The Runes as a Spiritual Oracle, part Two

Part two of an introductory essay on the Elder Futhark.

The Elder Futhark

The 24 Runes of the EF are, as I said, grouped into sets of 8. Each Aett has its own traditional name (after the first Rune of the set); why the Runes within that set are in the order they are in is a subject of much debate. I have my own interpretation of the Futhark's order, based on experience and study but not, I repeat, not on any historical evidence.

I view the EF's order as a metaphor for the spiritual journey, much like the Major Arcana of the Tarot; to me the Runes represent a spiral, always returning to the journey's beginning, but returning as a different person, from a different place. Through each Aett we face challenges and lessons that assist in our spiritual evolution. Not all of these challenges are fun, in fact some are traumatic or at least depressing.

That's one of the things I like about the Runes; they came out of a culture that was rather warlike and lived in an often harsh climate and uncertain times, so any attempt to paint a shiny happy glitter veneer over their occasional harshness is not only ridiculous, but transparent. The Norse liked to kill large animals, drink lots of mead, and set things on fire--not a lot of white light and fluffy bunnies on a Viking raid. There was a definite emphasis on community and the natural environment, whether that was the mysteries of water or the destruction of a hailstorm. They understood that there's a time to celebrate, and a time to kick ass (often done at the same time).

Why does the order of the Runes matter, anyway? The order of our alphabet is meaningless, in a larger sense. An "A" is just an "A" in our alphabet, and that is where the difference lies. Each individual Rune represents not only a letter used in writing, but a word, a sound, and a greater meaning. For example, the Rune Fehu (looks like an F pointed up) is the equivalent of our letter "F," but it also translates as "cattle," which in ancient cultures was a form of wealth. The size of one's herd determined one's standing in the community, so it paid to look after the cattle, as they could be killed or diseased or run away. There's also a sense of domesticity about Fehu, as it contrasts sharply with the next Rune, the Wild Ox--in the context of the Aett and the EF as a whole, I see it as the beginning of the journey, before the hero has realized that there's more out there than the comforts of home and mundane life. You could look at Fehu as the Shire in Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings; the Hobbits were quite happy to stay there, tending their fields and homes with no knowledge of the outside world. Seeing Fehu in a reading could portend a change in career or employment, an increase or decrease in wealth, but also the need to leave behind the mundane and seek something greater. It would all depend on how the Rune fell, what was near it, and what questions the querant sought answers to. Try getting all of that out of the letter "F"!

The Significance of the Aettir

In my approach, each Aett represents a stage of the hero's journey. The first Aett is the beginning, in which we come to realize we have a calling--the old life has become intolerable or we are forced to seek change for whatever reason, and so we finally set out into the wild. We are preparing for initiation: learning all we can, encountering allies and enemies, experiencing love and joy in a new way as we walk along the path. We begin to become aware of our power to affect change; we have our first true connection with Deity, and actually start to listen.

The second Aett is the initiatory experience itself. Often deep transformation is brought on by hardship or loss, and the Aett begins with Hagalaz, Hail, destruction. We can see this as a tragedy or an opportunity, but the greatest challenge is yet to come: death and rebirth, a necessary part of any true initiation. In the second Aett we face the Dark Goddess, and then the God in His guise as Guardian at the Gate. Only then can we emerge from the Underworld to a new way of being and stand once again in the sun.

In the third Aett we must learn to apply what we have learned to our daily lives and our interactions with others. We see from the beginning that we have come through a battle wounded but stronger for it, and now face a new beginning and a new relationship with humanity as a whole and with ourselves. Finally we return ostensibly to where we started, to home life and family, but we have changed at our core, so nothing can ever be quite like it was. Then the entire spiral turns around again, and eventually we leave home again, to face a new adventure back at the beginning of the first Aett.

Looking at the EF this way, when I cast for people there's another added dimension to the reading: not only does each Rune have its meaning as an individual symbol, it has a place within the story as a whole. The only way to really see how it all works together is to actually cast the Runes and see for yourself.

 

Working with the Runes in Divination

Of course I recommend making your own set of Runes, but the truth is I purchased my set; they are hand-carved by an artisan whose work I greatly respect and whose book, Raido: the Runic Journey greatly influenced my work with the Runes. (To order Jennifer Smith's wonderful book as well as her handmade Rune sets, visit her website. You can purchase sets of any of the three Futharks, in nine different woods; she also carves talismans and wands.)

My personal feeling is that the Runes should be made of a natural material, but that's only because I like them to feel "alive" in my hands; I have seen gorgeous sets made from polymer clay, which is more durable than regular clay. The thing to remember is that the tiles will clink against each other in the bag you keep them in, so they need to be sturdy; I also recommend carving as opposed to painting, unless you coat them with several layers of polyurethane or a similar finish.

Like any other magical tool your Runes should be consecrated before you use them. Traditionally during the ritual the practitioner sings the name of each Rune, then paints or rubs blood into the symbol (your blood, to bind you and the Runes to each other). Since most people don't like getting all bloodied up for religion anymore (unless it's to kill people who practice other religions) a common substitute is a natural paint made of red ochre powder and linseed oil, both of which are available online. I can tell you that when I consecrated my Runes, I mixed several drops of blood into the ochre paint as a compromise, and just that little bit was enough to forge a connection that has given me an at-times-scary ability to read the Runes for others (but unfortunately no ability to read them for myself--this often happens when you get really good at using an oracle for other people. I use Brian Froud's Faery Oracle for my personal readings now, though I still use my Runes for magic, which would be a whole separate article).

There are essentially three ways to divine with the Runes: spreads, drawing, and casting. When using a spread, the Runes work basically the way Tarot cards do; they are arranged in a predetermined layout where each position has its own meaning to the spread, a la the Celtic Cross. Personally, I find this method ill suited for the Runes. If you look at them, the Runes are small and three-dimensional, and feel more appropriate to me for throwing or pulling out of a bag than arranging neatly. Also, I do not use "reversed" meanings for the Runes, as many of the symbols are exactly the same in either direction, and if they are cast often there's no way to know which way is up. Drawing Runes means you ask your question and then pull out one or two or three tiles to answer the question, without really placing much emphasis on position. Drawing is good for quick answers or to get a feel for a situation when you don't have the time to do a full-out cast.

Casting is my preferred method, but while it is the simplest to perform it is also the hardest to learn. It requires trusting your intuition quite a bit and allowing yourself to free-associate. People who work primarily with Tarot and other more structured formats often find this maddening; it falls somewhere on the scale between using Tarot spreads and, say, scrying, where there is no structure at all.

One way to start learning to cast is to get a "cheater cloth." Take a piece of fabric and draw or paint a circle on it, then divide that circle into four sections, one for each Element. Then when you cast the Runes, you can associate them with what section of the circle they fall into so you don't have to start completely from scratch. In time you may find it easier to take away the circle and work from your instincts.

Another mistake people make is trying to use too many Runes at once in casting. I find that seven is my usual upper limit, though I have used nine at a time for very important and complex issues. For most readings I tend to lean toward five, which is more manageable and doesn't clutter up the matter at hand with conflicting influences.

My Casting Method

I lay out my casting cloth (currently a square piece of green crushed velvet; I recommend a solid color, as prints can be distracting) between myself and the querant. If I am working at home I have a candle burning, incense going, et cetera, to create an atmosphere more conducive to the task at hand. I don't do a full out Circle or anything like that, but as I reach into the bag and stir the Runes with my hand, I often make a silent prayer to the gods that They guide my hands and words, and help me to deliver Their wisdom to the person I am reading for.

I also thank the Runes themselves, and stir them around for a moment to "wake them up." The feeling and sound of the wood tiles falling over each other is very soothing to me and immediately puts me in a grounded and receptive state.

Then, I hand the bag to the querant and tell him or her how many Runes to draw. He or she (we'll say she for simplicity's sake) also stirs her hand in the bag, concentrating on the issue or question, then pulls out however many I asked for and hands them to me without looking at them. I hold the Runes for a second, rolling them in my hands; then I usually ask the querant to breathe on them, marking the reading as hers.

Next I throw them--or, toss them gently, letting them scatter on the cloth. Try not to be too forceful here or you'll be hunting for Runes under the couch and in people's laps. I take a moment to get a sense of where the reading is going: how did they fall? Is there an obvious shape or pattern, like a circle or a straight line? Circles can indicate the querant is going around and around an issue, or that the issue has several interdependent aspects, or that the same issue will come up again and again (or already has). A straight line usually indicates time moving in one direction, or a progression along the path.

I look for those Runes that have fallen facedown. These are often hidden aspects of the situation, or things that have not yet come to light; they can also speak of the querant's history, her old way of dealing with the issue. Sometimes it's more important than others; sometimes I ignore whether a Rune fell facedown or not, and simply turn them over and read them all together. I rely on intuition to tell me what's important.

Generally a Runic reading describes a six month period or less, unless one particular Rune (Raidho, the Wheel, symbolic of the journey as a whole) comes up; then I know we're looking at a Big Reading that is dealing with the querant's entire life path. I go through each Rune, giving a quick rundown of their interpretations, both traditionally and how I usually see them.

After that I start discussing the pattern the symbols have made, how they work together, what the reading as a whole is saying. I may or may not ask what the querant's question was; sometimes it matters, sometimes not. Most of the time it becomes apparent without my having to ask.

You can see how this would take practice and trust to gain skill and confidence. You can't be afraid of being wrong--everyone's wrong, or at least off base, once in a while. Sometimes the person's energy is interfering with yours, particularly if it's a total stranger with an emotional agenda or having a spectacularly bad day. Sometimes the question isn't specific enough, or is too specific, and the Runes have no answer.

You can usually tell when a casting is what I call a "scrub"--the symbols will make absolutely no sense together, and it's all a load of gibberish. My Runes are opinionated; sometimes they decide to answer a totally different question than the one the querant asked, or they decide they don't like the person and I get a handful of nonsense.

So don't worry if it's confusing, or you have to keep a cheat sheet of meanings nearby for the first few months. When I got my Runes, I spent a month sleeping with them under my pillow, did the aforementioned consecration ritual, and then simply played with them constantly, drawing them on scratch paper, writing the Futhark out over and over, quizzing myself, dumping them out and then arranging them in order in a circle or spiral.

You can spend a day meditating on each individual Rune, or take them in pairs, or spend a month working with an Aett; take the time to learn each one in depth. A book's interpretation will be superficial compared to what you can divine from experience and meditation.

Before long you may start to see Runic symbols everywhere: in tree branches, in spider webs, in the pattern of cracks in a broken window pane. Allow them to become more than an oracle; find them in Nature, find them in your very bones. The Runes aren't just a dusty old alphabet from an ancient culture, or something to spend countless hours searching the lore for every last nuance of historic meaning. They are an organic language, still as alive today as they were centuries ago.