M̪y VVeek in §eiðr ~ July 1, 2016


Walking with Ǥogs

Solstice week was spent visiting family, folk, flora, and fauna in Florida.

I lived there once, for two years: a beach front home, backyard covered pool, cabana bathroom, and a glass enclosed shower that opened to an enclosed garden bursting with ginger and tropical flowers. The backyard was an edible landscape of avocado and mango trees, coconut and kumquat, papaya and lychee. There were parrots in the trees, green frogs with red eyes in the garden, lizards basking on the sidewalks, and the occasional snake in the pool. I enjoyed the energy because it was different from any place I had ever lived before.

And as with everywhere I have lived – around the world – I introduced myself to the Ѵӕttr, the beings of land, sea and sky.

As a child I was raised around and amongst the Otherkin; with horse and dog, with mountain lion and vulture, wolf and alligator, rabbit and snake, so learned – or more accurately, re-remembered – that life’s trails are walked by all, that there is no trail wider or more favored than another. The worm that burrows into the apple is walking the Wheel as surely as you and I.

It was in my twenties when I was first lectured about “not interfering” with the spirits of a place that where, in this case, Native American. This reproof came from a Wiccan, who droned on about how I “must respect” the ancestors of “those who were here before”. The idea struck me as odd then, and still today, these three plus decades later. It is a concept and practice I have honestly deliberated, yet remain with my first instinct that it is both naïve and ignorant.

Culture is not the defining element of our planet, but the elegant Web of Life. A culture is particular to a people at a place during a time, and akin to drifting sand, is easily cast aside. Whereas the energy of a place is deep, wide and best viewed as multi-layered strata. Very few who claim to work with energy ever realize this, and fewer still actually access it. Because, if one is only tapping into the last cultural energy – in the above example, for instance – then how are they skipping over the Early European Settlers?

You see, Earth is a living thing. A Ǥog to be precise; or at least, that is the name I was taught. And a ‘gog’ is simply another way of saying ‘giant’ or ‘Jötunn’. For example, there are the:
-Daityas, born to Diti (Mother Earth),
-Gigantes, born to Gaia (Mother Earth),
-Ettin and Gýgjar, born to Auðumbla (Horned Mother),
-Ispolin, born to Matka Zemlya (Moist Mother Earth), and
-Basajaun and Basandere, born to Mari (Earth Mother), for example.

Follow the pattern ..


Ǥog Runes

Frankly, I have little use for gods. The Tivar, though ‘shining’ and ‘divine’, cares not for me nor not-for-me (*). I am more aware, and have far more profound encounters with Wind and Storm, Hyndla and Halya, with Herne and Víðolfi, Mountain and Áine, with Grasslands and Sunna,
Wave and Angrboda. You see, I Knew – before I was born this time – that gods don’t notice me any more than they do spiders or sunbeams, sharks or seeds.

And since I was small, They have shown themselves to me, these Beings of Might, these Gogs; and from them I have learned, and continue to learn, a great deal.

So last week I was in Florida reconnecting with human family and Gog family; and now, as I type these words, I am north – where I currently reside.

This morning I ran through forests of Alder and Buckthorn, of Redbud and Larch, of Cherry and Walnut; then cutting down a ravine, I traced the tributary streams, along deep shale beds, where the only tracks were mine, deer, beaver, and wolf. The Indians once roamed this land, as did the Pioneers, and before them, possibly the Solutrean, and other Archaic Peoples; and long before all of them – and still today – the Gogs wove the endless web of creation. The artifacts of defunct tribes lies buried and sterile beneath dirt, or behind glass in museums, whereas Cloud and Rain, Hail and Thunder still roam wild and free.


As I run the deep wood, my every footfall touches upon millions of generations, to touch the Gogs, and that of All That Lives.

~ ~ ~

*Wright, V (2016). Seiðr Sprëhhan: The Sayings of Seiðr; statement from Sprëhhan 1.


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