After trying and failing several times to connect with, or more importantly be accepted by the land wights of Weston-Super-Mare, last weekend I did the Viking History Days on the sea front... Unfortunately Thor showed up on Saturday and I got drenched but not before I had had some interesting conversations that confirmed my spirit visions. Sunday was even worse and the encampment had been blown away. Seems the gods wanted me there just for a short time to receive my message, then its purpose was done.

The first place Julie took me when we started dating was Uphill, to show me the Viking tower. At this spot there was a burial mound that I stood upon and felt the power and energy of a great warlord. Well anyway I was chatting with one of the Viking rein-actors and he told me that Uphill used to be called Ubhill and we discussed the Great Heathen army and the battle on Brent Knoll in 875 AD where one of their leaders fell "Ubba" son of Ragnar Lothbrok . He was carried away from the scene of the battle and buried on a near by hill.... Hence Ubhill/ Uphill.

Yesterday I tried to visit the caves of the Norns but the tide was in and access was denied, I instantly knew that I had to visit Uphill and do my spirit work there. As this is mid August there were loads of tourists flying kites in the wind and enjoying the bright sunshine, no matter to me. I sat down on the mound and shook my Algiz stick and drifted off into vision.

I was back in time just after the great battle and the dead warlord lay before me. The vision was as an observer, I saw myself in another life, a younger version ,maybe about 30 years old. A floppy leather hood covered most of my face but I could still make out that from half way across the bridge of my nose on up was painted black, the whites of his eyes shone from the shadows of the hood. 

This character (Me) was chanting as he marked the body with runes and sigels for the dead man's  journey ahead. He used the burnt end of a stick and mixed it with spittle in the palm of his hand to write his magical charms of protection and release. Others were laying large rocks around the warlord making the shape of a great ship to carry him across to the other side.

The wizard looked up and straight at me, he smiled and spoke.
" I am no crow, I am no Raven, I am the Jackdaw."
The other members of the cast of my vision seemed to give this Shaman a wide birth, whether from fear or reverence I am not quite sure
He stopped what he was doing, left the stick tool on the dead man's chest and walked away from the body, in my vision I followed. The medicine man led me  to a grove of trees, which possessed a mystic and spiritual energy.
" Here is a good place to work" He said, then spat on the floor, stamped it in with his boots and was gone.

I was back from my vision and sitting on the mound in the  glorious August weather.
I stood up and thanked the spirits for my message then retraced the steps of the wizard, whence I found the sacred grove.... My plan now is to come back  and bury an Othela rune in the earth to mark this spot as another holy place within my sacred enclosure and to encounter the Jackdaw once more, I feel he has much to show me.

I havn't blogged for a while been involved in making loads of new runes for the Viking Festival I am about to do In Weston-Super-Mare. It amazes me the amount of history the town has, going back to the Great viking Army. Ubba ( Ragnar Lodbrok's son) was killed in the battle of Brent knoll, just a few miles away from the town. Guthrum, his cousin, was defeated at Edington (on the Somerset levels) and taken to Wedmore to be Baptized into the Christian faith. As I look out over the cliffs of Weston Wood I can imagine the Norsemen camped out below. All these events and there echoes dwell within my sacred enclosure.

My job on this weekend is to be a Norse Shaman reading runes from my cauldron but most importantly, to raise an interest in the Odinic ways and allow the old Gods to speak again. The town will be full of holiday makers, from all walks of life.... I have played this role at many events in the US but those were always Scandinavian or spiritual gatherings, where most of those attending had a genuine interest in the subject... Strangely enough, here in England there is less desire to know one's history, it is because
we are surrounded by it every day, layer upon layer buried beneath us.

I will cast my runes, spin my yarns and weave the web of the sagas into the hearts and mind of those who will attend. Whether I am listened to or ignored as a lunatic is up to the Norns. The stories will be told and the word of Odin will be heard once again on the banks of the Severn estuary, just as it was 1200 years ago.