When Wōden came back to the Perennial Sophia he did so in the shape of a snake. Penetrating the grotto which is Jörð’s womb, he underwent the motions that all seekers do. Since time immemorial the deathless Gods are regenerated through the Gifts of the Goddess, her fruit, or else her womb. It is all the same. The Deathless God learns the Goddess’ song and he transcends his station, he becomes her steward. He becomes a bulwark against Chaos, much as Zeus punished Ouranous for his sins against Gaia. So we might think of Wōden’s truth between the Eddas lines. He transvaluated his morals and left humanity behind. If it’s good enough for the highest aspiration of man, the living archetype of the wanderer, the philosopher-king; Promethean, Luciferian who is at once Lord and Servant, Master and Seeker – than so must it be for those in his stead.
Serpentine.
Cunning. Shrewd. One must be willing to lie in wait. One must think. One must think ahead. The Serpent calculates, reckons out every twist and nook and cranny. The Serpent keeps secrets, a fine currency. The Serpent doesn’t care if the enemy calls him evil. The Serpent’s eyes don’t blink, they don’t betray. The oldest layer of our brain is the reptilian. For this there is a reason. Merciless, sublime and beautiful, deathless.
A primate is motivated by paltry things. Revenge, mere lust, greed. The Serpent predates this; there doesn’t need to be a distinction. For the Ouroborous nothing is binary. Why should it be? Revenge, such an integral facet of our Race’s struggle- it is a primarily primate concern. For a Serpent it is a byproduct of a higher purpose, at times an unpleasant consequence of conscience. This was why Wōden above all other Gods was condemned by the Church. In Wōden are modalities, third positions between paltry modalities and antiquated albatrosses of dual nature. Wōden is synthesis.
A Serpent can lay snares. But a Serpent can also extract what he wants from his enemies without lifting a finger. He has only to wait. A primate cannot delay that gratification. Clan warfare in the guise of honour illustrates this marvelously, something I’ve relayed ad astram in my writings on Grønbech. The Serpent can outlast his enemy. The unjust man is often his own bane, carelessness and arrogance are his friends and when truth abandons him, folly remains. The Serpent knows this.
A more calculated approach would benefit Nationalists, Tribalists or Folkish. Wōden became a God of Terror not because of tyranny, but because of his capacity for it. Just as the primate abhors the Serpentine because he cannot control it. The Snake will not condescend, he will not sell his soul. He exists for his purposes and serves only as he will. He serves only what his conscience dictates. He cannot be dissuaded and will wrap himself around his obstacles. If he can, he will squeeze. If he can’t, he will wait. His venom can wither you even when his tail has disappeared back within the sanctum of Jörð.
This moral language, both ambiguous and unapologetic is bane to the histrionic monkey that modernity has produced, a living totem of involution. The ape man takes pride in the temporality of material achievement and plasters upon lies with the façade of amicability. He heaps upon his plate a mountain of platitudes, slogans, waste. But nothing lies within, other than disappointment and inevitable betrayal. Such is the way of the world. The primate excuses bad behaviour, the Serpent does not. In the end, Jormungand unravels from the Earth and all drown.
Jormungand in all, a part of Wōden’s nature. In a sense. As is the wolf. They’re symbols in God’s Eye. The wolf is passion. The serpent is temperance. Wōden feeds his wolves but becomes the serpent – the serpent outlasts all. But as the wolf can swallow the Sun, the Serpent has only his tail to eat and can draw upon himself until he crushes the world within him. Jormungand outlived Thor. Jormungand, encircles the Earth and lasts as long as the world might reign. Only when the Serpent fails can the world end and the waters of life refill Ginungagap’s throbbing womb. It took the Serpent to draw the Goddess out of Eva, to see her feast on the Apples at her heart’s delight and take back her life as Idunn, dispenser of life. As Wōden’s spirit is in all of us, so too are Serpent and Wolf.
Can’t you feel it? The desire to end pretence? To sharpen the witless primate layer of your brain, to overcome mere nature? Don’t you tire of false dichotomies and worthless riddles designed to slow our march toward enlightenment? The bog exists only to receive the Érgi, it’s not for us to wade in. They say the Serpent winds along the spine as chakras, our own life force. The Egyptians felt the Serpent informed the Sun – Hathor was a Fertile Goddess the kiss of whose hips promised life, but she was Queen of the Snakes as well long before the Greeks made Medusa into a dirty word and diddled little boys and incurred the late Friesians’ wrath. When Padraic drove the snakes from Ireland, a world surely ended. Snakes aren’t the villain they’re made out to be
Wōden did what he had to, as we all must. But why do we have to be slaves to witless circumstance? We don’t. There’s always a third position between false dichotomies. There’s always an angle the primates don’t want you to consider. Had Wōden not read between the lines, than none could outlast Ragnarøk. What is a reckoning, or culling of the herd would have been extinction with none to hold the pieces, much less tell the tale. Don’t limit your thinking. Don’t fall into the snare.