Today my father is checking in to the hospital to have a tumor removed from his brainstem; the growth is about the size of a plum. The tumor has been exerting pressure on his brain and affecting him with vertigo, nausea and constant vomiting. Doctors had been trying to determine the cause of these symptoms for over a year before finally having the bright idea to do an MRI. Apparently the growth may have formed in his childhood and has simply kept growing and growing. They're not going to waste time on a biopsy : its hurting him whether its cancer or not, they'll just test the thing once it's out.

My father and I have not been able to talk in any meaningful way in a long time, though we managed to have one good, serious conversation about things day before yesterday. Its as though we don't even speak the same language, and we always make each other tense and angry. I did give him a hug before he left: I'll be going tomorrow with my mother to see him before he goes in for the actual surgery. I all goes well, he will finally get relief from the symptoms that have kept him from doing everything he loves to do for over a year. If it goes poorly, he could lose brain functions that allow him to move and to speak. He informed me that he filled out a DNR (Do Not Resucitate) form. We have no idea what is going to happen.

For my own part, I'm a little numb - I feel like a stone statue. I'm kind of taking it day by day. I'm a little relieved that, for the first time in years, I'm feeling Odin's presence strongly again. I wonder if its a grim omen of tribulations to come, but I'm glad for his company no matter what. All Father has helped me to step up to challenges before; challenges I knew were beyond my abilities alone. I rest somewhat more assured in that precedent. My Dad and I are both stubborn people who are a little too obsessed with being right all the time. Its time to let some stuff go, I guess.

It seems appropriate, ( in some sick, ironic way,) that I started the rune Hagalaz in my rune initiation today: Hail, strife, trials. I hope it will be transformative and not merely destructive. In its way, I suppose it always is transformative.

I've recently undertaken the task of undergoing a solitary runic initiation. Although I've been using the runes for meditation and "divination" (as well as designing some pretty potent bind-runes) for about seven years, I just sort of learned them all at once, and never inducted myself formally into their mysteries. I guess I just wanted to add that missing dimension to my rune-work. Anyway, I had just retired my first rune set: a modest set of pine tiles bearing the runes of the elder futhark.

I made for myself an entirely new set: cut from a nice big block of clear white ash, they're almost an inch square by 3/16 or so thick. I sewed a bag for them in dark blue wool fabric, lined with black cotton. The real wool has a great texture; you just can't beat natural materials! For a tie closure, I used a thong of coarse leather, and using gold wire, attatched a carved oak Hammer talisman to one end and a brass bell to the other. The bell belonged to my Grandma, so it's a nice ancestral connection, too.  I also bought some natural linen and hand-hemmed about a 14" square as a casting cloth. I did do an abbreviated Blot to Odin to empower my runes; it went over well, and they seem to work as well as the old set ever did. It was nice to finally have the materials and the skills to give myself better tools: its rare that I make anything just for myself nowadays.

 I began my runic initiation a couple of weeks ago, spending between two and four days on each rune. For each rune I create a mini altar on the larger altar I share with my husband. I put the rune lot on the altar space, along with an appropriate candle, and objects that seem symbolically relevant to its meaning. I put stones, herbs, statues/idols, ritual tools or whatever fits. I have an altar to Gebo, the seventh rune, right now. On it I have placed things that have been given to me, especially those with spiritual significance to me. Rings from each of my parents, a wooden bowl from my husband,  a necklace and stone from my cousin, , etc. Some of the runes have been very challenging to objecctify in this way: . I really can't believe I'm almost through the first aett already. I'm journalling my meditations and experiences for each rune, and I begin each one with a simple little rite of "drinking in" the rune's wisdom: I have a glass cup decorated with motifs from the Gallehus Horn, with the runes around the rim. I fill this with spring water and hold the cup in both hands, with the rune in question between my thumbs, facing me. Then I say something to the effect: Fehu, rune of wealth, prosperity and plenty, I drink thee in. Share with me your wisdom now and always.  Then I visualize the rune as I drink. I'm working my way through Diana Paxson's book, "Taking Up the Runes," as a kind of springboard for my meditations. I also try to get out into nature and take a walk with the current rune in my thoughts, and see if nature presents anything to me, which it consistently does.

Ye gods, its great to be Heathen.

Hail and Welcome! I am the artisan who sells as world_tree on eBay. This web logue sounded like a nice way to give my customers a peek "behind the scenes" and learn a little more about how my handcrafted items take shape, and get to know a little more about the artisan behind the art.

I am a solitary Asatruar; I've been a practicing heathen for about seven years. I live in a beautiful, secluded corner of rural upstate New York, not far from the Canadian border. I'm fortunate to have access to my father's full workshop of power- and hand-tools for woodworking. I use a lot of scraps from his woodworking projects (furniture and cabinetry) in my projects; I like the idea that nothing goes to waste. I also recycle packing materials from the store where my husband works: each week after a shipment, he brings home boxes of all sizes, biodegradable packing peanuts, and sheet upon sheet of bubble wrap... I just have to keep my mother from compulsively popping all the bubbles before I get to use the stuff!

I went to college to pursue studio art; where I latched onto Printmaking ( for which I did my best work) and floundered awhile with oil painting... My painting improved greatly after graduation, when I switched to acrylic paints. For a few years I was an exhibiting fine artist, and showed my prints and paintings in several venues around the state; I even had one solo exhibition, and later a joint exhibit with my cousin-in-law, a skilled portraitist. But before long I hit a cieling: to advance my career any further would take a higher level of exertion, commitment and risk... when I weighed my prospects, I had to accept the fact that I wasn't enjoying a career in art as it was: not emotionally, spiritually, philosophically, or even artistically! So how much worse would I feel if I tried to claw my way up into the world of proffessional artists? Shuffling through my Art in America magazines, I was having a serious heart-to-heart with Odin in the back of my mind: is this rat-race what I really signed on for? Is this my real calling, or am I missing some cue, some obscure strand of my wyrd that holds fast amid all these frayed ends? I didn't feel like much of a Heathen when I tried hammering out an art career; there was a time when the Art was more important... but that time had passed.

Handicrafts of some kind made sense. More venues, greater demand; I had ready access to tools and materials, and a knack for design... even a willing "investor!" (Dear ol' Mom again...) My first assumption was that I would have to make compromises: I assumed that it wasn't going to be "high art" anymore... but I could pursue folk art and sneak in something meaningful, all the same. I read and re-read Edred Thorsson's sections on Pennsylvania Deutsch hex signs in "Northern Magick" and set about making charming handpainted knick-knacks invested with positive magick. I made wooden "Santa Claus" figures that were about 90% Odin to the trained eye. For fun, I made some Wiccan items on the off chance I might break into the Pagan market. I made ornaments, jewellry, and rune sets on a whim. I built up an inventory, and reserved a booth for the summer season at the local Farmer's Market.

In retrospect, the Market was a bust... financially, that is. I had to resign myself to the fact that most of our local population has a soft spot for cheap crap! Week after week, however, I found my booth becoming the unofficial "Pagan Hitchin' Post." We started to bring extra chairs for guests who would stay and talk for hours. I raised the esteem for Heathens in the minds of more than a few witches that summer, introduced some curious folks to the Runes, and quelled the fears of more than a few nervous Christians. I made a little bit of money, but I helped make a lot of Frith. This caused me to consider the Pagan market more seriously: pagans, wiccans and the occasional heathen were by far more appreciative of the care that went into my work, and the meaning with which I tried to invest each piece. It was about this time that one of the other vendors at Market mentioned how she could "barely keep up" with the demand she had generated for her work on eBay. By Summers' end, I left off making knick-knacks altogether and began to focus on sacred objects.

By Winternights ( a week or so before the pagan Samhain / secular Hallowe'en) I was taking the plunge as an eBay seller. The technology was intimidating (I'm not especially computer-savvy) but the site was so user-friendly... I felt as though some seasoned pro was taking me by the hand and walking me through. After the first couple weeks (and several sales) I realized that I was getting pretty good at it; what's more, I was enjoying it. I got the biggest kick out of doing research, but I soon found out that the Heathen community is far under-served... disproportionately to the Pagan/Wiccan community, for which the market is saturated. The "clincher" was when I began getting feedback: the appreciation, the depth of feeling and the joy that my handiwork elicited from my buyers, was and is more precious than gold. It lit a fire in my guts, inspired me to strive and to innovate, because I understand the need for sacred objects firsthand. We as Heathens don't have 1000 years of well-financed sacred art: we don't have a Heathen Sistine Chapel ceiling to show our kids and grandkids. We need heirlooms as the artefacts of Legacy, to help tell our stories when we are gone. They are extensions of our identity: everything I make is infused with my own hard-won pride (read: confidence), dignity and sense of self-worth. These are some of the values that Heathenry is re-kindling in our lonely, detatched and pre-fabricated society. Our sacred objects keep the vibe alive, they let us hold the sacred in our hands and be ennobled by it... and ultimately, to "pass it on."

You know, we're lucky. We're not a demographic that anyone is tracking, much less pandering to. We're few and we're proud. We're not inundated with cheap garbage made in Taiwan. We have cottage industries, indie craftspersons, Heathens making stuff for Heathens, as it should be.  I think my fellow artisans will agree, creating sacred objects is an act of devotion in itself. I have the satisfaction of living my beliefs through the skill of my hands and the sweat of my brow each day, and making a modest but honest living. My whole being knows I have found my way of Right Living, that I've taken a hand in my fate and made good on a dream. Life is Good.

Now: more about my environment!

Our home is surrounded by fields that are occasionally tilled for feed corn, but usually allowed to grow wild for "low-grade" hay... which means wildflowers galore! I recently went on a little "nature walk" to identify some of the flora, and discovered names for plants I've seen every summer of my life: chicory, harebell, musk mallow, butter-and-eggs, yarrow, and the bizzarre but lovely blue & purple Viper's Bugloss. Of course, there are the familiar ones too: oxeye daisy, blackeyed susans, milkweed, five kinds of clover, buttercups, fleabane, and the ever-present Goldenrod (gesundheit!) Up the hill behind the springhouse, the blackberries ripen on the thorny branches each year around August. I try to wassail the trees around our property at least two times a year, and the back corner boasts a grove of quaking Aspen (poplar) where I maintain a small horgr, and where I go to meditate or toast the gods, ancestors and wights in private. In the spring thaw, I can snip a twig off the sugar maples and come back an hour or two later to taste the maple sugar sap that drips down. Now, at high Summer, wild stawberries are fruiting near the flower-garden in the back yard. When we trim the drooping birch twigs in autumn, I make myself a new broom. Down the road (which was paved for the first time less than a decade ago) and up the hill via tractor-trail, I can go into the woods, where I find new-fallen maple branches and saplings to make gandr and staffs. I have occasionally left offerings for the alfar, the "hidden folk" whom I sense there. I have stopped a fleeing doe in her tracks with a whistle, and drawn her close with a tune. We see foxes, hares, porcupine in the high, dead trees, snapping turtles by the marshes, red-tailed hawk scanning the fields for prey, snowy owls and a troupe of raccoon by night, and hear the clipped, yapping howls of coyotes in the dark. Best of all, every once in a great while, and always at a distance, we see the Bald Eagles on some high perch above the forest, their white crowns and mantles blushing in the light of the setting sun. There are rumours af the Bears and Wolves making a slow comeback as well. As the seasons change, we get an ever-changing parade of guests at our bird-feeders too: chickadees, finches and Bluejays in winter, the redwing-blackbird who usually heralds the spring a few days ahead of the robin, and all summer long, bluebirds, goldfinches, warblers, the occasional oriole and rose-breasted grosbeak; lovely cedar waxwings nest in our biggest maple tree, and a rock dove in one of the pines. I anticipate the brief visit of the Mockingbird the most: he arrives in mid-spring, staying only a few days. Anytime between sunset and sunrise, you may hear his perfect repetoire of birdcalls, as many as eighty in a recital, and always in the same order.

More soon!