Odin the Hanged Man
Strive to discover the mystery before life is taken from you. If while living you fail to find yourself, to know yourself, how will you be able to understand the secret of your existence when you die?
~ Attar
The horizon was tinged with a slither of blue, as two black feathered birds glided out of the mist, and on over the snow tipped mountains of the West. On the fringes of the forest, away from the stronghold of the gods, stood all-father Odin. As the sun sank a little deeper, the leaves of the oaks shimmered copper, and the ravens wheeled overhead. Swooping down they came to rest on Odin’s shoulders, whispering to him all that they had seen and heard on their journey around the earth. He listened to them, thought and memory as they were so named, croaking out into the stillness, before flying away towards the frozen rivers of Jotenheim. Odin watched them for a while, darkness gathering its dusty veil over the land, his thoughts turning to the prophesy of all ages, of Ragnarok: the doom of the Gods. He turned to the mountains, huddled like distant watchers on the horizon. He viewed them with his one remaining eye, for the other he had sacrificed to Mimir for wisdom. Odin returned to the fortress, where he collected his spear, Gungnir, a portion of flaxen rope, and left instruction not to be followed.
Odin descended away to where Yggdrasil, the world tree, rose out of the primordial waters of the well Urðr, its mighty trunk soaring upwards. All the nine worlds rested in its colossal branches, and where, at the crown, nested an eagle, who caused the winds to ravage the lands with the motion of its wings. Yggdrasil spread out in all directions, bristling with evergreen leaves and sprinkled with dew. Odin watched them shimmer gold in the sun that was sinking away into the west, and over the fair land of Alfheim. Lowering his head he felt the wind encircle him as he stared down into the abyss of the well. From beneath the dark water, where the bronze scaled dragon Nidhog gnaws at the roots, the Norns withdrew. Odin whispered their names to the dark, Urðr: what once was, Verðandi: what is coming into being, and Skuld: what shall be. As he spoke he saw them raise their hands to the trunk of the ash, daggers glittering in the moonlight as they began to carve runes into its supple bark. With each slice of the blade, their incisions glowed silver for a moment, before trickling up and down the tree, and carrying the fate of the whole nine worlds in their form.
Odin’s mind was fixed on seeking the wisdom of the runes. He cast the rope over a nearby branch, and watched it slither and coil like a serpent, before it descend and wrapped itself around his neck. Like a fish from the ocean it hauled him up, his body dangling in the darkness, as he thrust his spear into his side. Drowning in the dry air, he heard the dwarves beneath the dark fields toiling away at the seams of copper, silver and gold. Odin closed his eye for a moment. His mind swarmed with fire demons, the ancient wells beneath the mist, the forested land of the giants, and the impassable sea that encircles Midgard. From the mountains he heard a voice call, and saw a woman sat alone. From beneath her cat skin hood, her hair was long, loose and silver in the moonlight. Her tongue was loose with skaldic verse and in her hands she held talismans of smoky jet, amber, and bone. The völva turned them over in her palm, before casting them into the stream below.
Lashed by the winds and rain, Odin swung from the windswept gallows, as the chaos broke open his mind. The screaming river from the abode of Hel ran through his veins, as the lands of fire and ice surged through his mind. Odin felt the flesh melt away from his bones, his thoughts wither, and the blood from his wound drip into the water below. Still, he fixed his eye, urging the runes to reveal their secrets to him. On the evening of the ninth day, his incantations fell from his parched tongue, his lips cracked for want of mead, but still, he remained. The rasping wind flowed down through the branches and plunged into the depths of the well, until, finally, the waters parted, and the runes revealed their secrets to him. With a scream of exultation he saw a glimmer of fiery opal slither around him, as a screeching rose from the realm of the dishonourable dead. Overhead the sun blackened, the moon rose full of blood, and the stars fell from the sky. His body hung like a withered leaf on the tree, as a whole host of black winged birds soared overhead, their feathers extinguishing the last threads of light. Serpents slithered like trails of ink up and down the trunk of the tree, as the rope loosened itself from Odin’s neck, and he fell through the darkening spheres of the nine worlds.
From nothingness, a single flame was kindled, followed by another, as the people of Midgard began to light bonfires upon the high mountain peaks of the earth. The winds breathed into Odin’s lungs, and he felt his body rise on the air. The host of malevolent spirits withdrew back into their dwelling beneath the roots, as Odin opened his eye. Overhead, a glimmer of gold, sapphire, and emerald arced through the branches, and Odin returned to Asgard.
