did not have long to complete the tale; he knew that he must complete the tale even if it meant he would not have time to go and search for his family out in the storm. He hoped the strength they had would be enough.
***
The last thing they tried to steal from us was our rite to remember the ancestors. The Deceivers knew full well that if they could break our link to the past, if they could sever the spiritual link to our ancestors then the Folk Memory would fade, we would lose the Old Ways forever – the Usurper God would have won. The horrible thing that we must all remember is that they came so very close to achieving this. For many generations the Old Ways were not even a distant memory for many of our Folk. They took part in rituals and festivals steeped in the Old Ways but that had been so well disguised as rituals to the Usurper God by the Slave-Priests that almost no-one knew their original meaning anymore.
They stole our connection to the past, and in doing so for many they also stole the desire for a simpler, but better life. They stole our understanding that a life lived in harmony with the natural cycles of not only the land, but also each other and the universe is a life we can be proud to pass to our children.
They stole our Folk Identity that had been handed down generation to generation, and this was indeed The Greatest Theft Of All.
The Old Man was truly angry now, not at The Boy but at The Deceivers; they had forced him to tell the story to The Boy and it might be to soon for him; the path they had set the world on many generations ago was coming to its end. The Time Of Troubles was upon him he, must finish the tale. His urgency gave fuel to his anger and his eyes reflected the light of the fire as if they were burning embers. He could see The Boy was worried, not only about his anger but also about his family, outside in the storm; a storm that seemed to grow angrier and angrier with each passing minute.
The Old Man forced himself to calm down, to let the anger flow over him; he must not scare The Boy or the tale might be lost and it was clear now it would be needed soon. The storm was here, now.
He reached for The Boy’s hand and held it between his own. He let the some of the energy within him flow to The Boy. The Boy relaxed as if that energy was an old friend shielding him, and it was. The Old Man continued.
In far flung corners of the world a few descendants of the ancestors may have kept a few of the Old Ways alive, or they may have begun to look for that deeper meaning that so many of us know is there but we can never quite reach. The web of lies spun by The Deceivers in service to the Usurper God has many strands. Many illusions must be shattered before you can step out from under the shadow of lies and see the world as our ancestors did; a world of majesty, beauty and wisdom, a world not to be taken for granted and not to be squandered. You must remember the Old Ways, not because they are a way back to a long forgotten past but because they are the way forward to a brighter, better future; a future where the Northern Folk can again live in harmony with Mother Earth, free from the lies of The Deceivers and the Slave-Priests of the Usurper God. You must carve for yourselves a future where new inventions serve you, not you them. Where a life lived in harmony with Mother Earth does not mean a life of poverty, but a life of bounty.
Only you can do this, we who have come before failed. The Great Theft robbed us of the Folk Wisdom we needed, and we did not recover it until too late. I tell you this tale and you must remember, for in the time after the troubles all must know it, only then will you be able to be free of the The Deceivers.
A gust of wind blew open the door to the room. It carried with it snow and a fell sound upon the wind. A sound The Old Man now recognised for what it was, he had always known what it was; a sound he had hoped not to hear yet, never to hear; but the tale had been told and his fate had been set many generations ago.
He could hear relieved voices in the hallway, his family had found their way home; the huffing and puffing of those worn out by exposure to the storm. But they had survived, they were strong enough. The Old Man went to the hallway and looked at his family, he saw they were all there shedding the winter clothes that had kept them safe in the storm. He looked back in to the room, The Boy was sat in the chair by the fire clearly worried at what might have come through the door, or what might not have come through the door, he stared at The Old Man waiting for a sign.
The Old Man smiled and nodded, and The Boy ran in to the hall to greet his family. He hugged his mother and father, his brothers and sister and aunts, uncles and cousins. They held him close as if it were he who had faced the storm; as if by instinct they knew he was different now, he had been changed in some way. They looked to The Old Man to explain.
The wind howled and the storm raged and in the time it takes to share a glance The Family knew The Old Man must go, he must leave them and go to his fate.
Again The Old man heard the sound, it called to every fibre of his being, every mote of his soul like nothing else could and in his heart he was happy and sad. Happy that he would soon fulfil his destiny; sad that his Family must now do without him, that he would not see The Boy fulfil a destiny that had been set for him. But he had completed his duty, the tale had been told, they were safe now from The Great Theft. He smiled and said “Listen to The Boy, he knows a great tale and it will protect you in the years to come; remember it and avoid our mistakes.”
He turned and went to the fireplace, reached above the fire and took down a weapon, his hammer, Mjollnir. The wind and thunder could no longer hide the sound of The Gjallarhorn; his bother called for his aid and he must answer that call. It was time to pay the final price of The Great Theft
By Wayne W AOR
The Great Theft – Part 2
07:43 Mar 12 2014
Times Read: 407
The sky outside the window hard darkened, and the snow was falling quickly now. The Old Man stood again and looked out the window. He could see no sign of his family, and the tree line just a few hundred feet away was barely visible through the falling snow. Far off he thought he heard the sound of thunder. Thunder! With snow that could only mean they were if for a rough few hours of weather. He hoped his family had turned for home. Daylight was fading and the weather was definitely turning. It was almost as if the weather reflected the anger he felt inside. It had been a long time since he had told the tale of the Great Theft, and it always made him angry to do so. He shook his head to clear such thoughts from his mind and returned to the chair. The Boy was adding a few more logs to the fire.
Each day is sacred for us, each day we do what we do and although we would never use such a word to describe such things our work becomes a kind of prayer. By doing our daily tasks well and with good intent they reaffirm our connection to each other and to the Gods. For our ancestors it was the same, but lived more immediately; if they failed at their daily tasks it could mean death. Not enough food would see people starve through winter, poorly build homes would see people exposed to the harshest of elements. Badly built boats could be the death of many. This immediacy is not so strong in the modern world; but it could quickly become so again.
But even we had days of extra special importance; days when we made extra special effort to affirm our relationship with the Gods and with Nature. Now some of these days changed depending on where you were, different Folk celebrate different days as important depending on local circumstances. A Folk living by the sea may have a special day to celebrate the return of the fish; a Folk in the Northern woodlands may celebrate the ripening of a certain berry. But the intent was the same, to thank Nature and the Gods for a fruitful harvest and to reaffirm the intrinsic connection between man and the land.
In Spring, at the time of the Spring Equinox, we celebrated the rite of Ostara-Summers-Dawn. It is a time of purification, of the rebirth of nature and it is a time sacred to the Goddess Frejya. As the warmth of the sun awakens that which has been sleeping the days grow longer giving more time for growth. As the world around us grows so do we, if we have been poor shepherds of the land at this time of year it will not bear enough fruits to see us through the winter later in the year. This is the core of our relationship with one another and the land. It is something we forget at our peril; but nonetheless many seem to have forgotten it in these modern times.
This time it was The Boy who got up to look out the window. While the weather had not worsened it was getting darker as the day was drawing to an end. The Boy looked slightly worried but was trying hard not to show it. After a minute of staring out in to the snow he turned and sat back in his chair by the fire.
In Summer we have the Summer Solstice. The longest day of the year, the day on which the sun has the most influence upon the land. After this the days begin to shorten; but for now we celebrate the sun in all its glory and we celebrate Balder The Shining One. It is a time when we celebrate the promise of the future; when we come together to make binding oaths that will strengthen our Folk in the times yet to come. Balder’s death brought the first great winter, but here we celebrate the promise of his return and the reforging and rebirth of Northern Folkdom. We celebrate the bright future to come when we have completed our labours.
In the Autumn we have the Autumnal Equinox, the second day of the year when the day and night are of equal length. This is a crucial and pivotal time of year. The sun begins to lose its power over the land. Life rushes to maturity to gather strength for the coming winter, the fruits of the land ripen for harvest. To symbolise the sacrifice the land makes in giving up its bounty to us there were many varied rites and festivals. At some a Corn-Baby made from the previous year’s harvest would be buried in the corn field, returned to Mother Earth to thank her for her bounty and to lessen the pain of the coming harvest. As summer dies our thoughts again turn to The Shining One – Balder, and we honour him and the sacrifice he made. In some areas it may be that this was the time of year for formally dissolving oaths and contracts, so as to do so without bringing shame to your people.
Between the Autumnal Equinox and the Winter Solstice we have, perhaps what was for many early Folk the most important of festivals. It was a time to remember our ancestors, those who had gone before us a shown us the way; those who had died in conflict, especially conflict to protect the Folk and preserve our ways. But not only do we honour the warrior; for the warrior is in many ways a meaningless concept unless he has something to love, to defend and to fight for; his wife, his children, his home, his Folk, his Faith and his way of life. All of these things are also honoured, for without them not only does the warrior have nothing to fight for but he would have never even existed.
In Winter we have Yule, this marks the ending of one year and the beginning of the next. It marks the shortest day of the year after which the days go from getting shorter to getting longer. It is symbolic of rebirth and through that association it is a sacred time for all mothers. Originally this festival spanned many days, at a time of year when little could be done in our ancestors’ time it was appropriate to have such a festival. It was a time for families and Folk to come together and exchange gifts as tokens of good faith with one another. We used to burn a Yule Log, a huge log that would last for days in the fire pits in our great halls. Nobles and common men would mix as equals; indeed many cultures saw this time of year as a time when normal social barriers were weakened; perhaps because at the harshest time of year everybody was dependent on the aid of everyone else as they all worked, and celebrated, together.
The Old Man again went to the window. He needed a few moments to still his mind. As always talk of the Old Ways had brought peace to his mind and to his heart. But he needed to temper that peace, to lock it away and hide it and not allow it to soften his heart as he told the last tale of The Great Theft.
Outside the storm has abated a bit, the snow was falling less heavily and the wind had dropped. The sun was almost hidden behind the trees and the light now had an almost unearthly splendour to it; the setting sun was bright and orange, barely visible between the clouds on the horizon and the nearby forest; what light there was reflected off a million snow flakes and the air itself seemed to glow. This was the calm before the storm, he hoped with all his heart that his family were close to home now, when the storm broke it would be dangerous to be caught out and exposed to it. From the mountains he heard a rumble of thunder, a deep grumble of anger, the storm was waking.
Before returning to his chair The Old Man lit a small oil lamp and stood it in the window; its light would guide his family home as the sun lost its battle with the night. The Boy was looking nervously at the weather outside, huddled in his chair as though the warmth from the fire would save him from the pent up anger waiting to be released outside. The Old Man knew deep down in his soul that it would not.
So, now you know of our five main festivals; four to mark the turning of the wheel of time, the passing of the seasons and the natural cycle of life and death, one to honour our ancestors and thank them for their sacrifices and wisdom. Almost all cultures had such festivals in the time before the Usurper God and his Slave-Priests.
There were hard times back then, and life was no easy journey; but individual integrity, community strength and an understanding of our relationship with the Earth and with the Gods saw people through more often than not. But the Slave-Priests, The Deceivers, were cunning, they were dishonest and over time they took these most special of days from us.
As I told earlier they slowly introduced rites of the Usurper God in to out rites, and then they slowly did away with our rites and we were left with nothing but the lies of the Slave-Priest and the rites to the Usurper God.
The Old Man could feel himself filling with anger, and a little shame as he told the final part of The Great Theft. The anger had an obvious source, but the shame was more complicated. Why should he feel shame at the actions of others? He had never felt shame when retelling the tale before. But did he not share in that shame to some degree? The blood of some of those who many years ago had turned away from the Old Ways was the same blood that ran through his veins. Must he not shoulder some of the burden of shame and guilt as well as the glory and integrity of those who stayed true? He felt the anger grow stronger at his frustration to understand this new feeling.
***
Outside the wind started to pick up, the snow fall gathered pace and almost as if from nowhere a blizzard struck. The strong winds almost hid the sound of thunder, and of something else; something more primal than thunder, something that called to every fibre in The Old man, it gave him a message he had always known would come; he hoped he had time to finish the tale, he hoped his family would find their way home.
***
The Deceivers made their strongest attack on our ways at the places and times that would cause the most pain, the most damage, the most disruption. They stole from us the Yule Festival, they claimed the son of the Usurper God – the Dying Carpenter – was born on our holy day. They stripped away the association between birth and mother to prevent us remembering that this is a festival to Mother Earth. In the modern age they added Father Christmas / Santa Claus, even this is likely based on Odin. They commercialised it in to a frenzy of spending and guilt; when the monetary cost of what we give as presents is far more important than their value. They stole from us a spiritual connection with Mother Earth, they stole a celebration of the turning of the years and the seasons; and this is indeed a part of The Great Theft.
The Old Man’s voice shook with anger, his hands trembled with rage and outside the storm grew in intensity. The Boy looked at the window with alarm; the wind howled through the roof and down the chimney bringing with it a scent of cold, of anger and of dread.
They stole from us the festival of Ostara-Summers-Dawn, claiming that at this time the Dying Carpenter rose from the dead to save the world; as if he was the only God ever to rise from the dead. They turned another time for veneration of the sacred cycle of life in to a travesty of itself. The modern age commercialised it, as it does with anything of true value, and sold our children bad health in the guise of treats. They stole from us a sacred time of fertility and purification and this was indeed a part of The Great Theft.
They tried to steal the Summer Solstice, but for almost all Folk the world over this was a major festival. It was hard for them to get their claws in to this time, none of their own lore, their own ways, held much of significance for this time of year. And so at the time when our ancestors would make binding oath to one another The Deceivers sought to make us remember those who had betrayed the Old Ways. They made June 22nd the day after the Summer Solstice the holy-day of St. Alban, the saint of converts, to remind us that the theft of our Folk Way would not have been possible if it were not for those who turned away from our Gods and knelt as slaves before the Usurper God. In this they stole a part of our pride, a part of our joy in our ancestry and this was a part of The Great Theft.
The Autumnal Equinox was often associated with festivals of the coming or completed harvest. The Deceivers tried to steal this from us too, and in some way they succeeded and in other ways they failed. They succeeded in having most harvest festivals become associated with the Usurper God, the rites carried out by his Slave-Priests; but even where they did this so much of it was just a continuation of the Old Ways and in this they left a foothold for the Old Ways to be remembered; but over time even that this was part of the Old Ways was forgotten by many people. Complacency stole our vigilance, time stole our memories and although this can not all be blamed on The Deceivers this too is a part of The Great Theft.
They stole our sacred places, they stole and corrupted our sacred rites, they stole our holy days, our pride, our honesty, they stole our money through taxation and gave it to other Deceivers to wreak more damage and destruction on the Old Ways; they stole so much, but for one thing they stole along with all these others we should thank them – our naivety.
Never again will we be naïve enough to believe that to allow even the smallest of compromises with Deceivers is acceptable. Each small compromise, each small concession was like a snow flake, individually they were almost imperceptible and so was their effect on our Folk Way; but together they were like an avalanche that swept our Folk Way before it and buried it beneath a mountain of deception and lies. The Deceivers of Usurper God had almost won; one more theft would complete The Great Theft.
***
As if the talk of snow and avalanche had been a catalyst the storm outside found another level of fury, a fury matched in The Old Man’s heart and soul. It was as if each snowflake was an ancestor, demanding redress for the crimes and betrayals that had gone before. The wind howled as if it were a great wolf signalling the pack to come to feast. Yet it carried other messages too, the thunder was deafening but even it did not hide the voice of his wife, it did not hide the call of his brothers. He knew he did not have long to complete the tale; he knew that he must complete the tale even if it meant he would not have time to go and search for his family out in the storm. He hoped the strength they had would be enough.
***
The last thing they tried to steal from us was our rite to remember the ancestors. The Deceivers knew full well that if they could break our link to the past, if they could sever the spiritual link to our ancestors then the Folk Memory would fade, we would lose the Old Ways forever – the Usurper God would have won. The horrible thing that we must all remember is that they came so very close to achieving this. For many generations the Old Ways were not even a distant memory for many of our Folk. They took part in rituals and festivals steeped in the Old Ways but that had been so well disguised as rituals to the Usurper God by the Slave-Priests that almost no-one knew their original meaning anymore.
They stole our connection to the past, and in doing so for many they also stole the desire for a simpler, but better life. They stole our understanding that a life lived in harmony with the natural cycles of not only the land, but also each other and the universe is a life we can be proud to pass to our children.
They stole our Folk Identity that had been handed down generation to generation, and this was indeed The Greatest Theft Of All.
The Old Man was truly angry now, not at The Boy but at The Deceivers; they had forced him to tell the story to The Boy and it might be to soon for him; the path they had set the world on many generations ago was coming to its end. The Time Of Troubles was upon him he, must finish the tale. His urgency gave fuel to his anger and his eyes reflected the light of the fire as if they were burning embers. He could see The Boy was worried, not only about his anger but also about his family, outside in the storm; a storm that seemed to grow angrier and angrier with each passing minute.
The Old Man forced himself to calm down, to let the anger flow over him; he must not scare The Boy or the tale might be lost and it was clear now it would be needed soon. The storm was here, now.
He reached for The Boy’s hand and held it between his own. He let the some of the energy within him flow to The Boy. The Boy relaxed as if that energy was an old friend shielding him, and it was. The Old Man continued.
In far flung corners of the world a few descendants of the ancestors may have kept a few of the Old Ways alive, or they may have begun to look for that deeper meaning that so many of us know is there but we can never quite reach. The web of lies spun by The Deceivers in service to the Usurper God has many strands. Many illusions must be shattered before you can step out from under the shadow of lies and see the world as our ancestors did; a world of majesty, beauty and wisdom, a world not to be taken for granted and not to be squandered. You must remember the Old Ways, not because they are a way back to a long forgotten past but because they are the way forward to a brighter, better future; a future where the Northern Folk can again live in harmony with Mother Earth, free from the lies of The Deceivers and the Slave-Priests of the Usurper God. You must carve for yourselves a future where new inventions serve you, not you them. Where a life lived in harmony with Mother Earth does not mean a life of poverty, but a life of bounty.
Only you can do this, we who have come before failed. The Great Theft robbed us of the Folk Wisdom we needed, and we did not recover it until too late. I tell you this tale and you must remember, for in the time after the troubles all must know it, only then will you be able to be free of the The Deceivers.
A gust of wind blew open the door to the room. It carried with it snow and a fell sound upon the wind. A sound The Old Man now recognised for what it was, he had always known what it was; a sound he had hoped not to hear yet, never to hear; but the tale had been told and his fate had been set many generations ago.
He could hear relieved voices in the hallway, his family had found their way home; the huffing and puffing of those worn out by exposure to the storm. But they had survived, they were strong enough. The Old Man went to the hallway and looked at his family, he saw they were all there shedding the winter clothes that had kept them safe in the storm. He looked back in to the room, The Boy was sat in the chair by the fire clearly worried at what might have come through the door, or what might not have come through the door, he stared at The Old Man waiting for a sign.
The Old Man smiled and nodded, and The Boy ran in to the hall to greet his family. He hugged his mother and father, his brothers and sister and aunts, uncles and cousins. They held him close as if it were he who had faced the storm; as if by instinct they knew he was different now, he had been changed in some way. They looked to The Old Man to explain.
The wind howled and the storm raged and in the time it takes to share a glance The Family knew The Old Man must go, he must leave them and go to his fate.
Again The Old man heard the sound, it called to every fibre of his being, every mote of his soul like nothing else could and in his heart he was happy and sad. Happy that he would soon fulfil his destiny; sad that his Family must now do without him, that he would not see The Boy fulfil a destiny that had been set for him. But he had completed his duty, the tale had been told, they were safe now from The Great Theft. He smiled and said “Listen to The Boy, he knows a great tale and it will protect you in the years to come; remember it and avoid our mistakes.”
He turned and went to the fireplace, reached above the fire and took down a weapon, his hammer, Mjollnir. The wind and thunder could no longer hide the sound of The Gjallarhorn; his bother called for his aid and he must answer that call. It was time to pay the final price of The Great Theft.
By Wayne W AOR
The Great Theft – Part 1
07:40 Mar 12 2014
Times Read: 409
The Old Man sat by the fire, the warmth easing the pains of aching bones. In the other room the voices were hushed, trying not to disturb him. He was old and deep down he knew his time was near, a year or so was perhaps all he had left. It was not something he feared, or dreaded; he had lived a good life, lived to see his children grow true and strong, lived to see them have fine children of their own. In many ways he was content with life, and death. Death was an inevitable and necessary part of the life cycle, and his death would, as foretold many years ago, fulfil a purpose. Death would bring reunion with his brothers-in-arms who had passed before him; he would see again old comrades and talk of times long gone. Most important of all he would be reunited with his wife, who had passed some years ago and left a hole in his heart, and his life, so big that at times it threatened to swallow him as well. He missed her smile, her touch, her smell; but most of all he missed her laugh.
Laughter from the other room roused him from his musings, lost in thought he had almost slipped quietly in to sleep. Not the way a good host should act but age had its advantages as well as its flaws and he had been commanded to go and rest while his family set to clearing away the table from the feast they had just enjoyed. He could hear the young ones playing with the gifts they had received, and the quiet rattle of pots and plates as the adults cleared away. It had been a year since he had had such a gathering of his family in his house. It was a shame that it only happened at this time of year now. But the modern world kept his family busy, sometimes too busy to make time for one another.
It was not that he felt lonely, he had a lifetime of memories to keep him company, and he was never truly alone. He just wished his family would stay in touch with one another more often. And not the kind of “in touch” that comes from an e-mail or a text message. Family was going to be important in the times ahead. He was old enough and had seen enough to know that troubled times were coming. The modern age had brought many marvels, but so much wisdom had been lost in the quest for this new knowledge that he feared that the simple truths that a folk need to see them through troubled times may well be lost before they realised they needed them. Still, he well knew the benefits of some of those modern inventions, living out here 20 miles from the nearest town the telephone was a life line in times of need. If only he could convince his family that in the cities of modernity and miracles they would find only sickness and despair and convince them to move back out to the country he would be more content. To partake of the benefits of modern life there is all too often a heavy price to pay.
If only he could make them see that it is possible to adopt the useful aspects of a modern life, and stay in touch with Nature and not compromise on what you hold dear then perhaps he could give them a head start in the troubled times to come. They had to understand that sometimes the only way to make progress is to take a few steps backwards and realign you direction of travel. The straight easy path is almost never the one that takes you where you want to go.
He had great faith in his children, they were strong for one another when they needed to be; but the wider family had in many ways become lost. Too few were left who could stand beneath the starry sky and see timeless wonder and wisdom there. Too few were those who honoured their forefathers and the sacrifices they had made. Too few who would stand shoulder to shoulder with their kinfolk in times of need. Too few who understood that a simple life lived well will meet all your needs if you are prepared to put the time and effort in. Too many who wanted it all as soon as possible for as little effort as possible. Too many who would go running to the land of gold and poison that beckons to us all. Too many who followed the ways of other men who held nothing but scorn and hatred for his family, their beliefs and their customs. Even among his grand children this malaise was starting to take hold; X-Factor this, Twitter that, Facebook the other; a life lived vicariously through the public humiliations of others. Not the way a proud people should be, not the way a people of honour should act.
Only The Boy seemed totally immune to this malaise. Perhaps it was his youth, still gifted with the wide-eyed wonder of The New. For him the woods and hills were still an adventure, a place in which to learn and grow. The world held no fear for The Boy, it was not bravery in the common sense, but the bravery of the inquisitive mind – the mind that seeks to understand rather than to explain. He supped from his cup contemplating telling The Boy of The Great Theft. But could one so young carry such a great burden? He had shouldered that burden all his life, his wife had shared the load at times, as had many brothers and sisters-in-arms; but they were gone now, they had taken their places in the feast halls, and even though he could still see their faces, hear their laughter and knew their counsel, he was alone. The story of The Great Theft must be passed on, it would be needed in the times ahead, and those who came after the troubles would need to know so that they could avoid the same mistakes again.
A creaking door alerted him to another presence. The Boy was peeking through the barely open door. This room was almost a sanctum, very few people spent time here any more. The Boy looked around in wonder, as all children do in such places. The walls were adorned with pictures and photos and a few weapons, both modern and ancient. But it was always the hunting trophies that most fascinated the young ones; the deer heads of his youth. Never once had he hunted purely for the sport of it, such was not his way. Always the meat had been used, and the skin and only rarely would he take the head to make a trophy. Only when the hunt had been special, when he had felt that bond between hunter and hunted that stretched back through time to the beginning. Always he had thanked the prey, praised its nobility, stamina and grace. He had kept the old ways alive as if they were a part of him, and indeed they were.
He feigned sleep to watch The Boy; a chance to watch him in this room of symbolism and lore, to see if he was ready yet for the tale of The Great Theft. The only light came from the open fire and cast constantly shifting shadows over the walls. The room was filled with an odd scent, a scent of wisdom, of knowledge and of age. The books on the shelves of the small library at one end of the room had over the years taken on their own smell, of paper and leather bindings and time. The smoke from the fire added a heavy scent of pine, and in respect of the time of year ash. The floor was oak boards and they added to the scent in the room. Here and there the odd rug helped soften the feel of the room. A reindeer skin rug sat between the two chairs in front of the fire and gave off a warm leather and fur smell that added another layer of sensory mysticism to the room. This was not by accident. The room was a memory hall, a place he came to when he felt the call of the old ways, of another world lost in time. He came here to be amongst the spirits of his friends and family. In many ways the whole room was an altar to a life and a way of life coming to an end.
The Boy was cautious, always a good sign, he walked slowly in to the room taking care to avoid bumping in to anything in the darkness. The Boy’s nose wrinkled as it struggled to take in the new smells, the new taste of the room. Almost instantly it relaxed again as it processed the smells and found nothing alarming. He looked around in wonder as the shadows danced across a lifetime of memories adorning the walls. Photographs of people he had never known, places he had never been. The Old Man watched as The Boy’s eyes roamed, darting here and there to take in The New. Like an animal entering a clearing in the woods The Boy was on edge, taking in as much information as possible. The Old Man was pleased. For a few seconds The Boy’s eyes fixed on the weapons hanging over the fireplace, he suppressed the urge to get close, only because that would bring him closer to The Old Man, and he did not wish to disturb him.
The Boy saw the trophies and cautiously tip-toed over to get a closer look. The Boy stood before the trophies, looking up, taking in every detail and then, much to The Old Mans surprise, The Boy nodded his head in respect and held it for a few seconds then turned away and slowly left the room. The room was quiet again, The Old Man drifted off to sleep. Sleep troubled by dreams he did not understand.
Faces dimly recognised swarmed around him telling him something, something important but which he could not hear. He heard a voice, his wife perhaps, calling to him, beckoning him to join her; and he so badly wanted to go and be with her again. Then a deep voice, as if of thunder, told him a necessary but hurtful truth – that he could not go to be with his wife yet, he still had work to do; it was the voice of his Tru-Self. No longer was his sleep troubled, he knew, as he had always known, that he must do what he must do, it was how the world was. It was his duty to pass on the tale of The Great Theft, it was his duty to make sure the next generation knew the mistakes of the past. He would do his duty; the spirits of his ancestors demanded it, the spirits of his children not yet born yearned for it, and his honour would accept nothing less.
A gentle hand on his shoulder roused him. He looked up to see his eldest daughter, she was dressed for outside. They were going for a walk, to walk off dinner, but The Boy did not want to go, he wanted to stay; his daughter asked if that was alright. He nodded. She smiled and bent to kiss his forehead and thanked him.
The Boy came in and started looking around more confidently. He went over to the bookshelf and took down a book, moved to the fire and sat in the chair opposite The Old Man. By the flickering light of the open fire he stared looking through the book. The Old Man saw it was an early version of Norse Stories Retold from the Eddas by Hamilton Wright Mabie, he remembered reading from that to his children when they were young. From it they had learned the stories of old, the tales of The Gods and Goddesses, of Heimdall and Odin and Balder, of Idun and Nanna and Frigg and many more besides. It was a good book for The Boy to read.
Time seemed to stretch and before too long The Boy had finished the book, he stood and placed it back on the shelf and returned to the chair. The Old Man decided the time was right, it was now or never, and it could not be never. The fire crackled as smouldering wood crumbled to ash and the room dimmed for moment, The Old Man reached for a couple of logs and added them to the fire, they flickered and sputtered as they caught light and the room brightened and was filled with the smell of fresh burning ash wood.
He sat forward slightly and began. The Boy sat forward also as if he knew the words being spoken were for him and him alone. And in the flickering light at the dying of the year The Old Man told The Boy the tale of The Great Theft.
* * * *
We had encountered them before, The Deceivers, we had met them on our travels to the Southlands we had seen them in the Old City Of Seven Hills, and beyond. They had told lies to us of the Northlands. They told us our Gods were false, they called them Demons and told how their God would destroy them. Already they held sway over much of the Southlands, but even that was not their home; they came from far away in the desert lands. Their lies spread quickly and even though the Old City Of Seven Hills had once had shrines to many Gods they were soon turned to Churches to the Usurper God; but even then in quiet places and away from the towns the Old Ways remained, the Folk of many different tribes still gave Honour to their own Gods and Goddesses.
This angered the Slave-Priests of the Usurper God and he sent them to convert the Folk to his worship. Wars were fought, many died and still the Old Ways were honoured, the Sacred Trust between Folk and Gods remained. We still gave thanks to the fallen prey in the hunt, we gave them the Rite Of The Last Meal to see them on their journey; we buried the Corn Child in the field to placate the Earth Mother for her loss; we marked the Four Quarters of the year with their festivals to celebrate the turning of the year. Our way was not a way of periodic holy days in the way that the Slave-Priests preached, ours was a living way where each day was holy because we shared it with the Gods, we had no need to kneel and pray, our prayers, if such they were, were the tasks we carried out each day to ensure that we would be ready for tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.
So we resisted, and we fought where necessary and many good Folk were lost in battle; but some also were lost to the Usurper God, they turned their backs on the Old Ways, sometimes willingly, but more often they were forced or bribed to do so. Those who went willingly often did so because kneeling to the Usurper God gave them access to wealth, power and political allies in a time of turmoil and struggle such things were highly valued; unfortunately some valued them even higher than honour. Those who went unwillingly usually did so because they were forced to do upon pain of death, or their sacred places had been stolen and defiled by the Slave-Priests and their turncoats. Thirteen hundred years ago the Deceiver Wynfrith went amongst the Folk of Frankia, and there he committed a crime that would see his name forever remembered in infamy. Through deceit and lies and betrayal he managed to come upon Donar’s Oak and with a tainted axe he cut down that ancestral tree. Many memories of the land were lost with that foul deed; trees are the folk memory of the land for those who can see. Then he stole the wood of that great tree and made from it a church to the Usurper God. They stole our most sacred site, and made of it a church to the Usurper God, but this was not The Great Theft, that was to come later.
The ripples of that foul deed were felt wide and far across the Great Web that binds us all together, we felt the pain and anguish of the land and of the Folk who had their most sacred symbol destroyed. The two most direct results of this foul deed were almost opposites of one another. Those who held firm to the Old Ways became more determined to preserve them, and some even swore to take back the lands and sacred places that had been stolen from us. But those whose conviction was not so strong found it easier to turn their backs on the Old Ways and go and kneel like slaves before the Usurper God’s altar. Some saw the felling of the great Oak as a sign that the Usurper God was indeed stronger than our Gods and Goddesses. A small few said it was a necessary turning of the tide that would ultimately bring forth what had been foretold many years ago, but few there were who would take heed of this and believe it. In this they stole our continuity and in some cases our hope; but this was not The Great Theft; that was to come later.
The influence of the Usurper God’s Slave-Priests spread like a sickness. At first few would pay heed to their words. But often it was nobles and lords who did so. They claimed that by making alliances with other lords who had turned to the Usurper God they would be able to keep their people safe from invasion and war. But war and invasion were still everywhere and few there were who could live out their life and see neither of those two unwelcome visitors. The Usurper God took taxes from the lords and noble, who in turn raised those taxes from their people, people who in many cases were still true to the Old Ways. But the wealth accumulated by the Slave Priests allowed them great power. They stole our wealth through taxes; but this was not The Great Theft, that was to come later.
This stolen wealth they used for even greater theft. They bribed once noble and honourable men to betray their Folk, spending gold to buy information or favour that individually might have made little difference but taken together across a whole Folk were devastatingly damaging. They turned brother against brother with lies and gold. They bought the land of our sacred places. They bought the Land! As though Mother Earth was something to buy and parcel up and say this is mine. Land ownership is now seen as a normal thing, but in those days it was an almost alien idea. The Land was held by the Folk for the Folk, and to use the wisdom we learned from another Folk we should all understand that we do not inherit the land from our forefathers, we borrow it from our children. How can we own something as majestic and timeless as Mother Earth. It is not a relationship of ownership and mastery; it is one of co-dependency; Mother Earth provides many things for us and in return we provide protection and, most importantly of all, respect. The Deceivers stole from us our land and where their bribery was successful they stole our honour; but even this is not The Great Theft, that came later.
* * * *
The Old Man paused for a moment, something had changed; there was a coldness in the air that was not there earlier. He stood and went to the window, drew back the curtain to take a look outside. What had been a glorious, crisp bright winter’s day had become overcast, the sky was full of snow and it looked angry enough to release it all at once, but as it was the snow was only just falling. He hoped his family had not gone too far, it would be wise to be heading home, when it was like this the weather could turn quickly. He left the curtain open and returned to his chair, and continued his tale.
* * * *
At first the Slave-Priests allowed us to continue the Old Ways at our sacred sites as long as they were present. They controlled the land upon which the sacred site stood, but they did not control our hearts. But they were The Deceivers, and they knew that a great deception took a long time. It took many years, generations, for them to complete this great deception. At first they only wanted to be present at our ceremonies. Then they insisted that a small prayer must be said to the Usurper God to thank him for letting us use the sacred sites. We had to thank a thief for letting us use the property he had stolen from us! Then they said that only they could carry out the rites; that the Usurper God had said only they could act as priest on “his” sacred land. By now they had built churches on these holy places and our ceremonies were no longer open to the skies and the world around us, and this was a great mistake for it divorced us from the land and from nature at a time when we needed that relationship to be strong. Their buildings trapped the energy of our ceremonies and prevented it from reaching the Gods and Goddesses, but this we did not know until much later. Each generation had to give up a little more of the Old Ways and accept a little more of the ways of the Usurper God. They took our greatest rites and tuned them to the worship of the Usurper God. The Slave-Priests held great councils in the Old City of Seven Hills and long ago set rites of the Usurper God to our most sacred days. How did they do this before they came to our lands? Because before the Usurper God all Folk all over the world had Old Ways similar to ours, they called the Gods and Goddesses by different names but the purpose was the same, to build between Man and Gods a relationship that would allow Man to live in harmony with the natural cycles of the Earth Mother and the universe and in doing so help protect her for future generations. People all over the world understood this at the deepest level, the most sacred of days happened in accordance with the natural cycles of the world and the universe, and even though we may have had different names for those most sacred rites they served a similar purpose and they happened on the same day. The Slave-Priests of the Usurper God had already destroyed the Old Ways of many different Folk by the time they came to the Northlands. They well knew how best to achieve their goals.
By Wayne W AOR
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