Integral Gnosis and the Path of Odin

As someone who has spent over 30 years exploring the variety of religious answers devised by humanity’s attempt to make sense of life on our planet, it got me thinking about the “Why Odin?” question. What is it about his mythological heroism that I find so compelling? Why with my own pointy-hatted chaos magickal ways do I keeping coming back to his story as an exemplar of how to manage my own existential dilemmas?

Some critics of the neo-pagan revival typify its worldview as a naive pantheism where the preoccupation with the cycle of Nature prevents us from appreciation of the evolutionary goal of transcendence (Cf. the work of Ken Wilber for more on this). In reality heathen myths are not some distant utopian vision or romantic aspiration to “be at one with nature”, rather they seem to mirror the joy and struggle of our own human experience. The stories that fill both the Eddas and Sagas represent a complex interlacing of history and pre-history as an expression of an ever shifting, ever evolving world. While we may take pleasure in the making of toasts and the wearing of skins, I personally feel that the ancestors would have a good belly laugh at attempts to recapture some imagined “golden-age”!

When we examine Heathen cosmology, unsurprisingly it seeks to mirror the experience of the people of the North as they lived their lives.  In the beginning was the primal void (Ginnungagap) and from it emerged the primary polarity of Fire and Ice. From the dynamic tension between these poles came melt-water and from this emerged the primal giant Ymir. Creation is not a peaceable realm, but one that is forever caught up in a cycle of war and temporary resolution. These tensions are personified by the giants, other elemental beings and the gods themselves both Aesir and Vanir.

Cue dramatic music...

Queue dramatic music…

The mythological struggle between Aesir and Vanir (as described in Voluspa and elsewhere) seem to reflect at a macrocosmic level the human project of seeking to awaken consciousness within our bodies and the biosphere.  This balancing of immanent and transcendent is also reflected in Odin’s own journey. His need to learn magic from Freya highlights the essential journey into the natural so as to comprehend his life and magic, but this is not enough. He must go deeper and seek Runa – the mysteries of Kosmos – via his ordeal on the world tree:

I know that I hung on a windy tree
nine long nights,
wounded by a spear, dedicated to Odin,
myself to myself,
on that tree of which no man knows
from where its roots run.

No bread did they give me or drink from a horn,
Downwards I peered;
I took up the runes, screaming I took them,
Then I fell back from there.

Havamal 138-139

The dimensions of gnosis that he attains are both deep and transcendent (ah the limits of spatial metaphors!). The mysteries arise from the dark roots of the unconscious (both collective and individual) and they point us towards the reality that the northern Gnostic must awaken within the realm of Midgard. Whichever version of the futhark that we work with, they represent the worldview of the ancestors both in relation to their core values and day-to-day concerns. Like the “Sly Man” of the Gurdjieff Work, for those of us seeking to emulate the path of the All-Father, our awakening needs to integrate and balance the needs of body, mind and emotions.  It needs to be here and now rather than in some imagined nirvana/Valhalla!

In contrast to the Gnostic explorers of the classical period, the Northern Gnostic seeks the way of awakening within the natural world rather than away from it. This is a path of integration typified by the hermetic axiom of “as above so below, as below so above”. We need to wake up from the sleep that culture and routine can lull us into, but our awakening is also a realization of connection and relationship rather than lofty isolation. This is not an easy journey to make; we need to work hard to uncover these often over-grown pathways. Awakening to Runa often brings a greater sense of being out of step with the mainstream – Odin took up the Runes of realization screaming and roaring. As we seek to dive deep into new realms of understanding, we need to understand their true cost: that they can only be accessed when we give up what we think we know to gain true insight – “sacrificing self to self”. Here we find ourselves contending with the insights of C.G. Jung and other trans-personal psychological approaches where the ego is not abolished but rather is transformed via expansion and extension to incorporate the dark roots of the unconscious (Hel) and the bright potentialities of what we might become (Asgard).

In the Zen Hearth of Odin the Wanderer this awakening within the turning of the year is the focus of our work. Via the use of Zen sitting practice, Runic Galdar and core shamanic trance technologies (i.e. drumming) we seek the wisdom of the old ways so that we might live more fully today. I’ll conclude with the statement of intent that we are currently using at our monthly blots:

We come seeking gnosis
And the wisdom to apply it.
We come seeking the Old Ways
That we might truly live now
And become the future.

We come seeking the three realms
And the three treasures
Sky, Earth and Sea
Aesir, Vanir and the Ancestors.
We seek the World Tree as the realm of practice:

Our Minds, our Bodies, our Lives.
We seek to take up the Runes
Fragments of mystery
As we see sense and nonsense
On the road we travel.

We give thanks to the heroes of practice
We give thanks for the complex Web of Truth
We give thanks to those who sit like mountains together.

SD

The Art of Magick

Many years ago a friend (a Cambridge graduate and journalist) opined that modern Paganism really hadn’t created any great art. This made me rather cross. Aside from the not insignificant issues of ‘what is art’?, and ‘great by whose definition?’ I claim that there is a vast array of excellent Pagan art, across every artform, in the contemporary world. Indeed if we allow the term Pagan to include, or be extended to, esoteric art, then it’s rather hard to find any art these days that isn’t influenced by, or springs directly from, a magickal sensibility.

The field of music is particularly rich. Whether we are dealing with the directly esoteric work of bands such as Current 93 (frontman Dave Tibet also happens to be a noted scholar of Coptic & Gnostic writings) or the hugely popular Qabalistically influenced work of Madonna. If we want a high-brow composer perhaps Philip Glass who describes himself as a ‘Jewish-Taoist-Hindu-Toltec-Buddhist’  is a possible candidate and certainly for folk music the Eisteddfod winning Damh the Bard is certainly ‘one of us’.

In the field of architecture one might suggest the Damanhur community who secretly created a vast system of corridors and amazing vaulted chamber temples inside an Italian mountain. As an example of what is clearly esoteric art this shines, quite literally, as a beacon of architectural brilliance. Then there are those artists who are less well known but are deeply embedded in their own practice and craft, creating objects which sing with beautfy, attention and a deeply Pagan sensibility. One of my favourites in this field at the moment is Phil Cowley Jones. Phil creates or rather ‘births’ the most exquisitly crafted, explicityly shamanic, tools at a level of skill that should see them exhibited in gallery spaces as well as being played by practitioners.

Pagan iconography at the London 2012 Paraolympics closing ceremony

Pagan iconography at the London 2012 Paralympics closing ceremony

For poetry I recommend the work of Peter Redgrove. As well as co-authoring the first major work on menstrual mysteries (The Wise Wound – Menstruation & Everywoman with Penelope Shuttle) and an excellent work on the subtle anatomy and sensory systems of our species (The Black Goddess and the Sixth Sense), he also produced numerous volumes of poetry and almost a dozen novels. Redgrove both writes about magick and was indeed a practitioner himself, both through his own practice and by using his writing as a vehicle for his Pagan sensibility.

For prose that often shades off into poetry, one should pause briefly to mention the work of Alan Moore (Peace Be Upon Him). Moore is, as he will tell anyone who cares to listen, a practising magician. His numerous writings include the graphic novel series Promethea which, for my money, is the most engaging text on the subject since Dion Fortune’s The Mystical Qabalah as well as being a ripping good yarn. His poetic vision Snakes & Ladders is, as they say in America, awesome.

For visual art, and perhaps also installation, we might mention the work of Alex Grey. Creating artworks which lay bare the psychedelic experience in paint isn’t an easy thing to do but Grey admirably pulls this off time and again. He’s also taken his painting to the next level by creating a total environment within which the work may be encountered in his Chapel of Sacred Mirrors in New York. Then there are the technically brilliant and deeply magical works produced by Una Woodruff. Not only is Woodruff a very successful artist in financial terms but her work expresses her own unique form of witchcraft, with each canvas being in itself a powerful spell.

Then there are all those artists who may not be banner-headline athame-waving occultists but certainly create work which is deeply indebted to the magickal revival. For instance earlier this year I got the opportunity to work with Jeremy Millar. Millar produces all kinds of art that is shown in galleries around the world. While we worked together on a project in North Devon we spoke about Voudou, possession and trance states and I shared with him my involvement with occultism. Part of the reason for the discussion was that his work had appeared in The Dark Monarch  a major show at Tate St.Ives in 2010. The theme of the show was esoteric art and alongside Millar’s work was that of Derek Jarman (ritual film-maker and collaborator with occultist Genesis P.Orridge), Ithell Colquhoun’s  surrealist work and the collages of tantric adept Penny Slinger to name but a few. In his work Millar had reproduced a text by artist Sol Lewitt but had altered it so that the word ‘artist’ was replaced by ‘magician’ and ‘art’ by ‘magic’.

Many expressions of modern spirituality (from Philip Glass’s ‘Jewish-Taoist-Hindu-Toltec-Buddhism’ to contemporary neo-paganism) emerge from processes which are at once intensely personal and widely syncretic. We learn from what’s around us and in doing so weave our own ongoing interpretation of the perennial wisdom. This process, of being inspired by the environment and finding a unique way to express that inspiration is, in my opinion, an important aspect of what it means to be an artist. It is for this reason that so much magickal art exists because there is a direct parallel between the artistic process and the autonomous development of one’s own spiritual path. Both are creative acts, both rely on a culture of freedom (the absence of draconian censorship in the case of art, or witch-hunting in the case of alternative spiritualities), both empower the individual to explore and continuously create their oeuvre (as an artist) or The Great Work (as an esotericist ). Both rely on a blend of persistent practice and playful inspiration.

To be charitable I could say that my former chum simply couldn’t see the wildwood for the trees. His post-modern ennui had perhaps dulled his appreciation of those glorious artistic creations emerging from, and influenced by, Pagan culture. Creations which were in fact around him all the time. But then beauty, like art itself, is mainly in the eye of the beholder. And if our eyes are closed then any beauty that is present will certainly elude us.

JV