A Handbook of Saxon Sorcery & Magic: Wyrdworking, Rune Craft, Divination & Wortcunning - Alaric Albertsson 2017

The Nature of Magic
Getting Started

Before we can begin a reasonable dialogue about magic, we must first define what we mean by this term. Magic has come to mean many different things to people. There are some people who apply the word to almost any phenomenon—love, life, snow, rainbows, poetry—often to a point where it loses all meaning. Romantic applications of the word similar to these examples are beyond the definition of magic that we will be using in this book.

Conversely, pop culture often presents us with a dynamic vision of magic that is both fantastic and explosive. Whether it is the students of Hogwarts swishing and flicking their wands or Samantha Stevens twitching her nose, most of us have grown up exposed to these wondrous and exciting images of magic. However, these concepts too are beyond the definition we will be using. Fictional magic is great entertainment, but real magic is rarely so flashy or spectacular. Real magic does not create something impossible; it emphasizes possibilities. Real magic is, above all else, “real.” It is supernatural, but it is in no way unnatural. Its effects can almost always be explained away or rationalized within the parameters of natural law.

The definition of magic that we’ll be using is embedded in a word used in the subtitle of this book: wyrdworking.The Old English wyrd refers to the process in which the future unfolds from all of our past words and deeds. Wyrd is often interpreted as “fate” or “destiny,” but that is a rough translation at best. Wyrd is similar to the ripples on a pond that move outward from a single action—perhaps from a fish breaking the surface, or a stone dropping into the water. Magic is the art of working with that process. It is the art of shaping the ripples as they emerge, and thus influencing future possibilities.

Real magic affects the world much as a smile can affect the world. There is no exact science to smiling, but most of us instinctively make use of this technique to shape our environment. A person—adult or child—who feels threatened will very often give an appeasing or apologetic smile. Another person hoping to make a strong impression will flash a confident smile. A mother coaxes her child by offering an encouraging smile. There’s no certainty that the smile will be rewarded with its desired effect. The cynic will argue that a smile will not stop a bully, that it will not result in a promotion, and that a child may fail regardless of how often or how bravely a parent smiles. And yet we humans continue to smile, not only to express joy, but because we know in our hearts that a smile can and does shape the world around us.

Likewise, when you cast a spell or carry a charm in your pocket, there is no certainty that the magic will work. In fact, there is an excellent chance it will not, if that is all you do. I once knew a man who burned candles, chanted, and cast spells every single day to find employment. Weeks grew into months, but the man remained unemployed. Of course, if he had gone out and applied for a job somewhere—anywhere—his chance of success would have improved significantly. Magic does not shatter reality. Magic shapes reality to your advantage by subtly shaping your wyrd.

Magic and spirituality often overlap, but they are not the same thing. In Pagan religions especially, magic and spirituality often tend to be confused with one another. I think this is because magic is an inherent feature in Wicca, the religion largely responsible for the modern revival of Paganism. The religion of Wicca was envisioned, or created, primarily by Gerald Brousseau Gardner (1884—1964). Gardner claimed his religion to be a survival of a pre-Christian cult, but there is no question that his version of this “cult” (a word that has since taken on a negative connotation) was heavily influenced by his own interests in ceremonial magic and naturism. In fact, the very word Wicca—which Gardner himself spelled as Wica—is an Old English word that, in its original form, simply meant a man who works magic. A Saxon wicca may indeed be a very spiritual man, but the Old English word has no more to do with religion or spirituality than other Old English words like hunticge (a woman who hunts) or gristra (a man who grinds flour and bakes bread). Gardner’s Wicca, because of his own interest in magic, was presented as an expression of spirituality that included a heavy dose of ceremonial magic. And because of Gardner’s interest in naturism, nudity was the standard dress code for Wicca rituals.

Nudity has been largely abandoned outside of the Gardnerian Wicca tradition, but newer Wicca traditions as well as many Wicca-derived paths still consider magic to be an inherent aspect of spirituality. For many Pagans today, a religious ritual begins by casting a magic circle and balancing arcane energies. There is nothing inherently wrong with this. But in pre-Christian Saxon culture, and indeed all Indo-European societies, real magic was only incidentally related to spirituality. Only a minority of Saxons practiced wiccecræft, working magic for themselves and perhaps those closest to them. Most went to a professional—a Saxon druid (drýmann or drýicge)—when they needed magical assistance.

Admittedly, magic and spirituality often overlap. Both are tools for affecting change, and so it is not uncommon for a sorcerer’s spirituality to intrude upon his magical practice, and vice versa. Jesse Garrison, a Pagan man from Arkansas whom I have known for a number of years, makes this distinction between his magic and his spirituality:

Some magick does involve asking the gods for things, but most of that is just as easily handled by prayer and sacrifice. The way I distinguish between the two is that prayer is asking the gods to intervene on your behalf, while magick is bending the universe itself to your Will, occasionally with the help of one or more gods. It’s a passive/active thing. Either way, you decide where you want to go, but the difference is in who’s driving and who gets to pick the road.

When we pray, we are speaking directly to our gods or to other spirits. Just as there are many reasons we speak to mortal friends and neighbors, there can be many reasons to pray. We may pray to give thanks. When confronted with a problem, we may pray for guidance. And it is not uncommon at all for people to pray when they need a favor. But a prayer for a boon or favor is nevertheless a prayer. It is not magic.

Jesse Garrison hits the nail on the head when he describes this distinction as a “passive/active thing.” When we pray for a boon, we are asking someone else—some spirit, whether it is a god or the spirit of an ancestor or some local nature spirit—to affect a change. And there is nothing wrong with this, so long as you recognize that this is a request for a favor, and not a magical act. People who confuse magic with spirituality will sometimes ask me which god or goddess they should pray to for a specific need. If, for example, you were facing a civil trial, it might make sense to pray to the Saxon god Tiw, since he is sovereign over law and justice. But if you have no relationship with Tiw, if you have never prayed to him before or given any offering to honor him, then why should he care what happens to you? You would be approaching him like a beggar asking for spare change. He might help you out, but it is very likely that he will not. When you pray for a boon, the proper deity to pray to is whichever god or goddess you have a good relationship with.

And as Jesse points out, effecting change through prayer is a passive act. You are handing over the reins to somebody else. At times this can be beneficial and the best course of action. But while the outcome may please you, you are not the one shaping the ripples. This is how prayer differs from real magic. When you cast a spell or carve a runic charm or brew a potion, you are directly working to effect a change. It is you doing the work, not somebody else. The Saxon sorcerer actively reaches out to shape the ripples, to shape his or her wyrd.

This shaping is accomplished through a variety of techniques using sounds and symbols and natural substances. We will examine these techniques throughout the rest of this book. Some skills, or cræftes, may come easily for you, while you may decide to ignore others altogether. The important thing to keep in mind is that these skills are not directly related to spirituality. Working magic does not make you a “better” Pagan than the next person, and it does not mean you are more spiritual—although when done properly, magic can and should make your life run more smoothly.

Of course, as a Saxon sorcerer, you may indeed happen to be a very spiritual person. This is where the magic-versus-spirituality thing gets a little murky. It is not unusual to combine prayer and magic, which makes sense when you understand and appreciate the difference between the two. When confronted with a simple problem, the Saxon sorcerer may simply carve a bindrune to handle the situation himself. When confronted with a larger problem, the same person may carve a bindrune (active magic) and also ask for some help from a god or ancestor (prayer).

Now that I have said this, I have to add that although spirituality and magic are not the same thing, it is important to be grounded in the former if you want to be fully effective in the latter. Every culture has its own individual approach to magic. Græco-Egyptian magic bears little resemblance to traditional English folk magic, and both of these are different from the magic practiced in the Caribbean. Within any given indigenous culture, religious and magical practices have evolved from that culture’s world view. Thus, if you would understand Saxon magic, I encourage you to also develop an understanding and appreciation of Saxon spirituality. Travels Through Middle Earth: The Path of a Saxon Pagan is a good introduction if you are not already familiar with Saxon beliefs and customs.

In Saxon belief, to give one example, the “Self” consists of much more than just body + soul. The lic (physical body) is just one of nine parts of the Self, all of them bound together by the æthem, or breath of life. Practitioners of Saxon magic are aware of these nine parts of the Self and how these affect their work. Let us look at these nine parts before we go further.

The Lic (Physical Body)

The lic (pronounced like “leech”) is as much a part of this equation as any other part of the Self. As Jan Fries asserts in his book Helrunar, the physical body is “our medium of interaction with the world” (p. 184). Your physical body is the part of you that interfaces directly with Middle Earth. When the æthem vanishes at the end of a person’s days and the various parts of that person disperse, his or her lic literally returns to the earth. This process of returning to the earth actually occurs on a lesser scale throughout our lives, even though we are usually unaware of it. Every day, skin cells and hairs fall away from your body and return to the earth, eventually becoming part of the soil beneath your feet.

Conversely, the lic is continually sustained by the earth. The food that keeps us alive pushes up and out from the soil, and so this part of the Self is simultaneously a part of the earth. Your lic is constantly replenished by the soil, and is constantly returning to the soil.

The Saxon sorcerer recognizes that weakness and disease are hindrances to effective magic work. It is not impossible to work magic when your physical body is compromised, especially if you have developed an impressive degree of skill in one or more magical cræftes, but it is certainly more difficult. You do not need the physique of an athlete, but you should strive to maintain a reasonably healthy physical condition. When your lic—your interface with Middle Earth—is whole and sound, you can focus more effectively on your work.

The Hyge (Conscious Thought)

Ceremonial magicians often maintain that the four principles for effective magic are to Know, to Will, to Dare, and to Keep Silent. Three of these are, in Saxon belief, parts of the Self known respectively as the hyge, the willa, and the wód. Our faculty for conscious thought is called the hyge (pronounced HU-yeh). This is the part of you that objectively analyzes data and makes rational decisions.

This part of the Self is often underutilized by those who explore magic. When we engage the wód and other parts of the Self in our work, the hyge is set aside for a time. And this is as it should be. In trance work, for example, you should avoid the temptation to immediately analyze every impression that comes to you. During your trance you might see a wolf. It can be very easy to let the hyge step in and make a connection between the wolf and the god Woden, to whom wolves are sacred. But maybe the image you saw had nothing to do with Woden. Maybe it was just the spirit of a wolf. This is why it is important to keep the hyge in check during the work.

Nevertheless, this part of the Self is essential to your work; however, it must be utilized correctly. The Saxon sorcerer is constantly learning, engaging the hyge. To be effective, he should have a working knowledge of Saxon belief and symbols. Rúncræft, skill with the Anglo-Saxon runes, especially engages the hyge.

In the wake of any magic work, it is the hyge that keeps the Saxon sorcerer stable and balanced. You should always scrutinize your own work after the fact as objectively as possible. One thing to watch for is any hint of megalomania. If at any time you feel omnipotent, or somehow “better” than other people, if you believe nobody else can do what you do, or that other people cannot understand or perceive things you have seen, then it is probably time to set the wand and cauldron aside. For most people this is not a problem, but a very small number of would-be sorcerers fall prey to these delusions. Each of us feels that he or she is special and unique, and on some level this is true, but if you begin to believe that you are anything other than human, or that you possess gifts unknown to others, then your hyge is not functioning effectively.

It is also your hyge that recognizes whether your magic is having any positive effect on your life and the lives of those around you. A successful sorcerer is a successful human being. It is your hyge, your “analytical self,” that objectively determines whether or not you are succeeding. Unfortunately many would-be sorcerers ignore their hyge. To develop effective magic techniques, you need to be cognizant of what works and what does not work for you.

The Willa (Willpower)

For the ceremonial magician, it is not enough just “to Know”—you must then exert your Will. The Old English willa can be translated as “willpower” or “determination.” It is the part of you that keeps you motivated. For the Saxon sorcerer, it is the part of the self that “shapes the ripples.”

Willa can also be translated as “joy” or “desire.” The Old English verb willian means “to wish for.” Your willa is the craving you have that causes you to forge ahead to attain your goals. To work magic effectively, the willa must be engaged in the process. Some purposes lend themselves to this more readily than others. Prosperity magic, for example, tends to be difficult because most people just do not get very sexed up about money. We all like the idea of having plenty of money, and nobody is going to turn down an unexpected inheritance, but it is not something most of us feel real passion for.

The various techniques of galdor (sound magic) help focus the sorcerer’s willa on the work at hand. Alliteration, rhythm, and rhyme all engage the attention of the willa. Likewise, the scents of various herbs can engage the willa.

A weak willa is as much a hindrance to effective magic as a weak or diseased lic. Possibly more so. Without the push of the willa, any magic work is almost guaranteed to be fruitless. Like any other part of you, the condition of your willa is partially inherited and partially influenced by how you use it. Just as you can exercise your lic, for example, you can also exercise the willa.

To do this, find a time when you can be alone and undisturbed. Sit in a comfortable position and select one object within eyesight. It could be a doorknob or a light switch, or if outdoors it could be a flower or small plant. Fix your gaze on the object. Force your willa to remain directed on that object and nothing else. Hold this for as long as you can. In its natural state, your willa is drawn to its desires. It only remains focused in one place if you hold it there. While performing this exercise, you may feel your willa trying to pull away. By training your willa to remain focused on one object, you can gain a greater control over it. This exercise sounds simple enough, but for some people it is very difficult to focus attention on one object for even a minute or two. With practice you should eventually reach a point where you can remain focused for fifteen minutes or more.

The Wód (Inspiration)

You Know and you Will, now you must Dare. The part of the Self that corresponds to daring is called the wód. This is your passion. This is what inspires your willa. Pure wód, when undirected, erupts into madness and rage. But when guided by the willa, it becomes a powerful tool.

Wód is the inspiration that motivates both the poet and the warrior. When the classicist speaks of his “muse,” he is speaking of something similar to what the Saxon would call his wód. The difference is that the Hellenic muse is perceived as another spirit, a daughter of Zeus, whereas the wód is an innate part of you. Furthermore, wód by itself is sheer undefined passion. It is madness. Wód only becomes a positive force when it is guided or directed by the willa.

Note that wód is not desire. Desire has direction and focus. However, your willa directs your wód, and so it can seem that wód itself is the manifestation of desire. But wód has no definition or direction of its own. Wód is a power that can be destructive as easily as it can be constructive. It was wód that drove the Germanic berserkers into their legendary frenzies in battle. It is wód, too, under the direction of the willa, that fuels the creativity of the poet, novelist, and songwriter.

The role of the wód in magic is self evident: wód is the inner fire—the power—that charges your work.

The Mód (Self-Identity)

In my opinion, it is the mód that we are usually thinking of when we speak of the “soul.” Our modern word mood comes from this Old English term. Mód can be interpreted equally as heart, mind, or spirit. Your mód is what might be called self-awareness. It is your sense of identity.

The mód does not have an immediate, obvious connection with magic. With the hyge, willa, and wód, you have Known, you have Willed, and you have Dared. There is no part of the Self, in Saxon belief, that corresponds to the Keep Silent segment of the ceremonial magicians’ equation, although that is indeed good advice for aspiring sorcerers of any discipline. Talking about your work dissipates the effect of your wód. This is true for writers as well as magicians. Many writers refuse to talk about their current projects because they find that it releases a lot of the inspiration—a lot of the wód—they would otherwise pour onto paper (or more likely, today, into their word processors). In the same way, sorcerers can lose much of the power behind their magic if they talk about it, either before or after the work.

Even though the mód does not fit in with the maxims of ceremonial magic, a healthy mód is as important as any other part of you for successful magic work. If your mód is unbalanced or unhealthy, it is going to show in your work. I won’t say you need to be in a “good mood” for wyrdworking, but you do need to be in a strong mood. You need to identify with the work at hand in some way. You need to be fully present.

The Mægen (Spiritual Strength)

Mægen (MY-an) is an Old English word meaning “strength” or “vigor.” When we say that someone has a lot of guts, we are speaking of that person’s mægen.

This substance, your mægen, is a part of you that is easily replenished, but just as easily destroyed or used up. Mægen is used whenever we confront a significant challenge. Some of us have seemingly endless reserves, while others quickly expend their mægen. Since every work of magic is a challenge, at least some mægen is used whenever we concoct a magic ointment or chant a spell.

Mægen is also used up in other ways. It is quickly depleted by dishonorable acts. Whenever you break your word, some mægen is lost. If you betray a friend or family member in any way, some mægen is lost. Obviously anyone with a chronic habit of lying or cheating is not going to become an effective sorcerer.

Fortunately the reverse is true. Mægen is replenished by honorable acts. Whenever you are true to your word, whenever you are faithful to your folk, your mægen is replenished. How much you gain, of course, depends on how worthy your words and acts are. If you make a promise that is easy to keep, the reward in mægen will be minimal. Promises and deeds are more worthy when they require a degree of effort on your part.

In my opinion, your mægen is an underlying foundation for all of your magic work. No matter how sharp your hyge, no matter how strong your willa or how powerful your wód, your work is not going to be successful without a good foundation of mægen. At best your work will fizzle; at worst it will go awry. Your willa—your personal willpower—is seriously undermined when your words and deeds are not reliable. Strong reserves of mægen are essential for magic work.

All Saxon Pagans strive to build their mægen through honorable acts, but this is especially important for the Saxon who would be a wyrdworker.

The Hama (Astral Body)

I am going out on a limb here by describing the hama as your “aura,” but that is the best way I know to express it. The word aura suggests an emanation, whereas the hama is an independent body. It is an astral or spiritual body that surrounds and protects you. The hama could be thought of as your spiritual shield. In Old English, hama literally means a “skin” or “covering.” It is also the name of the god known to the Norse as Heimdall, who guards the path to Osgeard where the gods and goddesses live. The god Hama keeps watch to prevent any intrusion into that celestial realm.

Your own hama is the part of you that prevents the intrusion of forces that would harm or disrupt you. Like every other part of you, the hama is independent and intelligent. You do not have to tell your hama to ward off an intrusion any more than you have to tell your lic to keep your heart beating. Your hama is constantly protecting the rest of you.

Your hama ensures that you are not going to be possessed by another spirit. Again, the hama is an intelligent, independent part of your Self that can allow, if you wish, limited possession. But the chance of true, forced possession is very small. I will not say there is absolutely no danger at all, but then again, there is some element of danger involved every time you go to the grocery store. If your hama is healthy, the danger of forced possession is roughly equivalent to the danger of that grocery expedition. Thus a sorcerer who wants to connect with the Elves (natural spirits) and other entities will appreciate a strong and healthy hama.

Chronic use of drugs can compromise the hama. And by “drugs,” I do not mean only illegal substances. Legal drugs such as alcohol and caffeine can also compromise the hama when indulged in to excess. Alcohol, in the form of mead (honey wine), is integral to Saxon spirituality, but no wyrdworker worth his or her salt is going to stumble around in a constant drunken state. Likewise, excessive caffeine in the form of coffee or caffeinated soft drinks can weaken the hama. If you must have a shot of vodka or a beer or a cup of coffee in order to function, the time has come to either cut back or, for some few of us, to emancipate yourself from the substance entirely. Stronger drugs can have a more harmful effects, and thus require even more caution.

When your hama is strong and whole, as it is for most of us, the dangers people speak of in reference to magic are negligible. This protective shell is constantly active and on guard.

The Myne (Memory and Emotions)

Your memories, all of them, good and bad, are the part of you known as your myne (pronounced MU-neh). I honestly do not think the myne comes directly into play in magic work except when the wyrdworker is memorizing a chant or the meanings of the runes, but it is one of the nine parts of the Self, so it needs to be mentioned here. At times your magic work may be directed to affect your own myne, just as you would use healing magic to affect your lic.

It may seem strange that the Saxons considered the memory and emotions to be the same thing, but they recognized that all of our emotional responses are indeed a function of the memory, or the myne. How often have you heard somebody say, “I wish I could forget about him,” or, “I wish I could put that behind me”? Our emotions are our memories, both painful and pleasurable. Lovers once gave sprigs of rosemary to one another, because that herb strengthened the myne and thus helped ensure that they would be remembered.

The Fetch (Guardian Spirit)

The fetch is a part of your Self that is often encountered during “astral travel,” or what the Saxon sorcerer is more likely to describe as seething. If that modality of Saxon magic appeals to you, your fetch may have a large role in your personal work. If not, and you have no interest in the art of seething, you might have only a passing acknowledgement of your fetch. In some ways the fetch can be similar to the hama, in that it can be a protective force. But unlike the hama, the fetch can and does travel beyond your other “selves” while simultaneously remaining connected to the rest of you by your æthem, or life breath.

The word fetch is related to the Old English fetian, meaning “to seek out or to obtain.” Today it has this same meaning when used as a verb. In modern British English, the word used as a noun retains the meaning of a spirit or apparition, however this usage is no longer found in modern American English.

The fetch usually takes on the appearance of an animal. This is the “familiar” of traditional witchcraft. You might be approached and befriended by numerous animal spirits, but the fetch itself is a part of you. Just as you have only one hama and one lic, you have only one true fetch. Kveldulf Gundarsson asserts that the fetch will occasionally take the form of a woman (Teutonic Magic, p. 15). In my experience, however, a fetch manifestation in any human form is an exception rather than the rule.

You do not need to know just now what form your fetch takes; it will make itself known to you when the time is right. (To be more precise, it will make itself known to your hyge—to your conscious self—when the time is right. Obviously your fetch, which is itself a part of you, is already aware of the form it manifests.) Some people want to rush to find out what sort of animal they have as a fetch, but this can lead to self-delusion. Wait until your own experiences reveal, to your hyge, the form of your fetch. One of the best settings for this is in your dreams. Is there some animal that occasionally but repeatedly appears to you in dreams? It could be any kind of animal and is as likely to be something simple and unassuming—perhaps a toad, a songbird, or a butterfly—as something dangerous and romantic. It is amazing how many people claim to have fetches in the form of exciting, predatory animals. The wolves and raptors alone make up an inexplicable percentage of alleged fetch manifestations. I cannot help but wonder how many of these alleged manifestations are imaginary, and how many real familiar spirits manifesting as bluebirds or chipmunks or mice go completely unnoticed.

You need not restrict your exploration to the dreamscape to find your fetch. Go into the woods or walk through an open meadow and be mindful of any creatures that approach or follow you. And do not worry if nothing comes of this immediately. Your fetch will reveal itself to you in its own time.

These, then, are the nine parts of the Self: lic, hyge, willa, wód, mód, mægen, hama, myne, and fetch. Most of these will have a role in your magic work at some time or another.

At the beginning of this chapter we defined what is meant, in this book, by the word magic. I think it is equally important to also define what I mean by Saxon magic, since different people may view this concept in different ways.

There are some Saxon Pagans who restrict their activities—whether magical or spiritual—to practices that can be definitively documented as occurring in pre-Christian society, before Augustine became the first Archbishop of Canterbury in CE 598. The biggest problem with this approach is that the pre-Christian Saxons did not write anything down. All records pertaining to that era were written much later by Christian scribes. There are huge gaps in our objective knowledge of pre-Christian Saxon traditions, and nowhere is this more evident than in Saxon magic.

The other issue is that this approach ignores a wealth of lore that has been passed down through the years in the form of folk customs. I regard all English folklore as potentially Saxon unless it can be proven or demonstrated otherwise. What I look for is a sense of what I can only describe as “English-ness.” If folklore includes a tradition of scrying into water—which it does—then I think we are reasonable in assuming the art of scrying to be an indigenous Saxon practice. Scrying is a means of divination in which a person gazes into a reflective surface, such as a bowl of water, or a mirror or crystal ball. Can I prove that the ancient Pagan Saxons utilized scrying? No, but I can prove that their descendants did, and there is certainly nothing overtly foreign about the practice.

On the other hand, ideas or customs derived from the study of chakras, classical astrology, or the Qabala are obviously foreign in origin and, I believe, should be acknowledged as such.

This does not mean I would never incorporate an idea or custom of non-Saxon origin in my magic work. I have seen Christians, especially young people, wearing woven bracelets with the letters WWJD, meaning “What Would Jesus Do?” This question becomes their guidepost for determining their own behavior. In both my own magic as well as my spirituality, I follow the principle of WWSD, meaning “What Would the Saxons Do?” In other words, if the Saxons had remained true to their gods, if they had not suffered the cultural genocide that swept across Europe, which innovations would they have adopted? This is always necessarily a matter of speculation, but it is unreasonable to presume that native Saxon traditions would have remained unchanged over the past fourteen centuries.

Later in this book, for example, I will touch upon Western elemental theory and its application in healing. This theory were formulated by the Greeks and was the foundation for the healing practices espoused by physicians such as Hippocrates and Galen. The Saxons converted to the new religion of Christianity before these healing practices became widespread in England, but there is no reason to suppose that this would not have happened anyway if the Saxons had remained Pagan. Elemental theory is not related to any particular religion. Hippocrates is still known as the “Father of Medicine” because his healing techniques, at the time, were more effective than any other. So What Would the Saxons Do? Would they reject elemental theory? Why?

On the other hand, it would be misleading for me to claim that elemental theory is an ancient Saxon tradition. Although this book is intended for wyrdworkers and not for scholars, I will attempt to be as clear as possible about the origins of the techniques described in the following chapters.

The art of wyrdworking is, in plain terms, witchcraft. In pre-Christian England, some Saxon wyrdworkers were acknowledged as druids (drýmenn or, if female, drýicgan) in recognition of their service to their respective villages or to a Saxon lord. Often, however, sorcerers served only their immediate friends and kinsmen.

Regardless of status, whether witches or druids, sorcerers practiced an art only peripherally related to their spirituality. Like the modern practitioner, the pre-Christian wyrdworker surely would have prayed for divine assistance from time to time. We have already discussed the distinction between magic and prayer, and have seen how these are often used simultaneously.

The recipient of such a prayer should always be a god or spirit with whom you have developed a relationship. The means of nurturing such a relationship is covered thoroughly in Travels Through Middle Earth: The Path of a Saxon Pagan, so there is no need to repeat myself here. If you have good relationships with more than one spirit, the prayer should be directed to the god or spirit most likely to take an interest in your problem (e.g., Thunor for protection, Frige for household issues, etc.).

Also, Woden or Fréo are both good choices for wyrdworkers to pray to if they have developed relationships with one of these deities. The Saxon god Woden and the goddess Fréo are both sovereign over magic work. Thus it behooves the serious wyrdworker to build a positive relationship with one or the other. Fréo is the mistress of the arts of seething and scrying. If you find yourself drawn to shamanic practices, consider building a relationship with Fréo. I would recommend her also to the sorcerer who wants to focus on the art of wortcunning.

Woden, also known as Grim, is the god who revealed the runic mysteries. The Hávamál, a poem from the thirteenth century Icelandic Poetic Edda, tells us that Woden (known to the Norse as Odin) claimed the runes after hanging for nine days from the World Tree. He is obviously the choice for the sorcerer who enjoys working with the Anglo-Saxon runes. However, there is no hard and fast rule about this. If it is Fréo who speaks to you, then you might fare better with her, even if runes are your passion.

In fact it is Woden and Fréo—the latter addressed by her Norse name Freya—who are acknowledged as the “Lord and Lady” in the Seax Wica tradition. Wica (or Wicca) is a duotheistic religion in which the godhead is believed to be a divine pair, a Lord (masculine energy) and Lady (feminine energy). The Seax Wica tradition was formulated by Raymond Buckland and presented to the public in 1974 with the release of The Tree: The Complete Book of Saxon Witchcraft, which has since been republished as Buckland’s Book of Saxon Witchcraft. Obviously Seax Wica is not traditional Germanic polytheism, nor has it ever been presented as such, but I find it interesting that Mr. Buckland chose Woden and Fréo (or Freya) as the images for the Lord and Lady.

The Saxon sorcerer, like other Saxon Pagans, does not believe that Woden and Fréo are the entirety of the Divine, but these are nevertheless the deities the practitioner is most likely to turn to for help in working magic. I do not know of any Saxon witch or druid who has not worked to develop a relationship with one or the other of these deities.

Review

1. What is the difference between magic and prayer?

2. What is the function of the hama?

3. Describe the connection between memory and emotion.

4. What distinguishes a Saxon druid (drýmann, drýicge) from a witch (wicca, wicce)?

5. What Saxon deity is associated with rune magic? Why?