Athena Chapter 2: Part 1: A Poet's Downfall

"One-Eyed God" by Olivia Robertson

Fellowship of Isis Liturgy

By

Olivia Robertson

Athena - Arcadian Awakening

2. Valhalla: the Golden Apples of the Sun

Part I. The Narration: A Poet's Downfall

Visitants:

Path Guide: Elaine Priestess of Alchemy

Helper: Aiden, Priest of Alchemy

Oracle: Deirdre

Aiden: It is dramatic to be invited to this extraordinary Temple with a distant view of an erupting volcano. Reminds me of Hawaii. Frey, as Poet, an Arcadian, we gather you wish to share your own experiences with us of your Shamanic Awakening.

Frey: Gladly. My Spirit twin, Freya, has counseled it. Everyone in our group needs this Shaman Quest.

Elaine: What is your quest?

Frey: I had no idea until I reached my goal, and then it was that I lost everything! You shall hear of my downfall. I would like some dramatic music please – Sibelius’ Symphony One. Also red and orange colours – we have the necessary lighting – darkness that then gives way to dazzling colours that affect the chakras. I wish to share my misfortune so that you may help – or fall with me.

Elaine: We’ll take the risk. Proceed.

Clash of Music and Psychedelic Colours.

FREY’S NARRATION

“In the time of my Arcadian life I had all you could think of that could give happiness. I had adoring parents – some too adoring – a pleasant village with a good view of our volcano and a superb school, modernist system, with plenty of skiing. Indeed, I think it was this addiction to climbing a rocky gorge near there that led to my failure – see it silhouetted against the flames of our volcano? I’ve been up there many times and always came down elated with mystical visions. So you see I begin where most of you end - with Arcadian Awakening.

I had it all. My twin soul Freya encouraged me, from her world of spirit, to do deeds of daring. The villagers said I had a charmed life. My mother used to call me Pier Gynt (she was Norwegian). I should have heeded this as an unconscious warning.

One snowy night in November, I was late in returning from an expedition gathering firewood in our sled – not I fear drawn by reindeer but by a motor. It was a night full of the incredible Divine Northern Lights – I should have been more careful, as I made my way home, but I had my eyes on the Lights to the left of the crimson flames of our volcano – and fell into a ravine.

From then on my life changed. Some kindly woodsmen found me and took me to a smart hostel much frequented by visitors – nothing mysterious about them. I felt that our volcano and The Lights were wasted on them. They could only talk of their skiing exploits. So I did not accept their offer of a meal, but sat alone. I wished to attune to the mystique of such a night.

However, there was one visitor who excited my curiosity. He appeared to shun friendly attention much as I was doing. He was wrapped in a long black cloak and I could not catch a view of his face, which was shaded by a wide-brimmed black hat. Then he removed the hat to shake off the snow and I was struck by the dignity of his face. It was aloof, suggesting ancient nobility – not usually seen in our democratic Republic. Suddenly he looked at me with the most brilliant gaze. And when I saw he had a black patch over one eye, I knew I was being scrutinized by Odin. For his eye was not human.

In case you don’t know, this God, expelled from the Hall of the Gods, Valhalla, wanders around the northern lands in the way The Wandering Jew pursues his solitary course. Only at Christmas does he ride in blue cloak in a sledge drawn by reindeers bringing gifts of healing herbs.

With a slight gesture of his long white hand, he beckoned me to a chair beside him. Like one hypnotised, I obeyed. I could do no other.

“Frey,” he said in a deep musical voice, “my old friend! And I see your brilliant sister is with you! What a pleasure!” Here he beckoned to an invisible Presence and indicated another empty chair. “You have come to the crossroads that will determine your life.”

“Your sister has made her choice and is with us in the Holy Realm of Valhalla, domain of the Queen of Spirits, Vala. But you have yet to take up the challenge. It is quite a simple choice. You live a dull life as at present. Or you die and enter Valhalla.”

Suddenly I felt icy cold, as if death’s frozen hand had reached my heart. I began reciting the Lord’s Prayer under my breath and some ‘Hail Marys’. I hadn’t prayed for years as I deem myself a Norse Pagan. The terrifying thought came to me that this Pagan God was the Devil.

He read my thoughts and smiled kindly. “You are thinking of later Germanic narratives of Us,” he said, “as in the libretto of Wagner’s ‘Ring’. You think the Gods and Goddesses built a fortress in the sky they named Valhalla, and were defeated by Giants. They were sent forth in the Destruction of the Gods. I am thus The Wanderer.”

“Then, it’s a lie.” I said hopefully. “Only Christian defamation.”

“Not at all,” said Odin, beckoning a waiter for more beer, which he sipped with evident enjoyment. I accepted his offer of a glass, which I drank in gulps, hoping it might help. It didn’t. “At the early stages of our planetary civilization – primitive, though not as primitive as your present evolution – we created a satellite for military purposes – rather the same as your own weapons of mass destruction – you know the sort of thing – you think they keep your people safe from enemies. We weren’t physical as you are – we’d reached a more refined level. For instance you see me, but the rest of the people here can’t. They see you drinking beer, talking to yourself, facing two empty chairs. Where was I? Oh yes. We had not outgrown having enemies though! We used to career nicely round this sun, between Jupiter and Mars. Now who was to blame I don’t know – which warring faction – “Giants” versus “Gods”. In a terrific impact with an asteroid we were destroyed. Etherically that is. Our true Spirits naturally continued, having learnt a useful lesson.

Our “Valhalla” admittedly was smashed up and is now circling the sun as the asteroid belt. Our planet itself was hurled forth by Gods more powerful than us, into Outer Darkness nearly beyond your solar system. Well, I suppose we had rather interfered with the Divine Planetary Arrangements. The asteroid Belt is unstable, bits flying off now and then, and our planet on a huge orbit goes the wrong way round, at an acute angle, against the traffic lights you might say.

I say, you’ve spilt your beer. More? No? Cheer up. It’s really all wonderful. There are, I admit, plenty of false Valhallas, but the Great Goddess Vala is in charge of the real ones, sanctuaries of Spirits and these are eternal. There are four lower material levels, like Glitnir – all glitter, but the top three realms are eternal. And one of these is Vala’s. And I am offering you a chance to reach the true Home of your Spirit where Freya awaits you – with her Apples of Eternity.”

I had heard enough. I panicked - I did not want to die and be with Freya. She’s more spiritual than me – I saw everything I had once despised, as being infinitely preferable – food, people, my work. So to my shame I rose to my feet and fled – I just looked back once and saw three empty chairs. Only then did I realise that I had lost my chance of eternal life. You are my last hope. Is there a second chance?”

Note: These Rites may be used for meetings of the Muses Symposium and the Arcadians.

Please continue to Part 2. The Wanderer Returns

Back to Athena - Arcadian Awakening

Back to Fellowship of Isis Liturgy Index Home