To My Dearest @witchcraftingboop

It has taken me many odd years to learn what works best for me. My mother and teachers would rather I sit for months with every herb in my collection, I’m sure. And, to their credit, I have tried this method, though only on one or two subjects. There is an intimacy in working together with an intelligence you have sought to understand and learn from for a number of moons. A heightened edge certainly works its way into the workings learnt from the roots of older beings. But it is a long process, that’s for sure, and the older I become, the less time I have to dedicate myself to extensive dealings such as that.

It is far simpler and far easier to choose instead a more “necromantic” approach (I mean this to be very tongue-in-cheek, by the way). Waking ingredients is not as far reaching a concept as I had previously been made to believe, I have found, but that does not negate the need or practice of it.

When it comes to herbal salves, ointments, and blends, waking the herbs is an essential stage. Some view waking ingredients as a baptismal experience, as the cleansing or giving of a soul or purpose. Myself, I was raised with the understanding that every creation naturally has a soul– creation being a very liberal and loose word, sometimes being stretched to include even that of the artificial and man-made. This bleeds into my wakening practices as well. Much like Sleeping Beauty, the herbs that have since been plucked from their source and left to dry, are awaiting a kiss to wake them. To wake them, we give them our breath and the drive to reconnect with their central intelligence and spirit. Traditionally, seven breaths are given, directed from a focused and steadied mind.

On the last breath, or perhaps after if you prefer, they are given a direction, a goal, or a request for aid. I suppose in the popular turn of phrase, they are charged. Like to charge, reblog to cast. Or maybe here it’s: breathe to wake, whisper/sing to charge, incorporate to cast. In truth, there are countless means of “charging” your ingredients. Song, poetry, hymn, whisper, whistle, state– so long as it is given, it is fine.

It is also fine to ignore me completely, dear one. I am sure whatever secrets you keep locked away in your perpetual silence are far greater and far broader in reach than the breath I’ve shared with a thousand plants and bones.

But shall I leave you with one thought? To steal the breath of another is said to be akin to stealing parts of their soul. Do you think, in the long run, they who dance with devils breathe the life of their own into their tools and that is truly why they’re damned? Because at the end there’s nothing left to save? Or perhaps I’ve just grown morose from being without you for so long. I’ve attached a simple tea recipe that you might come see me sometime. Add plenty of sugar, my sweet.

Forever Yours, B

A Simple Tea Blend

● 4 parts mugwort ● 3 parts vervain ● 2 parts anise ● 3 parts cinnamon (or to taste)

Ulfhednar and Soul-Parts: A Working Theory aka How Does Old Norse Shapeshifting Work?

The key to understanding the Old Norse concept of shapeshifting is to understand the concept of soul-parts in the Pre-Christian Norse worldview.

In the Pre-Christian Norse worldview, the soul is comprised of several parts. Among these parts are the hamingja, or “luck”, which is often passed along to one’s descendants; the hugr, translated as “thought”, which refers to one’s consciousness and probably corresponds best with what we would today call a soul; and the most important to consider in this essay, the hamr.

The hamr is the part of the soul used for shapeshifting. Hamr means “skin” or “form”, as in the phrase skipta hǫmum– to change one’s form. The hamr refers not to the physical form of one’s body, but rather the form others perceive the physical body to take. It is also, according to the work of Clive Tolley, used to refer to an animal pelt. But unlike the word serkr which refers to an ordinary animal pelt, the word hamr in this context refers to a pelt used to change one’s appearance, or sometimes capabilities, such as Freyja’s feathered cloak, or in the Vǫlundarkviða, wherein women in possession of swan-pelts can fly (Perabo, 2017).

Clive Tolley has also connected the word hamr to certain mental and psychological states through the words hamslauss and hamstolinn, meaning “devoid of hamr” and “deprived of hamr” respectively. The use of the word eigi-einhamr (“one that doesn’t have a single hamr”) in reference to berserkir seems to support this in relation to psychological states, particularly unstable ones (Tolley, 2009).

In several stories, the shapeshifter changes only their perceived appearance, rather than their physical form directly. One of the ways this can happen is described in the ‘Heimskringla’:

Óðinn skipti hǫmum; lá þá búkrinn sem sofinn eða dauðr, en hann var þá fugl eða dýr, fiskr eða ormr, ok fór á einni svipstund á fjarlæg lǫnd, at sínum ørendum eða annarra manna Odin could transform his shape: his body would lie as if dead, or asleep; but then he would be in the shape of a fish, or worm, or bird, or beast, and be off in a twinkling to distant lands upon his own or other people’s business. 1

The use of the word hamr (declined to hǫmum) here invokes the idea that others are able to perceive Óðinn in this state and/or that his psychological state is unstable, which aligns with the above ecstatic trance-state. This oft-cited account of shapeshifting gives us a look into one of the most common methods of shapeshifting found in myriad traditions around the world. This method involves a trance or trance-like state that can be induced by a number of means. This trance-like state, typically an ecstatic one for the Norse, allows one’s mind to wander freely in whatever form it pleases.

This type of so-called “Óðinnic magic” often includes the Norse practice of seiðr. This form of magic is often called “shamanistic” though rarely do scholars discuss it beyond that. Seiðr does, indeed, have vital links to the Sámi shamanic practices of the Noaidi. Please note, however, that these links are not enough to justify the direct use of Sámi religious practice in one’s non-Sámi magical practice.

An interesting find in a shipwreck in Hedeby harbor are two animal-head masks (Price, 2004). These are more than likely related to shapeshifting in the Oðinnic sense, and possibly related to Tolley’s notion of the hamr to mean an animal pelt. Although we can’t know for sure what these masks were used for, they appear to be ritual objects, likely involving a shapeshifting ritual.

This idea of shapeshifting is also closely related to, as mentioned before, berserkir and úlfheðnar. The notion of shapeshifting in warrior bands is a long-standing one that is an “unbroken tradition from Vedic and Homeric times to those of the Icelandic sagas” (Speidel, 2002). The style of shapeshifting in the tradition of the berserkir and úlfheðnar is also in the style of an ecstatic trance. This is, however, a battle-trance, strengthened and enforced by the thrum of battle and the sound of biting shields. 1 Snorri Sturluson Heimskringla trans. Samuel Laing 25

Here the term “ecstatic trance” bears a bit of explaining. Ecstasy, from the Ancient Greek ἔκστασις, refers to an altered state of consciousness characterized by a lack of awareness outside an object of interest. Trance is often described as an unconscious or half-conscious state wherein the subject is unresponsive to external stimuli. Thus an “ecstatic battle-trance” would be a state of consciousness in which one is consumed with battle to the point of lack of awareness and response to stimuli outside of the battle. In some cases, this is said to have included severe wounds and even the loss of limbs.

The berserkir and úlfheðnar are characterized, and distinguished, by their associations with the animals from which they get their names– bears and wolves respectively. These warriors likely used animal pelts, or physical hamr, to change their form, given that the name berserkir comes from the Old Norse words bera (bear) and serkr. Úlfheðnar likely derives from úlfr (wolf) and heð from the Proto-Germanic *haiduz meaning state or condition. Thus, berserkir wear bear pelts, and the úlfheðnar are in the state of a wolf.

There are many connections between the berserkir and úlfheðnar and Indo-European initiation rites which, though outside the scope of this essay, leads one to believe that there are certain ritual requirements needed to change one’s appearance and achieve a state of ecstatic battle-trance.

In addition, the berserkir and úlfheðnar are totemistic warriors related to tutelary spirits, likely the bear and the wolf, both with strong associations with Óðinn. Interestingly, another tutelary spirit appears in Old Norse literature, the ‘Fylgja’, which is also a soul-part. It often takes the form of an animal and is often related to the nature of the person to whom it belongs. It translates as “follower”, and may be somewhat related to the fetch from Irish folklore.

Therefore, the ecstatic battle-trance is brought on via the changing of the hamr of the berserkir and úlfheðnar. While this method and purpose for changing one’s shape is likely unhelpful for most modern practitioners, it provides a basis for the study and understanding of shapeshifting in the Old Norse tradition and will hopefully give the modern practitioner ideas for methods of shapeshifting that may be more applicable.

The soul-parts are essential to understanding shapeshifting in the Old Norse tradition, though the way they interact with other notions of the Old Norse worldview can be complex. The study of seiðr, berserkir, soulparts, shape-changing, and battle-trance intersect in many ways in many places, some of which are lost to time.

Perabo, L (2017). Shapeshifting in Old Norse-Icelandic Literature Tolley, C. (2009). Shamanism in Norse Myth and Magic Sturluson, Snorri Heimskringla trans. Samuel Laing (1844) Price, N (2004). The Archaeology of Seiðr Speidel, M (2002). Berserks: A History of Indo-European “Mad Warriors”