Neolithic Shamanism: Spirit Work in the Norse Tradition - Raven Kaldera 2012
Frost
The White World: Air
Raven: The Frost spirit is the first one to arrive, the messenger who says, “Winter is here.” He kills tender plants in minutes—if we haven’t harvested the basil or tomatoes by that night, they will be a blackened, soggy, useless mass by morning. We listen closely for news of his coming so that we can throw down plastic and protect the delicate garden plants, keep them producing for just those few more days. Often the Frost spirit is weeks ahead of his snowy, icy brothers, dancing in and out, taunting us. He is a trickster, as anyone who has had to cope with his vagaries while minding a farm or garden will tell you. We either get everything harvested well beforehand, or we play the gambling game that he loves—can we risk just a few more days of production? Is this the first of the permanent nightly frosts, or is this an early aberration? He loves the game because he always wins it. Sooner or later, he paints our whole world.
Galina: I owe Frost a tremendous debt. He first came to me at the behest of his father and has continued to be very, very kind. As a shaman, I am also an ordeal master. As part of my work I was required by Odin to undergo nine ordeals, one for each of the Nine Worlds. For Niflheim, our world of ice, I had to “pathwalk” (journey to another world energetically while the body is in a similar place here) there and experience its cold and ice directly. This involved three days of cold camping in twenty-fivebelow-zero weather in the woods of Vermont. There was no fire, and I fasted for most of the time. I was miserable, colder than I’d ever been in my life, isolated from everything of the human world, and terrified at times as the ordeal progressed. The first night and every night after, Kari sent Frost to watch over me, to let me know that I was not without friends in this world, to keep a protective eye on me. Frost appeared to me as a slender man with pointed features and a beard, and he was compassionate and cheerful, but his eyes were ancient. It was a small thing, but it helped to get me through, and I remain grateful. I honor him regularly as Father Frost, and I will until the day I die.
One of the few spirits who survives in modern folktales, if only as a joking reference, is Jack Frost, the painter who decorates windows and other cold, moist surfaces. He is a holdover from older myths about Frosti, the son of the North Wind, one of the lords of the frost giants, or the Russian Frost King, who was a blacksmith and flung pieces of frozen iron to Earth. In Finland, myths tell of the Frost Queen and Frost King who bring the winter.
Even in the traditional myths, folktales, and general folk culture, Frost is a trickster. He is also an artist, which anyone can tell you as well, with a keen sense of beauty. In fact, one of the things that pleases him the most is when you walk outside on a day when everything is covered with his glittering artwork, exclaim in wonder, and tell him what a marvelous artist he is. People with farms and gardens can propitiate him by making little scarecrows, about a foot tall, of pieces of glittering glass or metal. They don’t have to be anthropomorphic; they can be stakes with glittery bits hanging from them. Spirit houses for Frost can be erected outside in the fall, before the first frost, and propitiated; they come down in the spring and are wrapped in cloth and laid to rest in a dark place until fall comes again. If you make offerings to him, he may skip your garden or hold off until a little later in the year . . . but don’t push your luck.
Exercise: Frost Scrying
On a night when you know that the temperature will drop and frost will cover the windows the next morning, go outside to a noninsulated window where you know frost will develop. Pour out a libation for him—he likes clear liqueurs. You can pour it right over the window if you like. Ask him to answer your question for you. Then, with your fingertip, write your question on the glass. If you are worried about privacy, don’t write it in letters—use symbols instead. Then go to bed, and get up early in the morning before the Sun heats anything. Go outside to the frost-covered window where you asked your question, and openly admire his artwork. (If there is no frost on it, that’s his way of saying that this is not a question he can answer.) Then breathe gently, three times, on the frost, and stare at it as it recrystallizes. An image will form in its feathery designs that will tell you what you need to know.