Norse Goddess Magic (20 page)

If others do the ritual with you, share some food and drink at the end. If
you are alone, call or write loved ones afterward. Go do something celebratory
where there will be lots of people, like a fireworks exhibition, a walk in a
public park, a crafts show, a dance, or a play. Try to pick something where you
will be likely to enjoy being with others (a ride on a crowded subway probably
is not a good choice, however).

Besides her important functions of maintaining goodwill, harmony, and love
between spouses, families, friends, and coworkers, Sjofn seems to encompass a
sort of world spirit, a reveling in the experiences of life and in being human;
as such, she is a valuable ally in combating boredom, frustration, despair, and
the “blues” in general. She is the specialness in everyday events, the joy of
being in the present, the richness of contact with one's fellows. She is both
carnival and bedtime story, reveler and sister, joy and comfort, plenty and
peace.

Call to Sjofn

Goddess of the gateway,
    the open ear, the open heart, the open mind;
Goddess of the
kind heart,
    love-glad, joy-proud, life-strong;
Goddess of the wise heart,
    bringer of frith, keeper of peace, mender of vows.

Goddess of the two sides, goddess of the table,
    Friend to men and women,
        Goddess of love,
        Goddess of the world—
               
Sjofn, we need you now.
               
Sjofn, Love Goddess,
               
Sjofn, we need you now.
               
Sjofn, Peacekeeper,
               
Sjofn, we need you now . . .

16

Var

The Hearer of Oaths

Lore

Var (ON Vár, “beloved,” perhaps “spring”), listed by Snorri as
the ninth of the Aesir goddesses (Gylfaginning, ch. 35), is yet another of
Frigg's attendants. According to the
Prose Edda,
she heard all oaths made
by people, particularly vows and promises between men and women, and took
vengeance on those who broke their promises. The word for vows (
várar
) is
thus said to come from her name. Because of this function, Var was called on to
bless and witness marriage and betrothal rites. In the Þrymskviða (st. 30), when
the giant Thyrm thinks that the disguised Thor is actually the goddess Freyja,
his would-be bride, he calls his attendants to bring him Thor's hammer to lay in
the bride's lap and wed them together in the name of Var.

In Old Norse society the oath or vow was seen as a deeper, more significant
and magical act than modern people usually regard it. The keeping of one's word
was bound with the all-powerful honor and luck of a person and her family, the
ørlög or fate that grew from past actions. When a person swore on a holy object,
such as a sacred stone, sword, or ring, the power of her words was greater,
forming a vow that could not be rescinded. Vilhelm Grönbech, author of
Kultur
und Religion der Germanen
(The Culture of the Teutons), talks of how the
word was seen to go on ahead, carving out a path for the deed to follow, drawing
the speaker with it. If the word was not upheld, the luck and even part of the
very soul of the speaker would be involved in the loss of honor.
¹

The formal exchange of gifts implied a sort of oath between the parties
involved, since it was believed to create the same kind of troth and trust. A
gift was traditionally accompanied by words indicating in some way that the
giver's goodwill and luck accompanied it. To the Germanic people, the custom of
giving gifts amounted to not merely an exchange of worldly goods but also an
exchange of luck and fate between the givers, a joining of lives and kin; thus,
gifts were not accepted casually. If a gift was accepted, a gift had to be given
in return to seal the friendship. Even when trading or bargaining, members of
the Norse culture could not quite accept the transactions as mere commerce; some
exchange of luck still took place.

Because people felt that a part of one's soul was considered to be passed
along with a gift, the act of giving ensured that loyalty and love would
naturally follow and create a bond and obligation. The power of both gift and
vow bound together the honor and the fate of the participants, altering the very
nature of their wills and feelings toward each other. Once a gift had exchanged
hands, no earthly power could stop its effects and no one could resist its
spiritual pull.
²

Marriage was seen as the ultimate exchange, uniting in blood two distant
families or kinship groups who would ever after share each other's honor, luck,
and fate. A person married not only her spouse but also his entire family, and
in earlier days such bargains were made with great care by both the couple and
their kinfolk. Because all true bargains were sealed with gifts, the husband
gave a bride gift to the head of the bride's family, as well as gifts to the
woman herself. She, in turn, gave him gifts as well, usually weapons. Finally,
in Heathen times a marriage was not fully valid until the groom presented the
bride with her morning gift on the day following their union, which fully
established the reality promised by their first night together. If later the
bargain, or marriage, was broken, the wife left the man and returned to her
former home and the gifts reverted to their former owners. Even today there is a
kind of repugnance aroused when we hear of people keeping engagement rings or
wedding gifts after a match has been broken off, although we are not always
fully aware of why we feel that way. The primary significance of the marriage
gifts lies in the spiritual power and troth they symbolize. They are concrete
manifestations of the trust, the loyalty, the love, and the vows between the
parties involved, and they are tangible proof of the sincerity of the givers.

Bargains were also sealed by the sharing of drink and food, and marriage vows
were traditionally pledged over sacred drink in the presence of all the kin and
friends. Today it is still common to toast the bride and groom at the reception,
often in a traditional and formal manner. Throughout Old Norse literature, we
find evidence of sacred ceremonies where vows were pledged over drink. The
bragarfull,
the sacred cup over which oaths were pledged during the Yule
season, is one example. Thus, wedding toasts carried the weight of sacred oaths,
and the whole process was considered a holy ritual.

Today we tend to treat promises and agreements casually, but the underlying
power of our words still exists, whether or not we acknowledge it. Between any
people swearing oaths to each other a type of troth exists, the same kind of
loyalty that is shared by kin. This means that they are true to each other in
all their actions, fulfilling all obligations, whether large or small. A
person's honor lies in the strength of her word. A person's soul grows in honor
and might every time her actions match her words. Conversely, each time one
fails to uphold one's words with deeds, the soul is weakened. When a person
loses honor, she loses frith, and hence a bit of her humanity.

All lies and broken promises weaken the power of your word, not only among
the people with whom you have dealings but also with the gods and with yourself.
If you always tell the truth and habitually carry out everything you say you
will do, your words develop a power of their own and a momentum that aids in
their actually becoming true. If you tell lies and break your vows in everyday
life, then when you speak words in ritual or in magic they will have little
force to influence the universe. In addition, within your deepest soul, you
yourself will doubt your own ability to carry out your will.

Moreover, the breaking of a vow dishonors not only the oath-breaker but also
the person to whom the vows were made. The soul-might exchanged whenever oaths
are given is of such power that it inextricably binds the honor and fate of the
two parties: their honor becomes one; hence, one person's failure taints the
other. This is one reason that the breaking of oaths is such a serious matter;
it inflicts real harm on the injured party, just as much as if she had been
physically assaulted.

By accepting a gift or an oath, then, you are essentially putting yourself in
the other person's power. Not only does your well-being depend on your own care
in fulfilling your obligations, but it now equally depends on the
conscientiousness of the other person. Exchanging oaths and gifts is a risky
business, but a necessary one, since all meaningful social relations rest on
such oaths. Recognizing the danger inherent in exchanging promises and vows
should not keep us from making any commitments but rather should motivate us to
use care and caution in choosing the obligations we do accept.

Overseeing Honesty in Love

Var, in her role as hearer of vows, bears a resemblance to Tyr,
the god of the Thing who hears oaths at lawmaking ceremonies. Other gods who
preside over oaths include Ull, the god of winter, and Thor. However, Var
differs from these other deities in that she hears not only formal and public
oaths but also private and informal agreements. The description of her in the
Prose Edda
implies that she listens to the private talk between men and
women. This would seem to imply not only marriage or betrothal agreements but
also all those careless assurances and promises made in many a bed, hayloft, and
backseat from the beginning of time through the present. What this really seems
to mean is that the act of love itself is an exchange of gifts and that both
parties owe a certain honesty and trust to one another. This doesn't necessarily
mean that all romantic encounters should be viewed as lifelong commitments, but
it does mean that you should not try to deceive the other person about your
feelings or intentions.

As the one who punishes broken vows, Var should be seen not as an avenging
fury flying around after the culprit and crying for her blood but rather as akin
to the mighty Norns, the three goddesses who govern the fate of the whole
universe. To break an oath is to set in motion a series of events, a pattern of
cause and effect, that will ultimately bring down the offender's luck and thus
blight her fate. When you break promises and vows, you yourself cause the
retribution by damaging your own honor. You weaken your soul-might and taint the
way you view yourself. With every promise left unfulfilled, you send a message
to the universe that your words have no power and that you are incapable of
carrying out your will. In that case, gradually all your enterprises will begin
to falter and fail.

Trance

I see a smallish, slender, youngish woman in her late
twenties or early thirties. She has an elfin face: round high cheeks, pointed
chin, broad wide forehead. Her hair is dark—black—long and straight and parted
in the center. Her eyes are pale gray, almost clear, and startling, a little
intimidating. Her skin is very pale, her eyelashes and brows very dark. She is
solemn, stern, serious. She wears a small jeweled cap, similar to those worn in
Tudor England, as well as a purple cloak and a light-gray, or sometimes dark,
dress. I see her standing behind people—at an altar during a ceremony, alone in
a bed at night—always behind them, listening when they least expect her.

She brooks no breaking of vows and holds all accountable
for their promises, showing no mercy. “Why should I have mercy on them, when
they have none?” she says. “When they learn to be kind, then I will.”

If two people are faithful and honest in their vows, her
blessings can change a mere love affair into something exquisite. She is a
goddess of marriage, a goddess of commitment.

“But sometimes it is hard, or even impossible, to keep
some oaths,” I remind her.

“Then don't make them in the first place,” she replies,
with a slight smile.

I see her in halls, entering from a side or a back door,
standing in the shadows. She has a small ash casket that holds many lovely gold
and jeweled rings; these represent all vows that have been kept. But she shows
me a large treasure room she has underground where there are many, many huge
chests containing tarnished rings—these are all the broken oaths. She returns to
the upper rooms, to a big, empty chamber similar to one that might be found in a
medieval castle. It is stone, with high, Gothic-shaped windows through which the
late-afternoon sun streams. Var sits on the floor with her lovely rings all in
her lap, running her hands through them with pleasure.

The picture of Var I saw in trance dovetails nicely with her
function as a hearer of vows. She is not the grand hierophant, swearing the
participants to fealty and promising dire consequences if the oaths are not
kept. Rather, she is a silent witness, keeping to the background, a reminder to
the oath makers, who are the real performers of the rite, of their promises and
of the holy presence bound up with their words. The rings I saw are reminiscent
of the gifts that the Heathen Germanics gave to seal their commitments. Like the
tarnished jewelry, a gift whose promise has been broken is dimmed, bereft of
meaning and power.

Var's personality is stern, harsh, and unyielding; unlike some of Frigg's
gentler attendants, she is not soothing or motherly. She expects you to deliver
what you say you will or not make the promise to begin with. She is a reminder,
in this age of easy bargains and casual promises, of a time when a person's word
was the only assurance needed to seal an agreement.