An Actual Post Regarding Loki: Archetypes.

 

Peacock

This Feather.

 

(Bear with me here- this post IS about Loki, it ties together at the end.)

re A homeless man and a strange woman unloading an El Camino draped in a white fabric.  Dead, bleeding bodies wrapped in white sheets and rope into our own backyard which they fenced in themselves.  Ed was dying missing both legs, and he was in a stupor leading to death.  I was begging him to stay awake when they noticed me… Ed is a former professional athlete who won second in the world in Shaolin Long fist kung fu.  Noticing me suddenly, the two psychos began to approach me and I panicked…. as I woke up to my phone ringing the solo of “Freebird”- Ed’s ringtone.
Never have I been so happy to hear from him!  I told him about the dream then.  When he came home, I retold the dream, and just before bed- I asked for his interpretation one more time.

I have no idea how the topic came to mind, but after describing the horror of this short scene ad-nauseum, I told him about another dream I had earlier in the night.

“It will make a good fiction story,” I voiced, “…it would make for an adorable story for a coloring book or something.”

Ed replied, “That dream is the one you should write about honestly…”

“But it’s just a fantasy!” I protested, “It’s totally on account of what I read before bed last night, it’s not important.”

“Maybe it is.  I think it is.” and now, he’s sleeping quietly beside me holding Natasha-dog as she is watched me type this for a while before falling to sleep herself.

The dream:

The world had changed.  I always promised myself if the world changes enough and that political and social climates shift dramatically I want to visit Iran.

Here is the background why this Heathen has this entirely random-appearing desire:

In my waking life, studied the region immersively for four years concurrently while I absently completed my degrees in religion and philosophy as almost an afterthought in between several distinct tutors in language, etiquette, culture, history, and diplomacy regarding all things Persian.  Exasperated by being the sole provider of my meticulous notes to every hung-over asshat in my classes by order of each professor…
…I worked on my understanding of the Persian alphabet by transcribing English words into the calligraphy that is Farsi (along with scathing commentaries regarding certain lectures and professors..)

My BEST professor in Persian was humble and brilliant.

His own mentor, an American political scientist, was one of the professors whose personal philosophies at times frustrated me the strongest.  Where we agreed, we were in total concordance, where we clashed it was utter opposition.  However, I wrote my papers to serve the independant audience that is each respective professor.  I sought a college education to earn a degree that would improve my life, not impose my personal opinion.  I saw my job was to understand the position of each professor on each assigned topic requiring some sort of ethical judgement, and making an educated guess at their own world view to write back to them in my own words like a keenly trained parrot.  In philosophy and religions, regurgitating a point of view with five-dollar words found only within academia without a single, legitimate personal opinion attached was the norm.

People fail college entirely for not making that connection in the Liberal Arts.  The soft-sciences, however, are a different game altogether.

Both political scientists recognized my “pandering” immediately and asked for my actual point of view on assigned topics instead of “Writing what you think we want to hear.”

“Let me see that, Ren… Wow, you did not like that lecture at all, did you?
‘Gary, you are an idiot to believe this idealistic Utopian bullshit’.

… Well, at least your handwriting is improving significantly.” he commented puckishly.  “That’s not how those three particular character’s are pronounced, though… I think you meant to write this…” and proceeded to correct my scathing criticism of his own mentor and indicated I was far too nihilistic for my health.

I loved the history of Iran.  I loved learning that topics and religions that interested me throughout my life turned out to have Iranian origins.  If you are a Heathen or Odinist reading this blog, imagine learning that “Caucasian” means “from the Caucus mountains which separate Iran from Turkey” and that “Aryan” is nothing more than a cognate of “Iranian.”  I was awed there were Futhark runes carved into the ruins of Persepolis which indicated a long history of peaceful trade between the Norse and the Persian peoples.  They sent scholars like Ibn Fadlan to study our ancestors, and I even learned that my tiny, obscure Latvian ethnic group had it’s origins in the second Luri migration of the H12 Haplotype.  Which explained why my deceased grandfather resembled Shah Reza Pahlavi, and when my hair grew in dark and I tanned learning Islamic history during a semester in Spain that I was frequently mistaken for more-recent-than-ancient Middle-Eastern descent.

I loved the religions of  Baha’i’, Sufism, and Zoroastrianism- the first Pantheistic and the last two easily classified as Panpolytheistic, respectively.   The Iranians explained the cultural influences of Zoroastrianism, but finding solid information on the actual religious practices itself were at best vague… even with the advantage of archaeologist/theologian who specialized in Judaism and of the religions prior to Judaism of the  ancient near East.  Zoroastrianism was just out of reach (Uruk was the furthest East he went) and slightly past his time of expertise (Cuniform), but he sent me every resource he encountered.

Only now with the resurgence of people over the entire region of Daesh/ISIL/ISIS showing a renewed interest in Zoroastrianism and the pre-monotheistic traditions of the Yazidi, have I really had the ability to learn more.  These cultures are blood-based and secretive in nature- distrustful of strangers and low in number from abuses from all religions of the region newer.  Now I can read about the details of the practices and traditional beliefs of this ancient culture- and like anything else, it will remain a hobby until I am satisfied I have learned all I could have found without outside assistance and just add it to my internal inventory of “Practices, history ,and etiquette regarding interactions of people of [x] religion”.

Sorry for the boring lecture.  To the dream.

I was in Iran, outside of a city that was in the process of being bombed as I watched.  I was floored, but unharmed upon the grass.  I could not discern if I was in Tehran or at the ruins of Persopolis, the smoke was thick in the distance obscuring structural details to mere shadows of the fires and thick black smoke.  Where I stood, the air was clear.  In front of me was a body of water- too foggy to see across. behind me was the burning city, and I was on what seemed to be a peninsula.  Although I could breathe clean air, the visibility was atrocious but clearing very slowly.

To my right I saw a dignified-looking older woman dressed all in black- straight in posture and beautiful in a regal sort of way. She was extraordinarily pale.

However when I approached her I realized her eyebrows were painted on and heavy cosmetics created the illusion of beauty at a distance.  Her posture was due to a stiff black corset, she wore a black pillbox hat with a small black veil that hid an updo of yellowing white hair.

Her face was unlikable in the sense that she seemed aloof, critical, and unfriendly. But she smiled broadly  (falsely) when she saw me.

In front of her was a bridge that bowed in a way that reminded me of the famous Gateway Arch of St. Louis.   She indicated she was old and sore and she brought out a huge wad of folded American hundred dollar bills to offer me to assist her to cross the bridge.  She clearly was too fragile to make such a steep climb alone, and I told her I had no interest in her money- she earned it, I don’t need it.

She indicated she was from Khorasan and knew of a Sufi lodge there, that she herself was Khorasani- and “recognized the touch of their religion upon {me}”  I was mentored to a former Khorasani Sufi, the sect is so obscure I never could find much information on it, but I was informed by some Turkish Sufi in real life that “The true Khorasani remain in Khorasan”- the place where Rumi/Molavi was born- a large former province of Iran that either borders or includes Turkmenistan and/or Afghanistan.

She offered me a place in “her home for as long you a desire of great luxury, exotic foods, and beauty.”

I was interested in seeing Khorasan to her description, but I still found her off-putting.

I did say I would help her, so at a silence in her conversation, I felt a tug on the bottom of my t-shirt.

There, behind me was an adorable Persian girl with curly dark hair, a bright smile, and large, beautiful eyes. She was in a simple, but pretty white dress that had a few layers of soft skirts she seemed to like to “swish” to and fro.

“Are you police officer?” she asked, in English.

I kneeled down to her eye level, “No, I’m afraid I’m not.  I wanted badly to be one for a while, though.”

“You look like police officer to me!” she exclaimed, then, looking sheepish,”But…can you speak Farsi? ”

To my surprise, I replied “Man Farsi baladam, bale-” [I speak Farsi- yes.]

In real life, I’ve lost my fluency except when I have severe flashbacks episodes.  The “black places” in my memories also include useful things as well that I lose when I am stable.  In the dream, I was both speaking Farsi AND stable.  something that never happened.

In Farsi, the little girl explained that her parents lived across the other bridge I had not noticed before. Directly on the opposite side of the Peninsula on which we were standing from the first bridge.

Entirely different in structure, It was wide and paved as a Chicago major highway and completely desolate- the fog extended about a quarter mile out so all I saw was the flat space of empty asphalt and concrete with marked lines like normal, highway bridge.

She said the bridge went “for miles and miles” (Kilometers?) and although she spoke well, she was so small she looked like she could be maybe 5 or 6 years old.  They were both in Western dress.  I wouldn’t go to Iran ever without the severe clothing restrictions were removed entirely to the level of freedom of pre-1979 revolution-Iran.

I figure if that ever happens, the name will go back to “Persia” anyway.

“Will you take me home, please? Misses Police Officer?”  (okay, she said “Shoma”- not “Misses”- but there is no closer translation I can think of.)

She basically called me a police officer in the absolute most formal Persian possible…and she held her opinion as stubbornly as any other young child I have ever met.

Reminded me of when my Goddaughter told me with absolute certainty several years ago when I tucked her into bed: “Unicorns exist now, they are just hiding from us.” I really couldn’t refute her if I wanted to (despite logic).

I replied, again, I am not a police officer- and wouldn’t her parents be upset if she walked with a complete stranger?

“Na,” she smiled, “You do good things, you judge bad people.  Only Police do that.”

I thought to myself: ‘Wow, this country has changed entirely… I was told the police in this country were the most corrupt  and feared people when I went to college in 2012.  Everything must be fixed after all…’

Oddly, the burning city behind me didn’t phase me much except that it was unsafe to stay much longer- I felt that it was almost an isolated, expected event, much like one would view a major earthquake in Los Angeles. Bombing in Iran?  Just as predictable.  In the dream my identification of the city kept changing between ‘Tehran’ and ‘Persepolis’-  it wasn’t Kerman or Naraq, Kermin was too far South, Naraq was not a large city.  Those were all places I wanted to see most, so I figured I would be in a place that I had particular interest.

I kept looking for Mount Damavand to prove one way or the other if I was outside of Tehran.  I wondered if the body of water was Chitgar lake or if the Sivand dam was actually constructed despite the outcry that it would “drown out” the ruins of Persopolis.

She was so innocent and trusting and my protective instinct was overwhelming.  I explained to the older woman that I needed to take the little girl home as my first priority.

I knew we were not the only three people around- even though there were what appeared to be ruined buildings in in the shadows of the smoke of the wreckage, when I looked back at the city I thought “Abandoned.”- as if when I looked at the city itself I thought it was uninhabited Persepolis rather than the Irani capital of Tehran.  When I looked at the water, I questioned if I knew where I was at all. (Note:  I have never seen Iran in person, I had to look up the names of the lake near Tehran and the name of the dam on Wikipedia.)

I explained to the older woman in English that, perhaps, the next person to walk by needed the money she offered me- and that few would refuse such a generous offer. (Okay, this part I paraphrased- Every Persian I ever met was magniloquent- so heaping on generous, positive compliments when giving a negative answer I was taught is customary…  add three paragraphs about  ” her generosity”, “The kindness of the Persian people” and “predestination” and that is more accurate.)

Despite trying my hardest not to upset the woman- my instinct proved correct.  She was enraged, screaming at me at how I was “throwing away the greatest of opportunities” how I was “Abandoning a respected elder without any care!” and other frothy insults.

It was fortunate the older lady could not move very well.  I even asked her if she would be content if I gave her one of my rings to hold as a promise I would return and help her as well-  she was older, wiser, and so much more able to abide alone for a short time over this very small child.  She refused.

“You know the money I have on me, if I get robbed it was your fault.”

I replied, “You offered it all to me to help you across the bridge- if you give the same offer to the next person to help you how can you be robbed?”

She was still pissed off at me, so I asked the little girl if she wanted to take my hand.  I never asked either the names of the old woman nor the child.

As we were walking, the little girl waited until we were pretty far away from the peninsula and city.  Fog was behind us and ahead of us- and she stopped.  “I want to give you something special too for helping me.  Here!” and she gave me a blue feather- obviously a body feather of a bird with blue plumage.  “I like this feather because it is magic.”

“Magic?” I questioned, indulging her.

“Yes!  Look!  If you cup your hands, the feather turns brown in the dark…but when you hold it up, it’s blue!”

I am an avid birder-  I am aware that all blue pigmentation of bird feathers is actually an optical illusion produced by the structure of the feather itself.  If you are really bored, here is an article on the phenomenon. 
Destroying the “magic” of her feather would be as horrible as telling an American 5 year old “Santa’s Presents” came from your uncle.

The feather was as pretty as you see in the picture above- but I don’t recall the green.

I stated, “This feather is really pretty, birds that are blue are rare and hard to find- are you sure you want to give this to me? You might never find another feather like this.”

She was already walking again,
“Oh, I can get as many of those as I want.  That feather comes from our Angel- he runs the city and he’s really nice!   He will be happy to meet you and thank you for helping me too and he always gives me his feathers!”

And suddenly, I realize I am a complete idiot, I died in the blast, and the little girl was taking me to the Yazidi Peacock Angel.

In Zoroastrian and Yazidi tradition- upon death, you are to cross a bridge to the afterlife.  Below the bridge are hungry soul-eating creatures.  Those who live by kind and good thoughts/words/deeds are met by  “a beautiful maiden who leads them across a bridge so wide you cannot see below”

But those who are unkind and prone to negative thoughts/words/deeds are met by an ugly, pissed off crone who leads you to a bridge that narrows until you fall into the chasm below to be entirely erased from existence by being devoured.

I woke up then, and in just researching sources right now, i found a further article on this entity.

Apparently, Zoroastrians believe The Peacock Angel is in all religions- to the Babylonians, He was Enki.

To some theologians,  there is a theory that the genesis of the Lokean archetype was first recorded in the Babylonian stories of Enki– a wholly benevolent God without the same stigma as Loki or Coyote. Here is a wiki-link that directs the Enki page to Loki’s definition page.

My personal belief is He is the earliest form of the archetype of the “Trickster”-  the basis for Lucifer as well as Loki, Coyote, Inari, and countless others.

To me, as an archetypalist, I believe the Gods go through “phases” much like we do as we age and change.  Trickster’s are shapeshifter’s- a great book on the entire archetype is called Trickster Makes This World by Lewis Hyde.  Within it- he shares a similar perspective on this matter in great depth and detail.

In conclusion- what set me on the ENTIRE path of Persian studies was a dream where the Judaism/Archaeologist professor told me there was a Heathen professor in the English department who wished to meet me.  I wrote about the dream in more detail here.

I walked to the English building, and in the corner office was an office filled entirely of full bookselves and a young-ish red-haired man with a patchy beard who pointed out his window at my now-former mentor:

“See that man there?  He is very wise, protect him, you will learn much from him.”

I believed the God to be Bragi for 4 years, I was not corrected….and the professor I was charged to “protect” spent his last two years devolving into a completely disingenuous, atheistic asshole to a life-destroying intensity. (I’m being kind)

I almost didn’t allow myself to live through the experience, actually…

…and at the end of it all, after my degrees were finished and I regained the smallest amount of stability of having a clinically classic Narcissist as my primary influence in my life,  that God came back 4 years later in a different dream. (Paraphrased for those who didn’t click the link to the prior post on these particular dreams)

“You….are not Bragi.”
“If I said who I was, you wouldn’t have listened to me.”

Which lead to an apology from a God for not predicting the caustic potential in the life path to which He lead me.

This was the night prior to the first date with my husband- and as his apology, he gave me a rose on fire that glowed with a cool flame, but did not burn up, and promised that Eddie would protect me in Midgard.

And… here I am, I married Eddie- he does protect me, and he turned out to be correct.

My life doesn’t consist entirely of bad dreams and flashbacks.  I just need to learn to appreciate the bright and beautiful parts of my life as well.

Like the blue feather- when I am in the darkness  of my mind, there is no beauty.  When I am not, my life and experiences are lucky and extraordinarily beautiful sometimes.  Like the stops at each majestic vantage point on a road trip of uncertain length.

It would help if I didn’t automatically equate “nice” dreams as insignificant and ignore them in favor of obsessing over my nightmares.

After actually sitting my ass down, writing this all out, and finding sources that explain terms and concepts…

…I realize I just wrote my first post about Loki in months.

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12 Responses to “An Actual Post Regarding Loki: Archetypes.”

  1. An Andromedian Says:

    Raven,

    The little girl is right when she called you a “police officer”. 🙂

    Your goddaughter missed something though, the unicorns were always here. They were shown to us but we were told that they weren’t real so we would never find them. Them and a whole lot more things.

    How? Because the “world” that you see depends on your level of awareness. The runes Os (Anglo Saxon) and Ansuz are how it works.

    These two runes represent Odin. Odin created the world and people and discovered the runes. What is Odin’s domain? The mind and communication. Poetry.

    Your world is created by what you believe. How are beliefs transmitted? Through communication. We were TOLD that Unicorns weren’t real. By who? The owners of the farm we were born into.

    Ansuz says communication is MAGIC. We were TOLD that it isn’t by the owners of the farm.

    Remember when I said that there isn’t “a world” or “the world”, just a whole bunch of worlds put together that are interacting with each other, and right now they are clashing?

    Remember when I said the internet is causing this? Because communication is going though changes because there is no longer a monopoly on communication.

    Everything that “lives” has consciousness, so it communicates. But communication is not just speech, because EVERYTHING is communication.

    So we were told by the owners of the farm what was real and what isn’t. You made oaths to write this blog and you have Os tattooed on your back. The Peacock Angel sent you a messager that called you a “police officer” and I told you that you are a Hero and I’m here to help Heroes.

    Remember what I told you about “Gardening”? Do you see how it all ties together?

    Can you see your life?

    • I’m slowly seeing how the pieces fit… I need to learn more temperance to see the world through clearer eyes, though.

  2. An Andromedian Says:

    “My life doesn’t consist entirely of bad dreams and flashbacks. I just need to learn to appreciate the bright and beautiful parts of my life as well.”

    What you focus on mentally is what is created in your world. Odin created people from trees. The Eiwhaz rune represents the Yew Tree, Yggdrasil. People were made from Trees, so people are like Eiwhaz, and Eiwhaz is like Yggdrasil, so people are like mini-Yggdrasils…

    All of reality comes from Yggdrasil, so if people are like mini-Ygggdrasils….

    Remember I said that it’s time for people’s “worlds” to be reclaimed?
    Look at the comment that I made before this one.
    Odin sacrificed on Yggdrasil to get the runes.
    Os creates reality though communication.
    You have Os tattooed on your back.
    Tattoos cause discomfort.
    You made an oath to create this blog.

    Look at the post you made before this one.
    Your life so far is NO DIFFERENT from Odin sacrificing himself on Yggdrasil to get the runes.
    Odin is your Ancestor.
    I said that WE are watching you.
    Your friend told you that Gods are people.

    You were born into Ragnarok. What happens after Ragnarok Raven?

    Can you start to see yourself, Raven?
    Who are you?
    Where are you going?
    What are you doing?

    🙂

    – Apopolon

    (People wern’t made from Yew trees, but when you think about what I just said you will see that it doesn’t matter within the context that I used.)

    • Things begin fresh; but only the Vanir survive Ragnorak. I believe it is a cycle, not a single point in time… how about you?

      • An Andromedian Says:

        You forgot that Balder comes back 🙂

        I see the whole Ragnarok cycle on an esoteric level is a description on how reality works if you look at the Gods and characters in the story as runes that represent certain forces. Everything goes through this cycle.

  3. moonfire2012 Says:

    Loki has shown me the Ansuz rune over and over, more than others, and now I know why. I thought we were the victims of circumstances, and couldn’t change it.But now He’s teaching me to empower myself and rise above, that I can co-create magic and a better reality with Him and Them. That I don’t have to be stuck in my nightmares. That I can have good things.

  4. ladyimbrium Says:

    I have the same problem of ignoring pleasant dreams- but then I’ve rarely had significant information come through a pleasant dream. I hope that some parts of this, like your different skills coming back without psychological agony as a prerequisite, can manifest for you. It sounds like it could be important for you.

    • Last night i had a dream Neil Patrick Harris wanted to eat me.

      I think he promised something that made me think he was going to give me more brains…then it turned out he wanted to sew a second head without brains to my stomach. I said “Fuck no”, and he’s all like, “See, you signed a contract. Either the second head or we get to remove your limbs and serve you in our resteraunt on the first floor. People do this voluntarily, it’s like suicide” and then there is a mexican guy with no limbs in a hospital bed who said “SI!” and then they tried to feed me all sorts of food to “season me inside”.

      I was running and hiding in the hospital as he chased me, I got out into the streets and run some more as he chased me with his car indicateing he was tracking me…and he would taunt me by showing me his fork or putting BBQ sauce on dolls in front of me and staring me directly in the eyes and saying

      “Yum Yum, Ren… you’re next.”

  5. Seriously…is everyone else’s mind such a strange place? O.o

  6. moonfire2012 Says:

    Just one example of my recent nightmares involves white rats chewing everything in my house. In the first dream, two white and orange cats flanked a rat that was hopping up on my bed to bite me. They bit into each side of the rat and dragged it off. In the most recent one, I’m in a house with three levels, and they are taking over. There is a young woman in a white hoop skirt and elaborate hair that I somehow know I have to protect. I looked up the symbol and if the rats are white, you will overcome adversity.

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