Archive for September, 2015

The Typhoid Dream: “Write down the dream I send tonight.”-Tyr

Posted in About me on September 28, 2015 by Tyrienne

Found via a wordsearch and origin traced back to via reverse image look-up, I do not know if Dr. Hardesty drew the symbol- but she has the earliest known image of it on the web. She seems to be yet another Pantologist scholar/mystic in the world and author on surviving disease. I have yet to read her blog, but I wished to give proper credit for this symbol. I will not say what search terms I used-but will admit to a correct accurate guess of the two words I typed privately.

In response to a vision of Tyr- I am writing down this very coherent and disturbing dream of the near future…. “You will dream tonight, publish it.”  I expected a lovely Heathen/God experience, but what I did dream, well, without being told to write it beforehand, I wouldn’t expose myself like this.

I was taught by a family of Scottish pagans who I used to live with for a few years in my 20’s  that “to say a prophecy-dream out loud or to write it- takes away it’s power to become real…the more you share it, the less chance of it occurring.”  I hope this is true.  Except they tended to not-share good dreams.  It seems their bad one’s were fortunately few.

For the global circumstances of this dream- the core “issue” is a very real consideration everyone, not just heathenry, should hope never occurs, but is more than possible.

I do not claim to have any precognitive ability, and I hope I do not.   If anything… perhaps posting this will flush an old, obstinate friend from the bushes at best-case scenario.

However, with that being said- I am also well enough educated to “guesstimate” the chances of “Wow….if this trend continues, this type of chaos may occur.”  That’s not mysticism, it’s just simple logic that I learned to apply from college….ironically, I almost failed that class for asking “Why?” too often and the reply being “Just memorize the damned formulas”.  I cannot memorize anything at all unless I know “Why” it exists… it’s actually very frustrating. I live by writing small notes on my hand in ink and two calendars.  Without further rambling:

The Typhoid dream.  (I am not looking up the real symptoms of this illness until I finish writing this.)

The dream began in a hospital I had seen in other dreams but do not recall in life- (it might well be Hershey Medical Center- directly after high school a close friend had a car accident and was comatose for several months there- touch and go.  He lived.), there was a new pandemic that began out of an anti-vaccine community in California and the Typhoid virus had mutated into a largely fatal, extraordinarily contagious version referred to as “Typhoid II”.   The symptoms were fever so high the skin seemed reddened, coughing blood, congestion- it seemed like a “Dire-flu” more than anything.  In each region of the country, due to the contagiousness of the condition, each “area” had a designated hospital to take only these patients.  The virus was so unknowingly contagious it spread within days rapidly from coast to coast, and instantly killed the people in countries with larger populations of malnorished or sick individuals.

The incubation period was seemingly non-existent meaning medical staff, especially nurses, were also dying and since already infected, were forced to attend to those in the late-stage of the disease.  To be even near someone with stage 4 without full protection was to guarantee immediate infection through the proliferation of the virus around the patient, but that was not known immediately.  However, if one could “rally” before “stage II” became “Stage III”, they would recover fully…however, for someone to heal from the disease was “as rare as ebola”- and those who did survive developed immunity and and were begged to give blood samples to try to create an emergency vaccine of their antibodies.  In the dream, no vaccine was “finished” and I only saw one person “Cured”, personally.

Dogs and cats were entirely immune to the disease, and since human companionship of friends and relatives became “Too dangerous”- service animals were offered by many who have them to be companions to the dying…and could ask for their service dogs back after the patient died with nothing more than a disinfection process and a blood test that never proved to show any contamination whatsoever.

I was called to this hospital in this dream- told that I was listed as a chaplain for one of the patients, they did not tell me in advance “who”- and I didn’t really care.  Since I did not know their religion and I have this blog and other methods through which people contact me, I have a modest black dress with a plunging neckline I made “professional” with the addition of a brightly colored tank top underneath.  I wear no symbolic jewerly except for my wedding rings and my tattoos- most of which are covered by this dress except for my arms and if I put my hair up, the two runes on my back.  If a Heathen asks for me- I just wear my hair up: Voila’: instant Gythia.

So, not knowing which friend or acquaintance called for me, I kept my hair down but tied back- my hair is exceptionally long these days and thick- if I don’t tie it back, I end up accidentally eating it if I go anywhere where I have to ever look down or be active.

I arrived at the ward- an entire side of the hospital was dedicated to this disease.  The only other Chaplain present was a local Catholic priest I have seen every single time I’ve been volunteering in this function walking around with the same lanyard they give me when I remember to ask for it….it’s just a laminated tag that says “Chaplain” with the symbol for a hospital  that opens doors to the wards for me by allowing me to hold the barcode to the reader instead of pestering a nurse via intercom.

Inside the ward, the nurses asked “Are you sure you want to put yourself into this kind of risk?”

I replied, “If I did not, then this should not be my vocation.”  The middle-age priest concurred with me and approved, looking so stoic I could cry and then we were both immediately lead by different nurses to different sections of the ward, him- down a long hallway around the corner.  I was also around the corner but lead to the first room behind the nurses’ station.  The nurses had a television on at their station and always updated me on proceedures.  Inside of the dream, I was there about a week or less.

it was not far-  in stage I, there was a room that contained two sick men- one sicker than the other…both of which were former college professors who did not care for each other.  For the sake of privacy, I’ll change a name and not use last names.

In the nearest bed, was one, bored/annoyed professor who was what I consider a very good friend named Jason.  When I attended college late- I found I had more socially in common with professors close to my own age  than students.  Jason looked to be fairly well off.   In the bed on the other side of the room was Malachi.   Malachi was a professor who harmed me greatly to the point where I wanted to leave immediately.

Jason saw my discomfort immediately and said,

“Stop.  This jerk made me his “Next of Kin” for some bizarre reason… he needs spiritual help now, are you going to leave him?  I don’t know of any other person trained in his religion well enough, so *I* listed you as his chaplain.  I thought it seemed fitting and could help you have some closure and show him some humility.”

Jason wanted me to call him “Doctor”- since he does not befriend former students- a practice I never agreed with that I saw as very self-limiting based on being the only child of a famous professor himself who took in “strays” for holidays and meals who had no families.

I replied to Jason, “Absolutely not, Jason.  If you think you can call on me in any capacity as an authority, I am your social equal…JASON.  Am I your chaplain as well?  You know I know next to nothing about your personal religious practices. Also, how did you know I volunteer as a chaplain?”

He smiled and replied, “I’m my own chaplain.  Also, I’ve read your blog.” and continued to read/play games off of his phone.  I remember trying to spend as much time talking to Jason as I could to not force myself look at the other bed.  Asking questions such as:

“Why don’t you have books?”
“Because I read “Fahrenheit 451″ by Ray Bradbury- they burn every item that comes in here to prevent the infection from spreading.  I refuse to be the cause of any book getting torched on my account.”

The refreshing thing I noticed is outside of college, Jason was more candid in his expression.  What he hated he stated clearly without “giving a fuck”- and he was a man of his own, strong moral compass derived from a lifetime of studying ancient religions.  In college, all I knew of it was he pledged his best “not to cause harm” to his deity.  But in the dream, “harm” seemed to have been replaced with a sort of recklessness in this interpretation where “harm” was mitigated in his world view as “harm that leads to the greater good of all involved is not ‘harm’.”

I feel it would be cogent to note I never understood why Jason had blue eyes considering what little I knew of his ancestry.
I also never asked.
That’s something only Heathens care about- eye color in regards to trying to determine truth in claims.
For example: I know most strong Lokeans who have either bright green or hazel eyes that can appear bright green at times, and I know some Lokeans who are so stuck on this point where having green eyes is a “thing” as a proof of Loki’s favor.
(Yes, I have hazel eyes, but they’re unusual.  I’m not getting into it.)
Jason’s eyes were always a very clear light blue.  I always associate true-blue eyes with Tyr in some way, not that grey people “call” blue- but the blue of any clear sky.  By his own admission, Jason’s people have predominantly brown eyes.

Jason began to ignore me and said “Do your job- he’s over there. His mother died and he has the exact same amount of actual friends he had when you knew him, it will be good for you.”   That would be minus one.  It became evident I was his only actual confidant at one point to which he would communicate with honestly for a short time…. most of his time he attracted fawning sycophants who came and went or people to which HE was subservient and cloying.

Gods, it felt like approaching a crying viper.  As a chaplain, I would have to approach this person who intentionally and without any emotional guilt whatsoever stole from me, and then tried to destroy my mind, my reputation, and drive me to suicide.  I had to be “compassionate”!?  I thought believed this person was a malignant narcissist but he seemed so helpless and the loneliness was palpable.

Jason knew the truth of the situation but could not do much about it as it occurred. However, he was open in his contempt and clearly blamed Malachi for his infection and had no compunction about reminding him of that fact.

Malachi was a person who the strongest commonality we shared was a desire to seek out and become more intelligent…with Jason (rightly) telling this guy in-dream he blamed him for their infection by travelling to the source-infected area and returning without telling people until after the trip. Although I liked this flippant side of Jason I did not see in lifeI also understand anyone who finds themselves at the edge of possible, extraordinarily painful death, will stop caring for unnecessary polite lies that many insist upon in all social interaction and call “courtesy”,

So although at first it seemed out of character-  But again, close to death without wanting to be, and still trying to make the best of the situation to “make something good of it” is very much in character of a mentally and spiritually strong person.

In the dream, I imagined Jason was stuck in a small office with the other guy at some point and it came out in conversation Malachi had just returned from California.  Jason getting up, saying “Let’s go for a drive” and checking them both in.  Jason was well provided for by friends and family.  Malachi had nothing but what he kept with him usually- his carrying case and its contents. But it sat unopened on a shelf at the side of the room.

I approached the other bed and put my hand on the man’s shoulder.  He was shaking and I was trying so hard to think of him as a stranger, not as the man who harmed me so I could show compassion to him without prejudice…and also, so I would not give into my own urges to abuse him while he was weak by knowing his weaknesses and knowing what words I could say that would make HIM suicidal.  He clearly was frightened, lonely, and in pain. If I can be kind to wild animals caught in fences and risk being bitten to free him- my rational was this was no different.

So, I sat on the side of his bed, and gently had my hand on his shoulder (something I NEVER would do in life- even as a friend, he was uncomfortable being touched.)  and asked him to talk to me.  He looked awful and would not face me- but on the wall beside him was a long mirror and I could see his face- and it was his modern face, not the face that he had back when I worked for him in college.  He asked me if I could forgive him,

I said honestly “I am really trying my hardest right now, but you are in so much suffering as a person I can’t help but feel compassion for you.”

“Do you still remember my language?” he asked, hopefully.  I replied No- in a word both his language and our language shared, and explained,

“I intentionally set out to forget it- I know a few words here and there, and some days, I do wake up fluent- but those days are filled with nothing but bad memories.”

“I am sorry.” he replied.  He was bleeding from his nose, and I cleaned it off of him gently with some sort of disposable thing near by- tissue or gauze.  I kept physical contact.  Yes, he had a fever, but it felt also like a metaphorical stove.  I wondered, “How long can I keep this up before I either break down and rage at him or fall into tears myself?”

“I accept your apology.”  What else could I say?

I stayed inside this hospital- they got elevated to “stage 2” of the disease together.  Jason was clearly furious but still very kind to me.  Now, they were in a room that was behind glass and permitted few visitors near them.  I was allowed in if I sacrificed my ability to leave the hospital.*

Each stage of the disease was more contagious than the stage before.  To reach “stage IV”, for instance- even being in the same room as the person would cause an immediate stage 1 infection.  A stage I infection was safer to care for and people in stages one and two COULD improve…but no one knew why or how, and few did.  There was no one who recovered from stage 3 or 4.

I stayed.  I spoke to both men, Jason was in good spirits with me and basically said “I sincerely hope this is not how I’ll die- but I’ve accepted it as a possibility.”  They now had a dog on Jason’s side.   Mal is terrified of all animals- so it was the ultimate anti-comfort for him.

I gave him a small fish once as a gift and he took my best friend on campus aside nervously back then and asked him “If the fish dies, will she hate me?”

I was nervous people from my old university would show up, Jason assured me they wouldn’t since he told them “not to risk themselves.”  Oddly, I somehow felt I was not at risk of infection at any time.  I followed the protocols as they were created to minimize my risks- making sure I would not go too-far and I refused a hazmat suit as did the Catholic stating it made us both uncomfortable to try to do our work wearing them.

Jason improved, seemingly by force of will and stubbornness and left without me knowing it- not even a goodbye….but he left the dog.

So, I was stuck with the asshole who ruined me, trying to muster what sincere compassion and comfort I could through every form of mental gymnastics I could think of

He made it up to stage 4, where it was just his bed (and several others) encased floor to ceiling with glass- these were created of three walls and sealed after the patient was inside by the 4th wall of glass after the patient was safely moved inside….a patient who was intubated and all fluids ran through the floor to an incineration chamber.  They were not expected to last longer than a few days, they bled from coughing and sneezing, and they were fragile.

The only means of administering care was through a small receptical at the head of the bed.  The nurses in this room were already infected with stage one.  Somehow, I and the Catholic priest were still testing clean.  We had blood drawn as we entered and left our respective charge’s rooms- he answered this by “I’m doing Gods work” plaintively and dismissively.

So, the guy was dying- with all his mental facilities intact and they had realized there was no medication available except for pain relief to an extent- but all that did was make him more cogent instead of less.  He asked me if there was anything,

anything at all I could say to him in his native language….and the only thing I could recall was how I used to close my letters to him.  I stumbled, my pronunciation was absolutely horrid and rough, but I managed to say “goodbye” in the only way I ever did with him… he returned it for the first time not in writing.  I left the room, and was told he died and would be cremated.

I refused.

Stating that for people who come from religions where burial is necessary and cremation was believed to harm the soul, it is entirely worth the risk to owe these people this courtesy of a burial, even if the cemeteries created would treated with the same walls as Chechnya around Chernobyl. The Catholic priest agreed with me and indicated that he knew people of his own religion who felt likewise, and could produce “ample volunteers” of his own faith to don full suits to bury the dead whose faiths required it- with the concession that the volunteers were spared knowledge that they were interring anything other than Catholics alone.  From this- each hospital got a concrete-walled cemetary with likely even more walls inside.  The Priest apparently had some real political “pull”- and for the families, the names of the deceased were on small bronze plaques with birth/death listed attached to the outermost wall for the mourning families.

I was done- I was disinfected and blood tested one final time.  I discovered my estranged mother also died in the same hospital and hand-wrote a will saying she was “Proud of all I accomplished and could have anything from her estate.”  My mother is a hoarder who collects useless trinkets.

My grandma was the one who made the traditional family-feast after death on the hospital lawn.  I didn’t spend more than moments there.  I went for my grandma, not anyone else on that side of the family and said “I had to work” and the food was lovely after nothing but so much hospital food.  In real life, my grandmother is a frightening cook and knows it- but the feast was actually “normal” and tasty- using mostly foods that overlap both American and Lettish culture.  The main dish was ham, and instead of bread, wonderful Pierog (Not pierogis- a Pierog is a small bread roll stuffed with minced bacon and usually onion or scallions brushed with egg and baked until golden.  I haven’t had an edible one since childhood)

Since hospitals for Typhoid II were “Regional”- yes, all these people in real life would have ended up in the same place upon infection.

Somehow, at the end of the dream I ended up with a dog, but I do not know if it was Jason’s dog or my mother’s dog.. I don’t even know what animals my mother has.  I think likely Jason’s since it was a mutt of white and black patches about the size of a miniature collie.  In a pandemic, there are few survivors- so a well-trained dog was likely a service dog donated and nonreturnable to a deceased owner.

Outside, waited a friend of mine I know through the internet from Pakistan and she asked if I could walk her to her bus stop- I asked how far it was and she replied,

“Not far, only 10 miles or so.”

I replied, “That is the most Pakistani thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

The dream ended pleasantly with my friend from Pakistan and I walking and speaking pleasantly; she was accepted to live in the US, speaks fluent English, and with the population loss, jobs were abundant- her former workplace, country, and family were entirely annihilated by the infection.  When the event began, she told me she volunteered to be an interpreter to get people to the hospitals in the United States since she knew she had many friends here, and although she was sad over losing her family and her country was under quarantine- she was such an incredibly strong woman that although she was sorrowful, she was not even broken in the slightest.  I told her my stories, she told me hers- and the dog beside me was my own dog instead of the dog with more white I had at the hospital.

And that’s the dream.

I really hope it never happens…now to look up the symptoms of Typhoid fever to see if it COULD happen:

From Wikipedia:

“Signs and symptoms[edit]


Rose spots on abdomen of a person with typhoid fever

Classically, the course of untreated typhoid fever is divided into four distinct stages, each lasting about a week. Over the course of these stages, the patient becomes exhausted and emaciated.[13]

  • In the first week, the body temperature rises slowly, and fever fluctuations are seen with relative bradycardia (Faget sign), malaise, headache, and cough. A bloody nose (epistaxis) is seen in a quarter of cases, and abdominal pain is also possible. A decrease in the number of circulating white blood cells (leukopenia) occurs with eosinopenia and relative lymphocytosis; blood cultures are positive forSalmonella typhi or S. paratyphi. The Widal test is negative in the first week.[citation needed]
  • In the second week, the person is often too tired to get up, with high fever in plateau around 40 °C (104 °F) and bradycardia (sphygmothermic dissociation or Faget sign), classically with a dicrotic pulse wave. Delirium is frequent, often calm, but sometimes agitated. This delirium gives to typhoid the nickname of “nervous fever”. Rose spots appear on the lower chest and abdomen in around a third of patients. Rhonchi are heard in lung bases.
The abdomen is distended and painful in the right lower quadrant, where borborygmi can be heard. Diarrhea can occur in this stage: six to eight stools in a day, green, comparable to pea soup, with a characteristic smell. However, constipation is also frequent. The spleen and liver are enlarged (hepatosplenomegaly) and tender, and livertransaminases are elevated. The Widal test is strongly positive, with antiO and antiH antibodies. Blood cultures are sometimes still positive at this stage.
(The major symptom of this fever is that the fever usually rises in the afternoon up to the first and second week.)
  • In the third week of typhoid fever, a number of complications can occur:
    • Intestinal haemorrhage due to bleeding in congested Peyer’s patches; this can be very serious, but is usually not fatal.
    • Intestinal perforation in the distal ileum: this is a very serious complication and is frequently fatal. It may occur without alarming symptoms until septicaemia or diffuseperitonitis sets in.
    • Encephalitis
    • Respiratory diseases such as pneumonia and acute bronchitis
    • Neuropsychiatric symptoms (described as “muttering delirium” or “coma vigil”), with picking at bedclothes or imaginary objects.
    • Metastatic abscesses, cholecystitis, endocarditis, and osteitis
    • The fever is still very high and oscillates very little over 24 hours. Dehydration ensues, and the patient is delirious (typhoid state). One-third of affected individuals develop a macular rash on the trunk.
    • Platelet count goes down slowly and risk of bleeding rises.
  • By the end of third week, the fever starts subsiding (defervescence). This carries on into the fourth and final week.”Well, holy shit batman.  Tyr STILL has yet to give a UPG that was not verifiable via Wikipedia. To the best of my recollection, I have never known of the specifics of Typhoid outside of references to “Typhoid Mary” who spread the most extreme pandemic to date of this condition or playing an old PC game called “The Oregon Trail” where, without fail, at least one of your fake-companions (one usually named after real friends or swearwords) would randomly die from as part of the trail unavoidably.  There were not antibiotics in the game….so if your son “Dracula” got typhoid- pick up the pace to Oregon before time ran out.  Prior to sleeping (I am completely nocturnal- I keep vigil for my husband who works as a machinist at a local factory with high risk of injury and fatality- I wish he would would work anyplace safer) I had a rather rotten day full of such rage and anger towards unrelated Heathen issues, I asked for Tyr, Loki, Frigg, AND Odin for assistance.In strange result- there was blood on me after wards, but no wound from which the blood came. Any person who claims they do not know what blood tastes like is a liar- it tastes metallic.
    *My husband asked, “where [he] was in the dream?”  I omitted many what I thought were minor details.  At the point of the dream with the asterix, I called him and told him to “Stay home- and don’t leave the house.” and assured him that I was fine and working basically side-by-side with the local Catholic Priest as well as the entire situation….claiming this must be “The worst test I could possibly face.”  He said, “Do what you gotta do, I love you.” and I replied “I love you too” and just kinda sat on the bench in front of the nurses station looking out an enormous window onto a grassy, mowed lawn with trees in the distance.  I knew the parking lot was at a different side. Just looking at the grass, missing my home, and wondering why this was happening.  I did not know in the dream I was dreaming.

The Post I’d Never Write.

Posted in About me on September 21, 2015 by Tyrienne
I dream of a moon above a peaceful city of towers and domed holy places... I make my own reconciliation between past and present.

The opposite of the “Get in Free!” ticket to any Middle Eastern Country.  That’s why I have it.

There is a certain magic that “called” clergy of any religion will gladly explain and express on how a sort of sense develops regarding the recognition of the sacred from the profane;  In my rendering, profanity being that which causes upset or hurt to the spirit vis a vis “sacredness”= which is that which renews and strengthens, lends joy and reverence”

The sort of realization one has that they “always wanted to be a chaplain”= spends a decade or so as a legitimized clergy person of the faith- and got a BA in religions from a school attached to a seminary.   Sorry, haters… I can walk into any hospital, nursing home, hospice, or emergency room- if requested by any member of the Heathen community- and get my name on a little card just by saying “Moravian College- Religions Degree”.  Know what?  That’s pretty fucking cool considering how many people see me as some sort of Lokean corruption.  Lokean corruption with a DEGREE motherfuckers- one that is a goddamned magic key to DO MY JOB in this community and help the Heathens know they aren’t alone.

The sucky part of that is- the person to ever have me “work” in a chaplain capacity is my dying uncle…a lapsed Catholic, but when asked “Are you the Chaplain?” and they say “Yes”- well, heck.  Might as well try to remember that one obscure lecture I voluntarily attended at the seminary about “Ecclesiastical Obligations to Request Spiritual Care in Medicine” or something of the other and recalling that I can specifically ask, as clergy, for a terminal patient to be given their full options for “end of life care” verses the usual inevitability of fucking dying staging up and down from ICU-type wards for months.   It’s better than any absolution of sin, or even “Last Rights” in my opinion because it provides psychological relief for the only person to whom it matters.  The Patient.  So, yay!  I can look at you, find out enough about you to find out your general “Thumbs up” or “Thumbs down” prognosis to take the nasty burden of telling the family themselves, and suggest they send you to a hospice where they don’t give a fuck how many cigarettes you smoke because you only have about two months left in this dimension/plane/lifetime….whatever your fancy.

Then, I can visit you in the ICU and tell you valkyries exist if I find out your Odinist traditional- and say that by your inked runes the ancestors will find you.  Goddamn you Asatru for having the fucking coolest imagery for a multi-HEATHEN-dimensional Heathen chaplain.  Just, you want to scream “Fuck YEAH!” and dream of riding to Valhalla on horses with falcon cloaks.   The knife…well, I hope some of you are back in school for religion right now, and some of you Goethe and Gythia live in kind states.  The sharp knife to “Release blood upon death”- is really something I cannot advise about.  If it were me, I would leave that tradition to the FAMILY with full information and keep my own trust intact with the facility.  The man/woman who gets a hand-sharpened blade made of steel ain’t getting it from me if there is any, other, single, possible, way.

Then- little kids.  Your friend has a baby- baby ends up with something unpronounceable that kills it at an age where needles don’t hurt and they don’t care about being bald anymore-but gosh, they look cute as Disney.  These kids tell YOU about the Gods.  It’s always the equivilent of some sort of grandma (Holle) or a funny red-haired man.   Think about it- Odin and Tyr would be TERRIFYING to small children.  Seriously- One Eyed Old Crazy and CAPTAIN GERMANY-HANDLESS HERO would make little cancer kids cry in fear!   It’s so much nicer to call in Eir or Mengloth….  Frigg is great, Freyr is benign….but I would be specific on WHICH aspect of Hel you would call.  Holle is safest, Hel Herself taking an interest is bad fortune for the living- and clearly understood with an understanding of the meaning, realm, and breadth of the Goddess.   Don’t worry- the couple will become atheist and you’ll never see them again.  It’s a natural grief reaction.

Hooray!  You’ve reached the part of the post that actually means something!  Hopefully, none of you will be a total jackass and copy and paste it into your tumblrs. I’m flattered, but, hey- I kinda don’t want to end up a martyr for a couple of words on a blog about 110 people pretend to read every week.

In my Heathen practice- every pantheon exists.  I am a typical, basic, Odinist in this regard “Your patheon exists, I’m sure it’s lovely- mine cares about me more personally.”  It’s the obvious choice of going with playing for your home team for your race through life or racing for someone else.   Sometimes, your people appreciate you more as their champion where to someone else you were just another stranger who was kind enough to care and die of ebola tending the dying.

Nothing wrong with either path.  I’ve had the opportunity to walk two paths, and I was taught in poetic style so I can use alleghory, metaphor, and simile to write however the fuck I want about it.  It’s called “High Poetic” language- and it’s normally found in Asian countries as almost an over-the-top “Once upon a time” voice lent to communicating stories.

I was taught by an Apostate.  I do not know if that was what he was when we met or a condition that occurred during.  I had a dream where I was told by an Norse God who would not share his name with me that I was to protect this Sufi man.

I did. I spoke up- made him look at the facts of a questionable invitation to a conference, and was the single reason he went to our government with the information.  I regret saving his life daily- we were friends at the time, but he became my Fenris and Garm.

I studied the works of many Sufi who wrote of their expeditions and trade with the North.  They knew more about the Norse ways than most Asatruars.  They knew our main trade was fur and “Honey-wine”- our ships navigated rivers, and our runes are carved into temples of Persopolis.   These people saved our goddamned history through not just Ibn Fadlan- but dozens of literate scholars who traveled in peace like the disciples of Alexandria once did- There were so many different stories of how the Sufi came to be- but most say it was Rumi who found God while in spinning meditation around a pole in his temple.

So, I learned for 4 years-feeling like somekind of goddamned diplomat valkyrie supposed to scare off- Gods know what- from, I don’t know?   Making him feel sad that he came from a country that has no wine and millions of poems of vinyards?

He became a raging asshole- so it was decided that I was, somehow, significant enough of a human being to have basically the Pope Sufic Islam living his last years of life in my town.  I had no fucking idea who he was, the guy in charge of my religious instruction of esoteric Middle Eastern religion was rather failing as a devotee himself at that time.  As was appropriate, when you are approached by a different Teacher than your own- you tell your own teacher first as a sign of respect. This,  I did.  My teacher from that moment, unknown to me, had stopped all positive description of religion.  Somehow, he had become a complete atheist- angry and bitter with resentment I could not understand.  How the FUCK could an Atheist make it through the entirety of a Sufic training with the Khorasani? Impossible.  It would be like virgin Freyrsman.  If there is a virgin Freyrsman out there, I promise, you will likely lose your virginity over the back of a keg at college- or other such type party.  You whore. (Just kidding!)

So, I learned under another teacher- who sent me his books by email and begged me to no longer speak to the other.   He managed that pretty damned easily, actually.  Seriously, Sufi Pope had some real mojo magically speaking.  I spent the time trying to figure out how Sufism and Heathenry interacted.  I learned that the universe is infinite beyond reason- and there are beings beyond just humans that have complex qualities and abilities above our own for harm or benefit.   There is an ocean made of luminious, sparkling gold from which all things come- and that ocean is God.  To the Heathens, that ocean is Gunninganap- it exists in every religion.  The unexplained chaos from which everything came from once before some sort of order was imposed, the ability to become one with it upon death, or to force immortality by bathing in it’s waters and resisting the urge to merge with it.  It is the base ingredient of all spiritual experience, the higgs-bozon seen in interaction without interference

And I learned a great deal- from him, and the acolyte he provided for a short time as a tutor.  I realize that just in this- I am the only qualified human being to say:

Heathenry, ignore Islam.  The Islam you see on television is not real Islam.  REAL Islam is like we lived for the past thousand years, hiding in families with their books of Rumi and Avicenna.   We take no stance on Islamic politics because this is not the Islam to which our Gods speak with the Djinn and Angels regarding the interests of our people on our behalf. We do not believe in your God of carnage, but we honor the existence of the true God of your people.

Our scholars will keep your books that you have burnt safe in our libraries; all of our scholars have studied all religions and your mystics fascinate and captivate us.  I suppose it is my responsibility as once your student and as Tyrsvolk to take some sort of responsibility, somehow, to “return the favor” in several decades and write to you about your own dancing saints who would never harm or cause war.  I once thought it was funny that a pro-violence Heathen woman was Oathed to care for the protection of a Sufi man.   I am now not so ignorant to see that he did anything worthwhile in particular- it was more the purpose of the education and what I learned through my own vociferous appetite for mysticism- I picked up those books, I read those bibliographies- and I read THOSE books as well….ordering them like clockwork through interlibrary loan getting these dusty-ass tomes, sometimes in French, on sand mystics.

No wonder I developed a certain affection for David Lynch’s version of “Dune” as well a certain interest and fascination with Lawrence of Arabia.

We are sorry for your sorrow, your losses, and the brokenness of your religion.  There are several million tents in Mina your God created for your entire religion as the greatest miracle to exist for your people.  They exist for you.  Our Gods made no such miracle in Europe.  I am sorry, but this is not our fault as European people- if you asked us to help you take Mina?  Perhaps you would have better success with help from reckless countries of Africa and poor Eastern Europe….but, you would be happier, safer, and perhaps stronger. They admit 5 million people to Saudi Arabia for 5 days.   This….is nothing to them. your numbers would be well-taken care of.  It would be easy for any to dispatch aid to you.  It is unfortunate that the city of your ancestors has let you down and its spirit couldn’t aid you.  I hope that the soul of your religion is not dead, and I hope your holy cities and holy places still have sacred life.

This is a sign every mystic religion who knows you can see clearly.   Polytheists believe your God exists, but we do not know what has made him weak in saving the poor, the wretched, and the desperate.   I believe it was 2012 when Sufism became “haram” (forbidden).

Seems awfully coincidental that when you remove the uncomfortable priest-class with the vow of poverty so as NOT to be swayed by human greed- that human greed takes over.

I hope that Mina will be used as refugee camp when the bravest of their faith stand up and realize the purpose of it’s TRUE existence to all people of their faith.   I am scholar-clergy for my faith, but my work for the other faith was entirely in esoterics.

To assume I would not be esoteric Heathen clergy would just be silly.
Also- remember, the national organizations of any and all countries do not own Heathenry and Odinism
Like the Baha’i, the Quaker, and Native American Faiths, our clergy are determined by our people- and all people can be clergy if they live their faith.

I did not have to write a 2000 word article today on a controversial topic on wordpress.   You know what?  I did it fucking anyway.   I don’t make money for writing my thoughts online- sometimes, it doesn’t even make me particularly happy that I had to learn how to write posts in such a way in college that I could express true opinions in a “Fluff sandwich” Where the beginning and end parts of the post are almost entirely irrelevant rants of frustration regarding absolutely nothing of substance whatsoever.

The Fremen live in hiding, they dance without rhythm to avoid death.

Self-sufficiency and Folly: History and Severing ties.

Posted in About me on September 17, 2015 by Tyrienne

This is not chronological, but I have nothing left to hide.  It’s been a rough several months, I’ve been in the ER a few times, waited on surgery since June, and finally received it.  Only to awaken in worse condition than I anticipated.


Natasha, my eventual service dog.

Natasha, my eventual service dog and current very loving companion dog even untrained.

When I first “won” disability, my diagnosis allowed for me to be put on a list for a service dog.  I declined.  I have C-PTSD, the dogs for my condition mostly go to veterans and I am no veteran.  I have not served our country in war, and I have a husband when many people have no one at all.  On occasions I’ve called or received paperwork, sometimes the service-dog info is still in there and I ignored it.  “A vet needs them more.” and I told them to stop asking me.

I had surgery last week- I didn’t expect it to be as serious as it was and I spent four hours on the table as they removed a pound of built up scar tissues from my prior hysterectomy as well as discovering my last ovary was nothing more than a cyst wearing my ovarian skin like Buffalo Bill wears a jacket.  I woke up confused and in the midst of menopause, knowing immediately something “wasn’t right”.  I begged to be kept overnight, and I was…it was awful.  I was without proper pain management and what pills they did give me were one’s clearly listed on my allergy bracelet.

My heart meds and anxiety medication was ignored entirely.  I was unable to walk, needing 1-2 aids, and a walker to make it 5 feet to the bathroom.  I could not sit up alone….and in this condition I was released “because insurance would not cover more.”  My primary care doctor and my social worker were angry and asked permission to file complaints on my behalf.  As for me, I was overwhelmed with strange and embarrassing emotions I could not control- mostly sobbing or wanting to hide in fear.

I have been on SSDI for C-PTSD since 2012…and there seemed to be no answer for my psychological symptoms I had not tried over the years, so in the delirium of pain medications, fear, and desperation, I asked to be taken to the kill-shelter nearby.  We met and played with Natasha, but I was so ill I couldn’t imagine being well enough to match her energy.  I remember she whined every time I stepped away from the cage.  She was a black dog in a kill shelter…but when it was discovered Ed and I owned land, the facility introduced us to a fully-trained Russian Ovcharka named Ivana that responded to commands in Lettish and was allegidly a service dog prior to being bought by an Amish puppy mill and bred half to death.   Luckily for Natasha- The Ortchaka apparently survived leaving the mill by a diet of eating cats… when we went to pick her up the next day the ladies behind the counter were white and wouldn’t go into what happened, and Ivana was behind two locked doors looking incredibly sad.   Along the ride- Ed asked if I would consider Natasha again even before we got there, so- instead of a bear, we came home with a friendly Border Collie/Pitbull mix who seemed desperately eager to please and protect.  Sitting next to me in the car ride and somehow, being careful of my stitches.  Since then, I have learned she qualifies for service dog training.  So far, she is a quick learner for what basic dog commands I know how to teach.   I have only worked with wolves and my “dog” as a teenager was selectively friendly coyote-hybrid who liked me, my father, and select others.  We wanted to call Persephone but she ended up called “Imp” instead.  My parents had her destroyed when I was in my early 20’s when I lived in an apartment that did not allow dogs and she “chewed through a wall” during a thunderstorm where they left her alone with no companionship in her fear.  They tried to make it “my fault” I could not find her a home- but they didn’t even give me a full day to try and I was working doubleshifts at that time to pay the rent on my apartment.

So, anyway, here I am, with this dog, and I have a great deal I need to write. Natasha helped me smile again- and I learned on Monday my painkillers were necessary for my mental health.  My surgery was more serious than expected and there is much internal that needs healing.

To be fair, I neglected doctors orders for bed rest up until the last two weeks prior to the surgery and I was always filled with a baseless need to consistently “prove” myself TO myself since I have felt honestly ashamed at the fact that I am on SSDI (for those of you outside the US- Disability.) Despite months of pain, I still managed to finish an unfinished basement, move into our new house (pack, clean, unpack, organize) with the help of my husband, his family, and  good friends- but mostly I would ask Ed to drop me off on his way to work so I could tile a floor, rip up carpets, replace everything but the tub in the bathroom with a friend who is the daughter of a plumber, and hold “painting parties” where my friends and husband would paint while I continued to cats-paw up carpet strips in some rooms and lay flooring in others mostly by myself with my music and maybe one friend out of the entire group with which I felt comfortable.

My past

I was always a hard worker- I moved out at age 17 from a several-times near fatal abusive home life and I guess it could be said I never stopped running until the horrors I was running from and through finally caught up with me during college in my late twenties. At age 18, I attending the college at which my grandfather was Vice president for a calendar year before joining the Americorps for a full year (In Oklahoma and Boston), followed by a short, abusive, internship at a wolf refuge in Minnesota that ended in me leaving to live in New York with friends- working two retail management jobs full time with no health insurance- which began a decade of constantly being on-the-move for better opportunities.  Staying in my grandfather’s college was impossible- I was a C- student in high school and I was too raw and suspicious to trust that my newly “perfect” grades were not purely nepotism.

I applied to University of Colorado in Boulder while in the Americorps and won a full scholarship until my parents claimed me falsely on their taxes.  I lost everything and was devastated- and told I could not enter college by my own income alone (despite no financial help from my family) until I was 26 as I watched my peers excel and score the jobs I applied for while they still lived at home in comfort and I struggled alone.  I believed a degree would solve everything- so I did everything else I could trying to make up for this shortcoming.

In the Americorps, I tried EMT training- I made it halfway through the course before seeing a video of the worst deaths imaginable.  I remember the sunlight shining through the eyes of a human head missing it’s top and brains from a suicide-by-train, and that was the day I walked out into the hallway for the rest, then admitted with shame I did not have the stomach for the work.

I try to seem brave, but I have a sort of dangerous and fragile pride that I never moved “back home” with any relatives after the Americorps- the longest staying with anyone blood related was a week at my brother’s house during a week-long ice storm where the home I was renting was out of power and far from civilization.   On the other hand, I cannot pretend it was even an option to have a “home” to move to.

At my lowest point in life, college,  I even lived out of my car for a time when I discovered my roommate was stealing my medications to give to her boyfriend for his recreational use, I recall sneaking into what I used as an office in the college library, turning off the light and  hiding until the students locked up, and migrating to the couch downstairs with an alarm on my phone after the doors locked after midnight… or staying with random, far-flung friends for a few days here or there pretty much anywhere from Wisconsin to New Hampshire depending on the length of my breaks.

I am now 33 years old.

During my 20’s, I was usually employed in multiple jobs at once to make ends meet, I sublet out my second bedroom of my apartment and lived on Raman, tuna, and other low cost foods.  I was in a 7 year long relationship with a person who spent most of that time either unemployed or underemployed at Gamestop… and when he finally did have a well paying job and I returned to school- suddenly, the years of supporting his “walk outs” of various positions he saw as “beneath him” were rapidly forgotten by him- and I was now a “leech”…which lead quickly to the last of my patience walking out and me with it to finish my late- attendance of college without the constant worry of how his parents were going to twist his testicles to make my life hell, despite my best efforts to improve myself.

I wasn’t “pretty” enough; I had too many tattoos, I was too cynical… No. My problem was my self worth was too low and I had no “ground” in which to base anything at all being degree-less and mostly without family which divided themselves neatly into two categories: “People I didn’t want to worry” and “People I wanted nothing to do with.”

I even mistakenly believed my brother and I were close up until last month only to discover his “kindness” wasn’t out of love- it was out of some sort of psychological guilt from him watching me getting beaten when he was a child and him doing nothing to stop it. There was nothing he could do- and later, I learned he did not care for me at all but for a misplaced sense of “duty” with the expectation that with “all he did for me” (by giving me a safe place to stay once in a while- and permission to clear out the leftovers in the back of his fridge)  I would acquiesce to his every demand as soon as I had something he wanted  (use of my property to store his growing hoard of broken “things”- in this case, an abandoned car, which I my grandmother had room to accept where I did not considering I was not yet even moved into our new home. He was 4 years younger, and my mother raised him to believe I was evil because (ultimately) she drugged my father and used her pregnancy with me to “trap” him.

I can tell you there is no worse feeling than knowing your birthday is the anniversary of the worst day in your family’s history and symbolic of “when there was no going back.”  I was an infant, but beyond being a means to my mother’s selfish ends, I was just a superfluous child my grandparents felt obligated to try and raise when given the chance away from my mother who blamed me for the loss of her childhood…despite the fact it was her dedicated choice to get pregnant at age 17.  For the record, I am STRONGLY pro-choice.

I worked as a bartender, a travel agent, various retail positions up to regional manager- my only “raises” being when my endless searches for “better” employment were successful. I could not attend college until I was at least 26 on account of a tax error where my emancipation was not recognized= meaning my parents’high income entirely prevented me from being ineligible for aid.  I had PTSD then too.  I dealt with it the best I could, along with a myriad of genetic problems that affected my lady-parts for a series of surgeries I managed the best I could. Despite stories spread by family, I never left a job without someplace else waiting for me…and even while on unemployment, I would scrap metal and deliver pizza and work towards something.   In my early years- it was police academy-  I excelled at the tests but consistently failed the oral interview time and time again, likely over my lisp.  I felt spiritually bereft since having cervical cancer at 19 as a virgin without HPV (which I kept to myself since my grandfather was diagnosed with prostate cancer the same week) and enduring surgery without anesthesia- and then being promptly cheated on by my first sexual relationship with a male who “couldn’t handle it” (which was a strong factor in deciding to leave for the AmeriCorps)

Later, I was accepted after a two year vetting process to become a fish and game warden for my county along with several other trainees- despite the amount of effort it took to “get there”- I declined in favor of moving to Saskatoon, Canada with my then-fiance’.  What “woke me up” out of my spiritual darkness was an engagement to a Canadian Swede/Scottman who had unfathomably difficult challenges- when we parted, he made me promise I would return to school for religions to be a chaplain.  My plan was to dedicate myself to my studies without distraction and then the second I had my religion degree in hand- apply to the Canadian military and make my home address near distant family members of mine in Vancouver.   We never met, but to the Canadian recruiters, the relationship was biologically close enough to “work”- sadly, unlike the US, Canada offered no assistance financially- I was not a Canadian citizen and they could not provide the education up there- however, I was promised, if I completed my coursework in the US my loan debt would be forgiven.

In the short time I was gone, the park’s service was defunded and the Fish and game commission was reduced to two employees per county in the 2008 recession; even if I stayed, I would have lost my job.  I do not regret Canada- I do regret that the ex I left for the Canadian I was weak enough to return to and that I stayed in Canada past a point to which I became traumatized.  My Canadian ex had DID– the person I was in love with was literally just a fraction of a human- and the the other parts were not so kind. My biggest mistake was equating abuse only with physical action rather than psychological or verbal distress or profound neglect. His condition was discovered via a sleep-study, and neither of us had heard of it before- in the beginning, it was thought in treatment the “bad parts” were not real and could be “removed”.  When that proved not to be the case, I was cheated on (again) and stayed longer than I should have convincing myself that what would be unforgivable in any other situation- his case was different since it was “not him” but his disease…I couldn’t rationalize it was both.

I could pretty much sum up my 20’s as follows: I blamed my lack of success on not having the opportunity to earn a college degree, and each job I had was a “potential career” I would follow to it’s inevitable deadend and supplement my income with bartending, and odd delivery jobs as long as I was able.  My grandparents were critical of this, seeing me as an unreliable “job hopper” despite changing jobs by choice for improved pay, working conditions, and health insurance.

When I scored a short career as a travel agent making fantastic money- they showered me in money as if to encourage me to make more of it….where when I struggled, it was “my own fault” for not working hard enough.  My ex gladly accepted the largess- I usually declined and handed it back saying I didn’t need it.  I don’t think they ever understood they insulted me.  Their love was conditionally based on how “brag-worthy” I was to their little rich friends- and they seemed to continually strive to be as anti-Pennsylvania Deitsch as possible and distance themselves from their upbringing of personal responsibilities to maintain family harmony- as my father and I watched them sew strife and discord with all extended family to the point where my line from them- both sides, was entirely isolated and unwelcome until I personally had to represent us all at my Great Aunt’s funeral.  My Nana’s family has been so mistreated by them both they wish no contact from any of us.

My family religion on that side came from the luck of being born to a family of several generations “young mothers”- my great, and great great grandmothers lived for a significant enough time after I was born to keep family integrity and allow for my father to develop morality intentionally separate from his parents and their confusing, materialistic standards of determining human worth. (I hope not to be in any will or deed, and if so, I will give my portion to the Philadelphia Zoo so “the family” can fight the zoo lawyers and leave me out of all conflict.)  When I was a child, my Nana was my closest family member, and as we both aged, we still maintained a very mutually rewarding relationship where she would tell me all about being raised “Plain” (even though they were technically “fancy” or “gay” Deitsch)  About how important our family were to Pow-wow and although she wasn’t taught in it- what it was like to see Braucher-doctors and the few customs she still practiced as a matter of habit (or obsession-regarding cleanliness).  It was almost as if since they were raised to not care about “things”- their rebellion was to become rich assholes who cared more for appearances than for actual, extant people.
The further I moved into public Heathenry, the less pleased they became with me.  The older they became, the less they wanted to admit they came from the farms and could speak German. Even at our wedding, despite my Nana “not being able to speak German”- she criticized our Braucher for his pronunciation.

My other side is Latvian- another German speaking people (in addition to Lettish).  When I speak of my “Grandmother” in my blog post, I am referring to my 83 year old Grandma from Latvia, who I learned over the years had been pretty much ignored as “silly” or “ditzy” despite the fact English was likely her third language and a kind nature does NOT indicate a lack of intellect- I am grateful, always, Freyr/Janis has allowed her to stay here so long so far with strong health- and she is active in her own religious community with the Lettish who do not associate with American Heathenry in any way, but choose the Druids instead focusing on the “pan” of “pan-polytheism”.  I am proud of her, she “came out” after Ed and I married under the names of the Gods of what she calls “The Earth Religion”- Where Frigg/Holle is Mara, Freyr is Janis, and Perkuns is so clearly Donnar there is no dispute.

My mother is abusive, my brother is now abusive, my uncle despite feeling uncomfortable with being Lettish, still holds that he is “put upon” being the youngest son taking care of my grandmother when by tradition it “should” be the eldest child, my mother.

If I had my way, my grandma would be enrolled in every service available to her and I would attempt to convince her to sell her home to move into one of the Latvian communities either staying near Philadelphia or perhaps the Catskills, NY. Sadly, she does not want to leave the home my grandfather bought and died in- and we have no other family left except for neighbors who watch out for her with more kindness than her children.  It is absolutely horrible I am restricted from having a more active role in her life since I will not speak to my mother unless she takes responsibility for her violent actions and turns herself in to the authorities for all physical and verbal assault committed against myself and others and serves time for it in the spirit of true remorse- which I do not believe she is capable.  My brother is indifferent to the existence of our Grandmother, and here i am desperately trying to write down everything she has been able to translate from her three-story house worth of Library of three or more generations of Vilde (Wylder, in my case) collections of books on all subjects but written in Lettish.  All I hope is when Janis calls for her- her library will be preserved somewhere for what remains of the Lettish speaking people- even if it needs to be sent to Latvia for its preservation.

I honestly avoided all things “Latvian” as a child because I associated them with my mother; which meant “pain”.  Further, it is no “new” thing for Heathen God worshipers to be racists.  My father being Pa Deitsch was treated terribly by almost all Latvian people for not being Latvian- and I was “only half”.   I considered myself lucky- those my age who were “full Latvian” were subjected to intensive classes to “Take back Our Homeland” they never even saw from the Russians with such fervor, the generation before mine of Lettish people mostly abandoned the culture early into adulthood to blend into their respective countries of birth rather than ancestry.  My grandmother’s friends are mostly deceased, but they tended to be kinder than most and still taught what little I was willing to learn as a child- which amounted to “divination” and not much else. I can interpret melted aluminium poured into cold water at the New Year and I know the traditional Latvian card spread for playing cards- it was what I learned before I learned tarot or runes. Other than that, I can mend almost anything- but I cannot embroider (my brother can), and I cannot weave or bead- both arts my mother excelled at which made them entirely unappealing then- and now- with the shake of my hands, the only “Latvian talents” one can even try to ascribe to me are in chess or descriptive writing…but that is a stretch.  I haven’t been ranked in chess since high school and it was far from impressive.

I am just happy my grandma is alive.  My mother treated her like a servant to be ordered around, my uncle treats her like an annoyance. Grandma’s mother was as abusive as my own.  There is a theory that Eastern Europeans are subject to severe vitamin deficiencies that make some into sadists, it seems.  If there are any of my grandma’s friends reading this; doubtless, they judge me for cutting off contact with the mother who tried to kill me repeatedly as a child and I have the medical records and witnesses to prove it.   I judge them for allowing my mother to make an 83 year old woman cry for no reason other than her rabid animal heart of coal… but then I offend rabid animals.

Some tradition should have some common-sense exceptions made- a woman who beats and attempts to destroy her own progeny and disrespects her own mother should be the one shunned, not the child of such a person for establishing boundaries against further abuse, nor should my calling the police against her for my grandma’s sake be seen as shameful. It should be shameful that they accepting of a woman who causes her 83 year old mother who has never harmed anyone to cry for any reason other than joy.

Without my grandma, well, I don’t really have people I am descended from who care much for me.  That is embarrassing as well, but I married well into a very loving Irish family who live the way I remember my Dad’s side used to be when I was a child.  I hope my inlaws never change the way my “German” grandparents have.

Slowly, things changed- my ability to drive in snow/ice was the first to leave me after being hit by a truck, several negative experiences regarding genetic gynecological conditions taught me I was better off suffering with the bare minimum of pain killers and some rum on bad days, and I had given up on romance (until Canada).  I felt so poorly regarding myself I believed the the neglectful, self-important mother’s boy I wasted 7 years of my life with was the best I deserved, despite his inconsistency, mood swings, and penchant for abandoning me every single time I needed more help than I could provide for myself.

It was my fault for putting up with it- and I would have broken up with him then if I had a plan at the time.  Instead, I had to wait until I was able to afford to move.

I had a hysterectomy- my brother and friends came daily to assist me as my ex would sit in front of the television complaining of his bipolar disorder while I was on morphine and barely coherent.  To be fair, it couldn’t have been all bad- but the way my memory works, I honestly do not recall ever feeling anything other than frustrated, embarrassed, and ashamed at my self-perceived failure- mostly mistakenly tied to the idea that without a degree, I was literally worth-less than my peers who had opportunities not open to me at the time. My ex’s parents found every moment to reinforce that feeling.

In earlier years, I saved up, I attended bartending school- and each job that offered training or certification I accepted the opportunities with gratitude. I can fix most computer software programs, negotiate with airlines for friends (since I learned SABRE), and worked at a bank long enough to know how to protect myself and my husband from the attempted theft by our former apartment complex by putting a lock against all companies related to the slumlords under which we lived and have the the pages on the tenant rights’ laws that supersede any illegally coerced attempt to try to get more money out of us than our security deposit.  I spent 6 months fixing my husband’s credit score by taking each credit reporting agency to case over the fact our last name is so common many debts ascribed to him were logistically impossible and therefore, dismissed.  I fixed my husband’s student loans and had my own dismissed.

In college, I did exceptionally well academically up until my last semester- my living situation was with a former classmate which began wonderfully but ended slowly as she chose to become addicted to drugs in an effort to “keep” a man who was a recreational user of pretty much everything.   I had a professor who played mind games which at the time I thought were like chess, but were in fact more akin to game hunting with my personal writings being what he sought to translate and make his own.

For the record- I graduated cum laude (without that last semester, I could have been Summa Cum Laude) Honors, and some other random accolades I do not even care if I claimed with two degrees (Religions and Philosophy) and a minor in international studies in which I spent most of my actual time in academia- with tutors and classes in other affiliated universities.

I began to lose my hair, psychologically I was basically already destroyed after years of punishing myself in endless self-criticism for flaws that both mirrored the insecurities of others as well as frustrations at my own limitations which I had increasing difficulty in hiding; I was/am afraid of driving in winter on account of being hit by a tractor trailer in an icestorm and a head-on collision on a one-lane bridge later when I could not afford car insurance for a week.  I even asked my family for help, and they declined telling me to “quit school and get a real job”

We were in a recession, school was my only chance to change my circumstances.  My grandfather only achieved his position as a college administrator by being one of the the first computer programmers in the US.  My father is a government contractor who designs security systems.  There was really no niche or opportunity I had found as easily as either of them without education….they both had disdain for academia.

The hardest limitation was my constant insomnia which usually was coupled with flashbacks.  I abused caffeine and ADHD medication to write essays and study for tests- and I probably caused my own tachycardia through my own special way of passing finals by drinking two 5-hour energy shots, a handful of strattera, and “ghetto expresso” I made with a small coffee pot where I kept running the same thickening black slime through the pot until it poured more like syrup than coffee.

But!  I was excelling.  I had two college majors, I was invited into a special program that was intended to allow advanced students begin their MA thesis early- and on top of all of this, I was invited to become educated (on my own time) in Iranian diplomacy- where I was easily manipulated by many into the belief that I could somehow change the world by learning fluent Farsi and immersing myself into a world of political sciences, current events, linguistics, and doing something I knew no one else personally was doing.  I was given chances to study abroad for free (which I took eagerly) and since my family had a history of government employment, I assumed (incorrectly) that I was “safe”. Having PTSD already made me feel like “Nothing else could harm me”.    Since my Latvian ethnic group will hardly survive another generation and I lived through the end of the cold war of wire-taps and family friends being treated with less-freedom than I was told America represented, I related to the Iranian diaspora and their situation well- except instead of Communists stealing and destroying their culture, it was religious zealotry.

I enjoyed studying Zoroastrianism…but mostly split my time between the Sufi and the Baha’i’ at the time- my interaction with the Heathen community was minimal at times on account of my own kindred’s ignorance and racism at that time and I decided to leave.  I attended vague events and moots but felt more in common with the Sufi than the idiots dressing up as “Vikings” and treated every natural death like “Valhalla” was Heathen Heaven- neglecting the whole “dying in battle” part as well as the fact that Christian Hell and Helheim have little in common.

I felt surrounded by idiots- but at least they were idiots who worshiped the same Gods, and there were enough persons of gold among the tailings to be interesting and supportive for that period of time….even if they turned out to be nothing more than Mercury later.

The day of my graduation, I stayed at a friends house and drank myself ill. I didn’t go to commencement, and my “congratulations” was a couple of cupcakes from my sister in law and a card from my kind grandmother.  Everyone else was disgusted with me.

I had latent agoraphobia that became crippling to the point where after my coursework was completed, I would not leave my home without a “safe place” to go- whether it be my brother’s house or the homes and haunts of friends, I would cry in supermarkets in sudden bursts of fear. I thought I had friends in Heathenry, instead,  I found that people are pretty shitty with their own selfish motivations.  I was mortified later to discover that many people I considered “friends” only wished to be near me to “wear me down” into eventually date them despite believing I made it clear that I possessed no such interest beyond friendship…and once that became apparent, all memories that may have been positive with those people were seen in a new and sickening light that disgusted me in my naivety.

I recovering from a nervous breakdown, planning to move to Maryland, and in no shape to date anyone.  The idea that even one person thought that was a great motivation to false-befriend me is disgusting to me- that’s not okay, the two most guilty parties?  One is in a BDSM relationship with a woman whose former master made her fuck a dog, and the other was a married man I was close to in high school who decided to give his wife a “makeover” the day Ed and I announced our engagement to make his woman look like a carbon copy of me, from hairstyle, make-up, and right down to clothing and small details to be a perfect recreation of how I looked at age 20.  Considering I managed a Hot Topic at that age…it’s pretty safe to say it was no coincidence.

As far as I am aware, I was not the only person to block him out of my life that day as for the BDSM guy? I am humiliated I was so stupid to think he was benign.  He attacked people I was interested in as if I were “property” and spent months insulting me through blog posts I never bothered to read.

My Current Struggles.

I was wrong in that “nothing could harm me”.  Now that the politics of the world have changed, I feel I can now freely state that my MA program in Linguistics was cancelled in 2012 after the Canadian embassy in Iran was sacked and defiled with anti-American graffiti, leaving me not only with no place to go after graduation- but also landing me in 5 hours of interrogation.  Not about Iran, not about any illegal activities, but just screaming threats for 5 solid hours as I begged for a blood test to prove my innocence- since I couldn’t think of any other reason they had to keep me except to think I was drunk for being nocturnal-despite being a non-drinker.  They denied me a lawyer, shined bright lights into my eyes, made me perform exercises for them while I was wearing healed boots, they laughed at me, insulted me, threatened me- and well, broke all faith and confidence I ever had in the goodness of my country.

It was one of those people of gold-speckled mercury that suggested I go to the psychiatric ward.   It would be my third time in a year, the first 2 from nervous breakdown.  After the interrogation, I was not and have not ever been the same person- and I don’t even think I can recall what the old “me” was once like.  I was on good terms with the doctors, the first time I checked myself in was over a suicide attempt a year before, the second time was when I discovered by thesis was plagiarized and translated by a professor of mine and presented as his own work and he wished to have his name taken off of my work to lend support to his lie, and the third?  The third was basically the end of “me” as I knew it, not by the clinic staff, but by what happened before and they just did their best to pick up what pieces they could and reassure me of this nebulous concept of “intelligence” so  many people claimed I possessed, but yet, did little for me as far as personal fulfillment or gaining the pride or respect of others.  I seemed either to be feared with people convinced I would “manipulate” them, or I was considered arrogant for asking questions and always seeking more information.

The psychiatric ward was very cautious about who they allowed to visit me- my father was allowed (which surprised me), my grandparents were not…resulting in a trap where I had a message of concern waiting for me when I got out and when I returned the phonecall I was told by my grandfather “The world would have been better if I killed myself”.  They are on my SSDI file as not to be trusted, they tried to report me for fraud at least once.  If they are reading this- do you know SSDI notifies me of these things?

The doctors of the clinic got me fast-tracked for SSDI which I planned already to be on temporarily while in graduate school until I could find stable employment.  Within a month, I saw a judge who dismissed the “persecution”- a person meant to explain all the reasons I should NOT be on SSDI…he didn’t ask me much, but I do remember him saying “God bless you, and I’m sorry.”

I am treated by many as if my value as a person was dead much like someone tells the family of someone in the ICU they will not wake just for even seeking this assistance.  My lawyer was excited we won the case.  I just wished to be left alone, and I remember finding a tree near the courthouse in the parking lot that I just sat against for hours and cried.

It would be months before I received compensation, so I was put on food stamps and temporary welfare.

The Heathen community reacted violently…  despite being told my worth as a human being was roughly 13k a year, my now-husband still decided to date me.  His kindred treated me abhorrently; I shared my food with him since I had more than I could use, and since I had no expenses other than my car insurance I bought him a statue of Loki we both wanted for months in a local shop and I became and instant villain.  This was before I realized the depth to which Lokeans were despised by reconstructionists.

A married woman in his kindred wanted to ditch her husband for him and saw me as an interloper- as did the the rest of them from their actions towards me.  It was as if this single, unmarried man was “promised” into an arranged marriage with an already married women named Jess he was not at all interested in, not to mention one already married to her best friend.   She spread rumours about the condition of my body after so many surgeries- at that point, I had my cervix removed, my tubes tied, a laproscopic oopherectomy, and a near-total laporectomy- hysterectomy. She proudly screamed to complete strangers what a malformed freak I was “With all those fucked up scars” she, herself never saw….well,  the last of my surgeries is complete. My last ovary is gone, and this is my stomach of “sickening scars” she claimed “would make anyone puke”- keep in mind, the surgery I JUST had last week was the worst I had yet to experience.  Here is a picture of my “horrifying” anatomy:

Horrifying? Hardly. Swollen, yes....and my little cuts look like eyeballs in the photo...but far from enough to make anyone call me a

Horrifying? Hardly. Swollen, yes….and my little cuts look like eyeballs in the photo…but far from enough to make anyone call me a “monster”

I have heard she and her husband are no longer in the community, but none involved have ever made an attempt to apologize to myself or my husband. She accused my husband of raping her….but if so, then why hundreds of texts begging him for a sexual relationship and why did she never tell me if he could do such a thing?  I did nothing to her other than date him…and she was married with her own man.

Wyrd’s Well kindred was  based loosely on “Game of Thrones”, and still avoids us- likely from their own shame, and still refuses us the honor of the truth of what was said or the chance to defend ourselves against Her allegations and their own against us other than the vague “Chaotic Loki worshiper” bullshit.  Frankly, I see wanting to cheat on your husband with a roommate as far more chaotic than two single people entering into a relationship.

When I am well, I literally watch documentaries and read.  Now that we live here, I’ll sit near the stream some days and take care of the house to the best I can.  There is much I would like to do- redo the wiring, fix the oven, replace boards in the porch, straighten out the back porch roof, repair or remove the shed, plant gardens, and make a workbench for myself.   I don’t normally leave the house without Eddie, I’m content to stay here with the cats (and now the dog as well) rather than go to the grocery store, the mall, or any place I do not know people, really.  My flashbacks still make me unemployable.  This post is the result of many happening concurrently.

Even right now, I am irresponsible.  I am exhausted and writing this blog post.   Why? Because I feel a compulsion that I need to admit when I am at my most fallible and I learned over the years if I publicly disclose my weaknesses- there is little anyone can use against me except for lies.  Natasha is sleeping at my feet and waiting for my husband to come home with me in vigil for his nightshift.

It will take up to two years to train my dog Natasha to be service-dog ready for me- but it’s something I look forward to with my husband.  The first step is basic obedience classes, from there, hopefully she’ll excel.  But if not, what changes?  Nothing really.   I am just another voice on the internet.  Few of you will ever meet me.  I will still live here, I will still write here, and I will likely still be Heathen and people will like or hate me.

Formal Severing with the Past:

Formal Severing: This post will be here my blog indefinitely as part of a larger post for historical purposes.

I will no longer accept people doing wrong by me without consideration, remorse, with intent to harm, or lack of caring.

I am also using this post to formally break ties with the kindred to which I have been Gythia for the greater part of a decade- known by no official public name. I keep their name secret as I have Oathed, but refer to them as “Boys of Berks” as they have been known since inception a decade ago..

I call them out for Oathbreaking. We all Oathed that we would not mix our religion and wyrd with any national organization:
I will accept no further pressure to join the National Socialist Party. We oathed to be free of politics- and I am not interested and tired of hearing of ignorant racism.

We Oathed that each person would be equal and each vote would be counted. Even with my abstaining from voting, there was a man who prevented my husband from taking me to the hospital when I fell ill at his house (and I am being gracious by sparing the details why) Not only was it not respected, this man claimed to be an EMT; If the man were truly an EMT, then he would have recognized my condition (which is common) which has proven him to be a compulsive liar. I have seldom seen him anything other than unemployed. HIs life and his lies are no longer my concern.

He further broke frith by indicating he “considered asking me out” while I was in a committed relationship years ago with another man. He did this in front of my husband showing no recognition for the sanctity of our relationship.

I am not a commodity, further, this man threatened my life one time before which made me decide to leave the Boys of Berks previously.

I do not tolerate stupidity or this lack of respect for myself any longer for myself or my husband, Edward.
It is never honorable to express the desire to pursue anyone in a committed relationship, nor is it honorable to assume your advances would have been accepted. It is truly offensive.

We were promised a brotherhood of fellowship and help- we moved with only the assistance of one member of the kindred- and yet, the handfasting of the brother above was considered important enough for the responsibilities that hindered the other’s from helping us when I was supposed to be on bedrest did not interfere with a fake-wedding with no legal standing.

As a friend, our own real wedding was entirely ignored. This was too hurtful for both my husband and I to ignore; as a promise broken and then a promise spit on and insulted.

I asked to be left alone in my recovery. That was not respected. The bridge that is burning between me and this kindred was put to fire by those who wronged me by the clubhouse mentality rather than any religious inspiration.

I want nothing to do with any Neo-nazi activities, nor do I want any association with any hate-groups, associations, or groups that promote violence for any cause or reason.

I want nothing to do with liars or Oathbreakers. I keep my Oaths even now by not disclosing the names of the members or the name of the kindred, but I renounce them as Oathbreakers, and as a Tyrswoman, I have better uses of my time than to babysit people who cannot take responsibility for their own actions and call us suicidal in the night by a combination of regret of poor decisions and use of heavy drugs.

I have no desire to be in a kindred where sumbel is an excuse for indulging alcoholism rather than a closeness to the Gods.

I will not belong to a kindred that insults the loyal women of their menfolk by being anti-semetic. To love is beautiful, to be racist to appeal to others is appalling especially at the expense of making those who followed their hearts uncomfortable with poisonous words against the culture of women beloved by kindred members.

With this, I wish not to be contacted again except by the people I have reached out to specifically to meet in non-kindred context. I do not wish to hear about the kindred, for it is not my kindred that I joined in good frith and good faith. The Kindred I joined and Oathed to does not exist, since all Oaths are ignored.

I followed procedure and brought my prior grievances forth and expected justice. I received mock-justice in a fake vote instead. There was no further need to place further straw on a burning pile.

I ask for Frigga to sever all poisonous oorlog between my homestead and others and to be given freedom to pursue my own path without interference, intolerance, or the “need to discussion”

The chance for “discussion” ended when the kindred chose the fake-wedding of the Oathbreaker over the real wedding of myself and my husband, or even to help us in our time of need.

It ended when you had no time for us, but time to coddle the Oathbreaker who was voted out by Our kindred law- but “could not suffer more loss.”

The loss of me is evidently not enough loss to consider what is honorable from dishonorable.

As Gythia and Tyrsvolk, since these Oaths and their breaking were witnessed by me and a witness (my husband), I am calling out these broken Oaths as unacceptable to my continued Heathen practices.

This is no longer my kindred, I am no longer their Gythia these people are no longer my family, their business is not my concern, and I ask the community to witness that I am no longer associated with the Berks County Kindred with no public name, but goes by “Boys of Berks”. I renounce all affiliation, responsibility, and further contact with the kindred leadership; and if I am contacted against my wishes I will pursue legal action unless it is mediated publicly by a mutually approved Goethe or Braucher with my full consent.

This is the third betrayal by a third kindred against my husband and myself within the Pennsylvania Heathen community.

1. The Betrayal of Kindred: “Wyrd’s Well” for spreading falsehoods against myself and my husband, doing nothing to stop it, and when proven in innocence, never given apology, explanation, or any attempt at reconciliation.

2. The Betrayal of my Husband’s mentor, who shall remain unnamed, who called him “Necromancer” to the national community as if we lived in the 1715 rather than 2015 as well as the insult to my own sanity when this woman spent time in the same psychiatric hospital as I have and yet insulted my mental fitness.
The difference is I acknowledge my sickness, seek treatment, and use it to better understand other’s who suffer. Instead of hiding it secretly from the community.

3. The Betrayal of the “Boys of Berks” for not having a kindred, but a clubhouse for alcoholics and lie-tellers mixing wyrd with honest folk. We rebuke those who would rather feel important by joining controversial organizations to provoke dangerous organizations. We joined in peace and with the intent to keep our spiritual practice away from the ills of the world and act as a functional family. You have not acted as family as a kindred, you have not protected, cared or helped us as a kindred. The individual who has helped us, we thank you. But you are a single man, not the kindred who promised swore to help.

You did not recognize the vote to remove the person who harmed me either by intention or neglect- but instead, chose to honor him. With this, I will not abide your questionable priorities any longer and call an end to the friendship to the Clergy who broke this trust made with all of us, and on a personal note, severe my personal ties of frith and friendship unless he seeks full drug and alcohol rehabilitation treatment. You are a stranger to me, and I wish no wish to communicate with you.
Your relationship with my husband is his business, but you are not welcome in our homestead. I will greet you with civility should we meet again. But I doubt our paths will cross further by any choice of my own.

I want no contact through facebook, phone, or any other medium. The only way I will allow for this to be overwritten is by intervention by the the needs of the greater Heathen community expressed by a LEGAL clergy elder of long-standing who I personally know well.

I refuse to be further harmed or intimidated.

I have been wronged, and I came for help. It was dismissed for you loved the wrongdoer more.
I was ill, you expressed you could not help because of your other responsibilities-
but instead, you helped the Oathbreaker instead without reservation who had no illness except for pathological lying.

The bridge was made of matchsticks as you removed each board of wood to make the house in which you live, you lit the fire.

I am announcing the bridge is burnt and I will not rebuild.

In the name of Odin who sees all, I will see you no more. In the name of Thor the protector, I reclaim the safety of my homestead, and in the name of Tyr I seek freedom from injustice.

May Loki show the truth of my words of all I have spoken today, and may those who intend harm upon myself and my homestead find their own lips sewn against speaking untruths against me or my homestead.


Loki shows potential problems with biting humor- again. Or crazy person on narcotics be crazy. (or both)

Posted in About me on September 8, 2015 by Tyrienne
Art created by Bluefooted sourced from the following link:

Art created by Bluefooted sourced from the following link:

I am not the type of Heathen who believes the Gods are “hovering over me 24/7″…. to me- it’s more like Family who come over on occasion, call often, and sometimes advise that there is some sort of work/problem that I need to address.

Being on a horse-sized dosages of painkillers and tranquilizers has had the combination of both making me feel “more receptive” as well as/in addition to feeling batshit crazy as I await being gutted like a fish on the operating table this coming Thursday. I am irritable, in pain, and it’s as if THROUGH pain, I can see some aspects of my life more clearly of things I have tolerated up-until-now that were frankly horrid regarding the actions of now-former friends and acquaintances… things that make feel such a complex amount of disturbing/upset emotion that I am just “spilling out” my mind into words in a very flyting way.


Other bloggers I know well speak of Loki “flitting in and about” on occasion with the energy of a small child after eating the contents of half a sugar bowl- so this experience is rather new to me.

I don’t feel very healthy at all- but I feel He’s been around- checking in.  Sometimes it’s in whispers or just “sensing” but  Last night, it literally felt like: “Let me borrow your hand a second”- and I posted (what I thought) was a biting and comical fake potential obituary for myself on my personal facebook page.  It started out making fun of the fact that I hate cameras, and if I ever was killed, no one would have any decent, recent picture of me in the past two years to use that is not either photoshopped to make me look bizarre- or the one, singular picture of me in costume when I went with a friend and her little girl to “Bronycon”. (If I am going to be in a place with a ton of strangers- being dressed up like “someone else” really helps this agoraphobic.  On that day, I wasn’t “me”- I was playing a character to help a little girl feel happy on her special day.)

It took another Lokean’s comment (Thanks Lynn!) to realize:

“This sounds like humour- but it really hits “too close to home” to be simply that.   I am not clever enough to write something so absolutely dripping with multiple layers of meaning, I realized- and I reread it- discovering that it wasn’t even close to specific to me at all.  Just changing the name from my own made it apparent that it could be anyone of us if certain groups keep along the path they continue travelling by associating with Neo-Nazi’s of any of their dozens of names and groups and strict dogmatic beliefs regarding our Gods instilled by some into their communities.

The only “me” I kept was my ancestry…because that is what I know.  I apologize to the indigenous Heathens of Europe who have larger populations of indigenous peoples- but I would do you a disservice to write about a more “known” group than the Lettish.  I’m Lettish and Pennsylvania Deitsch; there is literally nothing else i can draw from intelligently enough and although it was my dad who introduced me to knowledge of Loki- there is very little other than oral tradition and even less on Loki among them then those from Latvia who have a proven, modern and historical connection to Loki-worship in certain groups- documented. (written In Latvian…of course, which I do not speak well at all. /chagrin)

I have the best translator in the world in my grandma….but even in her faith, despite the clear overlap of Norse and Slavic Gods in their practices; they choose to align themselves as “druids” and some get offended to even be suggested to be any way associated with Modern Heathenry- and I do not blame them.  However, it makes me kick myself as someone who self-identifies by the term “Heathen” that the fact I do so likely makes her friends uncomfortable.  Latvians have been beat up enough over the millenia-  the connection between the words “Heathen”, “Asatru”, and “Hate-Groups” is too painful for them when no such connotation exists among Druidry- with which the primary beliefs shared are that the Earth is sentient, everything living has a spirit, and each species of those living things has it’s own God.

In our country I am hearing of many kindreds performing practices,  even if entirely unconsciously, try to make Modern Heathenry more “relatable” to those who were raised Christian= black and white dichotomy structures,  strict rules regarding HOW worship is to be performed, fear mongering regarding those of “Liminal” status of Lokeans and other “Non-mainstream” Heathens in many places in the United States.  Even the Virtues are not ancient, a good set of morals to live by, but please read this short wiki: The history of the 9 noble virtues.

Yes.  You read correctly- they were created in the 1970’s.  Odin-worshipers through antiquity did not have an easy-to-follow list in simple language like this- you were expected to “rise up” your understanding to better understand the Lore of the Gods instead, it seems.

For my friends reading this in Europe;  The USA is not in good shape.  We are effectively in the middle of a non- televised “race war” that is fueled by television propaganda and many Heathens are not immune to the effects of it- becoming more racist and and angry about people they do not know, never met, and will likely never meet- based on superficial characteristics, stereotypes, and just plain bigotry.  It’s not the organizations, it’s the people- and it isn’t just Heathens…it’s everyone hating on everyone.

The amount of crime is alarming- As for my spouse and I- it became literally unsafe for us to continue living in the city finding shell-casings outside of our former home, discrimination in my husband’s place of work and in dealing with our rental company for the apartment, and the ignorant comments of people of all colors regarding every other color.

But- as hard as it is to believe that we were on the “receiving end” of these things (which lost me many friends to say “Discrimination is discrimination- it is not owned by any particular race or creed”)  I am not angry, I am terrified.

And what terrifies me is not what people outside of my culture are doing, but what is happening within MY personal space with having to choose in my own life to distance myself from friends of decades who were now openly associating the Nazi party, promoting racist group-think, and becoming more narrow minded and less willing to accept “peace” as a solution.

Regarding Hitler’s Germany- it is forgotten often that not only minority groups were killed- but so were all those who did not follow “The party”.  That could be us Lokeans in relation to “standard” Asatru and heathenry  In many places.

I know personally of kindreds in existence who are openly racist and white supremacist, but being a Lokean inspires greater hate inside of them than their already numerous prejudices.

This video explains the situation as to “why” and “how” this is happening better than I can and how I feel about it.

Instead of focusing on who to hate, we need to focus on how we’re all being harmed and being distracted by our failing economy- and instead of using our fear to blame others- we need to be real and stand up for ourselves that we will no longer be distracted by bullshit.  We will not be killing off our own population who is equally suffering, we will hold accountable the rich, the corporations, and the politicians who do not care if we live or die and stop idolizing the rich as somehow being “better” than us based on their networth rather than their honesty.

I call this:
“There is a Disturbance in the Wyrd…”

Take from it what you will.  Either the doped up ramblings of a person who is about to be gutted like a fish on Thursday- or true Loki-speak.  I cannot tell you.   If it is truly by Loki’s “hand” over my own- that is to be determined by you, the readers, who all combined have the entirety of every aspect of Loki and his mind as a collective.

If you are a Loki-honoring person and don’t care for it- blame the morphine patch.

“Pennsylvania women, Astra Hildebrandt was found beaten to death by angry Heathen reconstructionists in what is considered a new form of hate crime called “Nokeanism”. Despite being clergy of the Heathen religion, others of her faith saw her as a threat to their traditional ideals dating back to 1973 on her insistence to continue to worship the Gods of her Latvian family of history.

These Gods (which we will not name out of fear of angry retaliation to this station), have been considered controversial by many former Christians who need a “Satan figure”, are considered “dangerous and subversive” to group think and have been accused of making people uncomfortable by her insistence on not changing her belief system to appease others or to properly hide her analytical nature to make other’s feel more comfortable. Hildebrandt’s refusal to lie about her convictions regarding her spiritual beliefs and her seeming obsession with intellectual honesty have made her a clear target for increasingly growing hatred by newly converted Heathens who expect to enjoy a religion that is based on a narrow 250 year window of European history as well as several opportunities to wear random furs of dead animals and attend monthly parties dedicated to alcoholism.

“A threat to the ancient values of Our Faith”- said a representative who asked to remain anonymous- a former Baptist deacon from Alabama reported. “She was asking for it the entire time- Our Gods do not tolerate free thought- and she even refused to wear the traditional horned headdress or helmet agreed upon by the Marvel Council of Heathenry and know her place as a good, Heathen woman by her lack of fertility to produce white children.”

Hildebrandt claimed to be “doing what came naturally to her family” in remarks prior to her death in her blog- and it has been confirmed that her family belief system pre-dated modern American Asatru through records released by President Vladimir Putin along with an apology for the Genocide of the Latvian people during the Stalinist era of the USSR (now Russia), and expressed deep condolences to her husband as well as sanctuary for his Jotun-worshiping ways.

All people who worship anything not on the approved “Asatru list of newly flawless Retconned Gods” are warned to be careful in the coming weeks as the hate-crimes increase. If you are not sure if your God is is “approved” or not- please refer to the linked Llewelyn book written by Hodor Odinsson Baldrsman.

The funeral will be held as a large celebratory event of her death with many celebrating the end of academic thought contaminating their “clean and ancient ways” by getting completely smashed on homemade mead and repeatedly chanting “Seig Heil” loudly near the largest population of minorities in Harlem, NY. It is believed the murderer/s are revered in the community for eliminating those who offer alternative perspectives or show above-average amounts of literacy.

Russia, Finland, and all three Baltic countries have indicated a willingness to help religious refugees in this time of religious unrest.

Iceland and Germany were unavailable for comment.

If you have any information on these killings, please contact the police tip line at the number on your screen- your tips will be kept completely anonymous for your safety.”

Now- this popped up on my screen…this is becoming uncanny.  I guess this needs to be said as well:

and after that, this…but I hesitated for some reason….but it kept showing up.  I adore it- but it was the reason Mr. Chaplain was kicked out of the USA himself.  Maybe…it felt too close- but I need to strive to be my best and fearless as well.