“Only when you understand the Gods can you truly connect with them. As in the Poimander, one follows a similar process: when you immerse yourself in the contemplation of beings and let your thoughts soar to the highest realms, the bodily senses enter a state of suspension akin to profound physical fatigue. It is then that they appear before you and ask, ‘What do you wish to see, understand, and learn by thought, and what do you seek to know?’” — Juan Espinoza
These are my brief encounters, which I share with you here.
- Tiw
- Ingvi Frea
- Thunor
- Woden
I: Greetings, Tiw/Tyr
I asked the god Tiw, “Did it truly matter, losing your hand to the jaws of Fenrir so he might be bound, only to be released at Ragnarok?”
He lifted his gaze and replied, “Every drop of blood shed was worth it. It was worth it for every day, month, and year we enjoyed peace until the twilight of the gods.”
Then he looked back at me, “Yes, young one, it was worth it.”
I sat, studying his arm and long beard, and asked, “Why was it worth it?”
He settled beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder, and said, “Why?… What a question!” He laughed heartily.
“Even after Sutur’s fire charred worlds and all Earth’s beings, you must not forget that in the vastness of Ginnung, nothing is ever destroyed, only transformed; thus, all can be reborn. Loki and his kin, including poor Sleipnir, were condemned to Nastrond in Niflheim, where they faded from existence, thanks to Nidhoggr. Heimdallr remained in Hela’s palace to ensure evil remained contained. Between us, I think he relished watching Loki suffer in the dragon’s jaws. The old Hag Heith (Heidy/Angrboda), immune to fire, endures on Earth as a manifestation of evil. Those of us who perished in Ragnarok were bound for another fate. The Ljosalfar and maidens of destiny liberated us from Hel, where Woden, Thunor, Ingvi Frea, and I returned to this world as old men, destined to inhabit the golden hall of Gimle. This is why it was worth it—to know peace reigns once again among the powerful. We knew our beginning, and we knew our end… an end that, in truth, was no end at all.”
He stretched as he rose and added, “The age of humankind began long ago, young one. The sword is now their tool, and their battles are their own. Our honor is not for those who wage war, but for those who live and die with dignity—as farmers, workers, scholars, or warriors, honest and devoted to the welfare of others. Those who die defending the highest ideals are welcomed in Okolnir, where we’ll celebrate their arrival with mead in Brimir’s hall.”
With a shake of his tunic, he faded into the mist, leaving behind his words as a guide. And thus, Tiw departed, revealing his mystery and the way forward.
II: Greetings, Ingvi Frea/Frey
In the heart of the forest, a slender figure emerged through the mist. His green robe billowed softly, antlers resting atop his head, and a fine face with long strands of white hair peered at me.
His penetrating green eyes held mine, and I stepped forward. As I moved, the forest seemed to approach me.
An echo resounded among the trees, as if they were hollow trunks, forming a single word: “Welcome to Hodmimir’s Wood.”
A clearing formed around me, and I marveled at the sky, where birds circled. The grass swayed as an ancient figure with a deep, gentle voice said, “I am Ingvi Frea.”
I heard him, though his lips did not move, as he watched me with eyes that felt like a weight upon me.
In a childlike tone, I asked, “Is this where Lif and Lifthrasir survived Sutur’s flames?”
Ingvi Frea nodded, and I continued, “How did this place, Andlang, and Vidblain survive Sutur’s wrath?”
He answered, “When the world I knew was destroyed, I created these three places, out of the realms, untouched by fire.”
“Why didn’t you withdraw everything to save it?” I persisted.
“Why not nothing?” he asked me.
“Hmm…” I pondered, stroking my chin, then replied, “Because there were things worth saving!”
Ingvi Frea stepped back, his footprints fading into blooming leaves. Turning his cheek to me, a smile played across his face as he spoke in a voice firm and deep:
“If all must be destroyed, let it be; but save what is essential, so the world may be reborn after its end. This included even the gods who perished on Vigrid’s plain.”
“Did the gods need to be destroyed to be reborn?” I asked, bending to pick a violet flower left in Ingvi Frea’s path.
As I lifted the flower, his figure blurred, his face came close to mine, and he took the flower from my hand. It withered and crumbled to dust.
“Even gods had to be destroyed to bring peace. While we cherished battle, so did mortals. When Fimbultyr’s great winter came, brothers turned against each other. Only by rebirth as wise elders did we curb the passions of youth, just as Loki-Utgard tested Thunor before the old giantess, who was old age itself. Maturity, my little boy, is born from change, solitude, need, and the realization that we need one another to rebuild a broken world.”
He placed his hand on my head, and an echo resounded again:
“If you wish to be reborn, you must first destroy all else. But remember to preserve what is good, for it must regenerate what once was. Rebirth with sincerity; cleanse a noble heart and worthy mind.”
The trees drifted back into the mist, covering them entirely. Ingvi Frea had vanished, leaving a lesson on transmutation, applied even by the gods themselves.
III: Greetings, Thunor/Thor
There I was, amidst a crowd with raised fists, shouting, “For the seax! For the seax! Let the sword be our pride in battle! For Wallhall! For Wallhall!”
An elder raised his open hand, bending his wrist three times, signaling silence.
“Thunor, my lord, protector of the Earth, Christians persecute us, and some of our own turn to their cult to save themselves!” one cried.
“The Oak was cut down! The end of our ancestors! We must fight! Guide us!” another implored.
The elder held his silence, then finally spoke:
“Wallhall stands in ruin in the new city of Asgard, and in its hall lies only my old hammer, Mjolnir.”
“No death is honorable if fear clouds one’s mind and hatred fills one’s heart.”
Thunor stood more tall than other, towering above the tallest men, with his hand extended on either side, radiating warmth.
“Only the just and virtuous man will find his reward in the golden hall of Gimlé in Okolnir, while the wicked will meet their fate at Náströnd, where venomous serpents will drown them, and Nidhoggr will devour their bodies,” he said, his face stern.
With a piercing gaze upon each person, a message sounded in our minds:
“If you desire honor and glory, stand shoulder to shoulder and let poets sing of the day you defied fate, proving you could die as valiantly as you had lived; then renounce war.”
“It is no cowardice to protect your lives, your families, and adapt to new times. But if defense is needed, do so with cunning and wisdom.”
Thunor moved forward, and as he passed by, I followed through the fading throng, their forms becoming transparent. Thunor leaned against an ash tree, gazing at the horizon. I asked him:
“Is this how your people were absorbed by Christianity and began to be forgotten?”
He shrugged and sighed, “No one truly forgets, and nothing truly vanishes. We live on in the hearts and minds of our people’s descendants and all who know the skalds’ tales.”
With a smile, he added, “Where there is life, there is hope.”
His voice echoed in my mind once more:
“Gods do not dwell in one place, nor in things; we are not like you. The gods do not feel diminished when what represents us fades. If you invite us, we will be there.”
“Defend those who walk in virtue, and in so doing, you will protect our legacy.”
He raised his finger to the sky, and as I looked up, I found he was gone. Thunor’s lesson was clear: peace must be sought whenever possible, yet when the time comes to fight, it must be for a worthy cause.
IV: Greetings, Great Woden/Odin
There I was, before a well so deep its darkness gave me vertigo.
“Do you seek wisdom?” a voice rumbled.
I turned but saw nothing. As I stepped back, I brushed against a root that plunged into the well.
“What do you seek here in Jotunheim, so far from your kin?” the voice asked again.
“Only to reflect,” I replied firmly, finding a stone to sit on.
The icy wind howled, and as it abated, a figure appeared—grey-cloaked, broad-hatted, flanked by two wolves and two ravens, a cup in one hand with a head that seemed to murmur.
It was unmistakable who stood before me.
“Wes du hal, Woden ye Alfaþer,” I greeted him in Old English.
“Welcome to Meomer’s Well,” he replied, “but if you wish to drink, you must give up something dearly loved, much desired.”
He observed me as I held his gaze. I responded, “I am aware of the sacrifice, for I live its consequences daily. I need not sacrifice more, as I have already lost beyond what you might imagine.”
Surprised, Woden studied me while Meomer’s head murmured. Taking a seat beside me, he said, “A body that has sacrificed its heart hears only echoes of a memory. Your sacrifice is too high for a wanderer of the worlds.”
I nodded, listening. “To know the fate of all is a burden only gods can endure. No mortal should know of loved ones perishing in suffering. Those who attain foresight without wisdom forsake their souls, for only the soulless can bear such anguish unmoved.”
Tears trailed down my face. Woden caught them, then said, “Your pain has granted you a new heart, compassionate yet bound to suffering.”
In silence, we sat until Meomer spoke, “Wanderer, the knowledge you’ve gained has made you anew. You could be as we are if you transmute compassion into understanding and pain into hope. Father Woden sought fate to alter it. He built walls, allied with Loki, gathered fallen warriors, bound Fenrir, and sought to protect Balder. And yet, young one?”
I answered, “Fate unfolded as prophesied.”
Woden placed a hand on my shoulder and continued, “But hope, young wanderer, hope is the power that rewrites the future. Baldag’s legacy is hope—a lesson in protecting what cannot be rewritten. Carry this hope with you, for you, too, are destined to transcend.”
With this, Woden vanished into the mist, and I climbed the roots towards Asgard, where Idunn guards the fruits of immortality.
EXTRACT WITH PERMISSION- ©The Forest – A further guide for the Experienced Seax-Wica Practitioner: Insights After a Decade of Practice(2019) by Juan Manuel Espinoza Guzmán.
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