Three posts in one morning is part of it, the breath of inspiration to write these thoughts (and so many more that will require research and notes to speak to properly). Who else might this come from except the All Father, lord of skald poets, breath of inspiration, and the mighty spear I called upon in a moment of concern over a rapid-fire series of interviews for a job I desperately want. My boon was granted and I will, as promised, all ways Hail the All Father first in any prayer or toast. This inspiration from the lore and from the one I once called Old One Eye’d Jack (a kenning I will not let go of) leads me in the direction (and contrary to the direction of my friend V) which I have already written about below. A drop of ale, a spot of blood, a boon granted, and I am His to do with as he please. I don’t doubt that; ask only that he guide me deeper into the lore and grant me the skald’s gift.
I ordered a Valknut pendant instead of a Mjölnir to signify my new faith largely because of the above. Then again, the Mjölnir is the symbol of the warder of Asgard, friend of men, foe of bent jotun. As a bookish person and poet who feels drawn deeply into the lore and toward writing prayers, praises, rituals and the like, who will no doubt undertake the Lore path of The Troth, I am reminded of my childhood. Every bookish child needs a strong friend to stand with them on the playground against the ignorant and bent.
I think when the Valknut comes, I will lay it on my mantel altar before the picture of my father, who fought briefly but bravely in WWII; sent back from the lines as a typist after his entire company was wiped out in an ambush with what was then called shell shock. Imagine the friends of several years training together as engineers interrupted by the call for more riflemen, all lost in first combat. Certainly his discharge papers name him typist because of what we would now call PTSD. He was a warrior when called, and carried the Browning Automatic Rifle. Soldiers and students of war will know what the life expectancy of a Squad Automatic Weapon bearer in the European theater was; about the same as a Navy Corpsman in the Pacific Theater, often not days or hours but minutes. The Germans went first for the guy with the automatic rifle, the Japanese for the medic. I will place the Valknut atop his discharge papers on the altar, to symbolize that he was not always a typist behind the lines but was first a warrior standing in the fore. The token will join a small green army man carrying a BAR I rescued from among my sons toys which stands before his picture.
For myself, I will instead order the Mjölnir, for as I said every bookish child needs a strong friend, and as a child in the lore and the faith I will rely upon strong-arm man-friend to stand with me in life’s ordeals. And particularly where I live, where the jotun of the Carribean ways named Huracán always lurks just over the horizon.
— Marcus Trúasóngr