News from the shop and the deep, deep woods...

 Long time, no post, and a load of things that have happened. Suffice to say, life´s not getting easier, but I refuse to give up;-). Something very great first, however: It was not a week after Willy and the magic troll learned my camera had gone the way of all earthly things that they both respectively gave me a camera they had to spare. No high-end pictures, but pictures you´ll get, first from projects going on. Topmost is the new Nessmuk I started some time ago, fitted with ramshorn scales. Spring steel, selective temper and scales I am a bit disappointed of, for they are looking a bit crappy still. Then a knife I am very fond of, a danascus from ancient file and crucible steel. Brass, reindeer antler, yew from the old garden of my old home, and a copper buttcap. You can see the quench line very distictively and the blade, even with a rather thick convex bevel, is hair-poppingly sharp.

 Then a fully integral compact bush knife proto with a tempered buttcap that can be used to hammer nails home (which I tested;-)) and a thick tang that even without scales can be used with no harm to your hands. The blade supports my weight;-). It´s made from spring steel with a selective temper. The tang is drilled out to achieve a better balance. Guess it will get some stag scales or something like that...

Next in line is an integral Kopis/En-Nep out of crucible steel I found in the woods. Not tempered yet, I am still about on the finish. By the way, I have, except for drilling, used no power tools.

 "Found in Myrk´s wood";-), another integral loosely modeled after a German hunting knife. I am really fond of it, crucible steel from the woods again, 90x4mm, burned stag antler, riveted against a brass buttcap. The handle will see a carving, maybe of an eagle owl, which is of some spiritual significance to me.

 Then I made a lanyard mojo for rún iarann, an EDC utility knife out of Zwissler damascus, tank cannon and tank bearing steel, and bog oak with a burgundy colour. Silver, agate, brass, and a merlin´s tail feather.

Talking of "Myrk´s wood", you asked for it, and here it comes: Another unlikely Fimbulmyrk tale:

Last week I was completely burned out from work, work and more hard work, deaths in my family, a distance relationship, no resources at all, and having no actual perspective in the so- called "real world", you know, the one that destroys nature for money, toodles and plays around with genetics, bionics and warfare and generally knows no god but the ego... coming to think of it, it in itself has no perspective, but you know what I mean.

So, what to do?

Off with me into the deepest woods I could find. Searching for counsil and comfort by the trees and the spirits. It wasn´t long into the hike that I realized buzzards were circling ahead, some five or so, crying madly as I have never heard before. Following them I ventuered ever deeper into the woods. There it was I found a buzzard´s skull, and paying my respect, I took it with me.

Now I am currently researching the local legends about the elven or dwarven king Goldemar / Volmar, the mythical builder of Volmarstein castle and counsellor of Neveling of Hardenberg, lord of Hardenstein castle, a trickster and a mythical figure presumeably dating back to an older local deity. At one point I had a strong vision, when I encountered a herd of roe deer, a HUGE one, in fact, with some twenty roe deer all in all, heading into my direction. I then imagined rather savagely looking dwarves with features more "trollish" than anything, led by one dwarf with an antlered crown of brambles, blackthorn, and ivy riding on their backs. Vivid imagination can do that to you, yap*ggg*, and it is a rather adventurous way to become a part of the myth yourself. Of course, it is difficult to keep your feet on the ground afterwards, but, to be honest, what would I win if I did so? Wading in the muck? So, I have decided long ago, I´d rather have an interesting and somewhat psychologically dangerous life than none at all wading through the swamp that others created for me to live in. When out now in the woods, where he might as well have been sighted, too, as a local legend of the "Hünenpforte" might hint to, I was in a pensive mood about all those stories and tales of old, and I thought about the wanderer, coming from Schwelm and meeting a dwarf (king?) there, providing him with a fox as a guide through the underground to the giant´s passageway in Hohenlimburg. This is another story which I have told here.But as I wandered in a mood of contemplation and fancy, there it lay, half submerged in the rotten leaves of an autumn gone by, autumn itself in its waning paleness: The skull of a fox. It was a shock, for the outside and the inside world melted into each other, and, I cannot tell it any other way, the otherworld opened for me. I therefore do not exactly know;-) if this was a vision, but the next shock was about to come: A giant boar, with bristles as hard and strong that "an apple might stay stuck upon them" passed along a ridge of the terrain, as real as it can be, but with something more about it. If I have to explain this, I will never succeed, if you understand this, I don´t have to explain anything. Okay, I said, laughing at myself, while I was staying where I was (you do not want to cross a boar in autumn, do you? Not with an at least adequate weapon at hand...;-)), and payed him my respect mentally. All the while the buzzards were still crying madly above. When Mr. boar had gone on his merry way, I went on mine, following the cries above. Even deeper in the woods I found another treasure; as I rounded a callused spruce tree and climbed over a fallen beech that had sprouted new trunks from the fallen stem, I came to a very peaceful place. There a spring rose from a meadow, and above there stood an ancient hazel tree. Into the trickling creek it threw its fruits, green and nourishing. And the water flowed on endlessly, for joy of being and for the fruits of the hazel of fine mast falling into it. It was a place of great peace and comfort. It felt like home, I cannot tell it any other way, and there I rested in meditation, and the hours just flowed, but I did not notice. I realized that I had somehow fallen out of time there, when I learned it was becoming quite late already. But I simply walked on afterwards, following the trail of deer and the trail of my myth within... the story that dwells and thrives in all of us, the dragon that we all could ride - if we dared. This dragon is wild and savage, too, it´s not all light, but sometimes very dark. It can bite our head off in a flash, but we are able still to make our peace with it. We the can thrive as a dragon, and the fire in our spines will carry us over the storm-ridden skies into a golden dawn, where we can find words to create ourselves, to invent our life. Thus was the path into the green, into the twilight wood, the realm, where the one with the antlered crown walks, hunter and prey at the same time, the goddess´ strong-horned consort... thinking this, I was actually not surprised to find a piece of a roe - deer´s skull with a piece of antler on it.

Oh yes, I returned to civilization. I took the bus, and bought a beer, and some junk food. But my imagination has run wild, and I´m aware and proud of it. It is hard to regain your composure afterwards. It is always an act of balance, and chance is, you can get mad by being as I am. Maybe I am mad, but I have not done harm to anyone, and won´t, if I do not have to at all.

But it´s better to be mad than a moron.;-)

Of deep woods, of rock and stone and ruin and rain-thoughts on woodslore

The magic troll says I´m a junkie. ;-)

And she´s right.

I simply felt that urge to visit the giant´s gate cave again, which is quite a peculiar and inspiring place for me. It is a strong place with a vibrant atmosphere I have never experienced the like before, and, trust me, I have been to some peculiar places in my time. Submerged deep in the woods, the roots of strong and ancient trees seem to grow right into the soil, which seems to pulsate under bare feet. The sun is a faint jewel emebedded in a green sky. Leaves are dancing in a gentle breeze, and the air smells of the strong and bread-like scent of Earth undisturbed by man, even if it is not.

 From the hiding in the thicket, things get a whole new perspective. And, even if you might get the impression that I have now gone completely off my rocker, what with all that natural spirituality stuff you read on my blog, it has nothing to do with human concepts. I give it names. Man has done so since the first caveman roamed the land and cowered in the embrace of the earth, and many a myth has sprung forth from human inspiration. Fertile and virile like the Earth herself, it sprouts forth so many variants of alternative logic. This is wonderful. Misunderstanding that, man fights many wars, and it is all about a name.

 But deep down in the thicket, no names are given. No explanations are given, no answers, but then there are no questions, too. Just life, and the moment. Life of a fertility and a nearly violent energy, that just flows and takes you away into the realm of the green and earthy fire that burns and pulsates beneath your feet.

 In the stronghold of the Earth, your soul dwells naked in the soil. Waves of enery pulsed through my lymphatic system, along the lines of power that I stimulate in my meditative training-but this time without myself having any influence on that, and it felt good. My first impulse being fear, I smiled upon my little intellect that was being so jumpy, and calmed my spirit, and just let it happen. Yes, I am now becoming a part of the soil. Yes, I am now becoming something even more different than before.

And no, you must not feel this to be a bushcrafter. Woodslore is not incorporating this. You must not book in to this kind of spirituality or that to be a decent woodsman. Not at all.

What I found out, however, is, that the more I wander through the woods, and the more kit I make myself, the more I learn, the less I carry. Carrying less, I start focussing on my surroundings more and more. Having this spiritual eye on the world that I have, I open up to things.

 And my spirituality does not exactly have a name. It needs none. For it is mine.

 Recently, without encouraging it, mind you, many people came to me to ask for my spiritual guidance. What am I, your babysitter*ggg*?

 I am no master, and I have a deep suspicion towards people making that claim, for I experience that those are people telling other people what to do, and I suspect for either financial profit or to boost their own tiny ego. I have met the like, and the examples are legion. In the thicket, it does not matter at all what way you choose, as long as you get the problem solved. There are, for instance, many kinds of tinder to light a fire. What works for one condition does not necessarily work for another, but in other cases, it does. There are no masters in the wood, and even the difference between animal and human (is there one in the first place?) is marginal. If you so will, we humans are ill-equipped animals in the best of cases. No claws, no fur, no good hearing or eyesight, bad instincts and the like.

I find it persistently becoming harder to talk about the details of my spirituality, for it has something to do with emotions, psychophysical, psychological and corporeal effects, feelings and intuition. There are many pictures, many myths, but most people want them to feed their ego on them, to be better than someone else. I am not better than anyone. The asset is, deep down in the stronghold of the Earth, I must not. No explanations given, no fighting over names. I sat down and meditated, and let my mind sink deep down into the green twilight that has given me my name I commonly use. Ron said "More Merlin, less macho..." and this appealed a lot to me (boosted my ego*ggg*). Merlin is a message to me, and I really am on a path that seems to be similar (even if I would not dare compare my path to the one of Róf breoth wóden, his Anglo- Saxon title). But I tend to flee the bulk of questionable human companionship more and more in favor of trees and Earth and water. This is a kind of initiative journey, and I am well aware of that. After 20 years of learning, the first ring of the spiral has closed, and I am now on the beginning of a new one. Three will be there for me. I know my death. But I also know my life, and it is wonderful, for the force of the land, for that power I am really becoming addicted to feel sift through my body and letting it go again. It simply is like a gentle and loving touch. Harsh and violent are the ways of man in modern society compared to this touch.

There is also violence in the Earth, but a righteous one. On my travel, however, nothing could be felt about it.

 From below, the sky looks faint. This is the womb where legends and fairy tales are born, and I let loose my racing, raging intellect, to be born from that place also.

As I sat and meditated, I agnized a hare in the heart of the Mother, the moon and the huntress. I saw the fox, and the dragon. I saw the virgin, and the hunter hornéd. Before my hypnagogically entranced eyes, the Siddis appeared. And I let them go. I called upon them and conversed with them, in a way words cannot transport, and then they went on their merry way to make room for the power of the ground. Green fire raged through my loins, my heart and my brow, first filling me with fear again, but I let go the fear, too.

 And from the darkness of my underground womb I stepped out into the light, through the giant´s gate again.

 And I walked through light-enthralled groves.

 But well remebering the power of the earth, I danced a layrinthic dance of light and shadow. Why? Because I simply felt like it;-).

 And, by the way, don´t look so romantic*ggg*: The road in the valley made enough noise to remind me of the world in general!*g*

 Through the tunnel to make for the hills again I went.

And I passed by these ancient stones, the ruins of an ancient watchtower, forgotten in the deep realm of the forest´s green.

 And as I went on my journey, I came across this tree, a mirror of the sky. How come the sky being mirrored in the ground? In the water, in the tree, and in the fire of the sun glinting on the surface?

 The ground was covered with a thick matress of sweet woodruff near the place.

I ventured on towards the Raffenburg, a ruin of an ancient hill fort dating back to the eraly medieval ages.

 I climbed this rock just because I felt like it;-).

 Underneath its foot, again a cavern led into the ground.

...

I like the atmosphere around these ancient walls, and Jandark and many others of my friends know that place well. We had many a drink and many a Samhain ritual there, many a laugh and many contemplative talks. I treasure these moments of my life.

 ...

 ...

 ...

 ...

 The clouds were gathering, and the first rain drops stared to fall. It was a warm drizzle at first, and thunder was rolling in the far distance. It was a very special atmosphere, and even if I got soaked through, that did not even matter to me.

 The rain became a right downpour, but it made me feel alive, as I wlked through the woods towards the road to take the bus home.

Of course, the bus ride home was a right culture shock;-).

Following the fox-a spiritual bimble to the Hünenpforte (giant´s gate)

 I was feeling a bit queasy*ggg* all day and thought of foxes.... erm, WE thought of foxes all the time*ggg*.

 So I remembered the local legend of the "giant´s gate" (Hünenpforte):


"Ein armer Wanderer war vom Rheine hergekommen und wollte nach Limburg an der Lenne. Ein Stündchen hinter Schwelm, nicht weit von Voerde. fragte er nach dem nächsten Wege. Der Gefragte war ein Zwerg und gab zur Antwort:„Der kürzeste Weg geht durch den Berg. Hier ist der Eingang. Doch damit du nicht irregehst, so nimm diesen Fuchs mit dir! Du brauchst dich nur an seinem Schwanze festzuhalten, so bringt er dich sicher ans Ziel." Unser Wandersmann befolgte den Rat und kam in die Klutert, eine Höhle mit vielen Gängen, die sich stundenweit ins Gebirge erstreckt.
Nicht immer konnte er aufrecht gehen; manchmal musste er auf allen Vieren kriechen; immer hielt er jedoch den Fuchsschwanz fest. So sah er endlich den Ausgang schimmern. Da hörte er plötzlich ein sonderbares Geräusch. Vorsichtig streckte er seinen Kopf heraus. Wie erschrak er, als er dicht vor sich auf dem Rasen einen gewaltigen Riesen sah, der sich im Schlafe geschüttelt hatte!
Rasch versteckte er sich in den Felsspalten der Höhle. doch so, dass er den Riesen immer im Auge behielt. Der erwachte mit großem Geschnarche, richtete sich auf er war wohl sieben Ellen hoch - reckte sich und stöhnte, dass die Felsen widerhallten. Dann schritt er zur nahen Quelle, füllte sein mächtiges Horn und nahm seinen Mittagstrunk. Endlich aber wendete er die Nase nach allen vier Winden. „Es muss ein Mensch in der Nähe sein“, sprach er bei sich, doch so, dass der arme Wicht in der Höhle jedes Wort verstehen konnte.„ „Wie gut sollte er mir schmecken, wenn ich ihn nur hätte! Hungrig bin ich ja noch; die drei Häschen, die ich heute erst gespeist, haben mich noch nicht satt gemacht!“ Er fing an zu fluchen und stöberte zwischen allen Felsen umher; nur dachte nicht daran, in die Höhle zu blicken. Denn dass der Mensch da zu finden sein könne, fiel ihm nicht ein. So entging ihm die Beute. Er wusste sich endlich vor Zorn und Wut nicht mehr zu fassen, riss Bäume aus mit ihren Wurzeln und wälzte sie den Berg hinab; auch mächtige Steinblöcke riss er los und schleuderte sie ins Tal. Bis dahin hatte der arme Hans immer noch seinen Fuchs festgehalten. Als er aber das grässliche Getöse vernahm, erschrak er so, dass er den Fuchsschwanz fahren ließ. Der Fuchs ließ sich`s nicht zweimal sagen, dass er nun frei sein sollte. Voller Freude sprang er aus der Höhle heraus und an dem Riesen vorbei in den Wald. Der Riese lief mit großen Schritten hinter ihm her und erhob sein Jagdgebrüll, das wie Donner rollte. Aber es ward immer schwächer, je mehr sich der Riese von der Höhle entfernte, und unserem Reisenden kam die alte Munterkeit wieder. Er eilte aus seinem Versteck hervor und lief spornstreichs hinunter nach Limburg, das vor ihm im Sonnenstrahl erglänzte. Aber es dauerte noch einige Zeit, bis er sein fröhliches Lied wieder anstimmen konnte. Seit der Zeit wird die Öffnung der Höhle, vor der der Wandersmann den Riesen getroffen hat, das Hünentor genannt." From:http://kudg-holthausen.de/holthausen/interessantes/huenenpforte/sage-huenenpforte.htm


I translate:


"Once upon a time, a poor wanderer, coming from Rheine, wanted to get to Limburg at the Lenne. One hour of travel after Schwelm he met a dwarf in Voerde and asked him of the direction. He replied: The shortest passage is the one through the mountain. Here is the entrance. And unto you should not go amiss, I give this fox to you. he knows well where to go. Cling to his tail, and he will guide you." The wanderer took the advice and came into the Klutert cave, which is a  widespread tunnel system reaching for hours deep into the mountains, and always did he cling to the fox´s tail, until he saw daylight. But how frightened was he when he learned that near the entrance slept a giant, well over ten feet high! With a mighty roar he awoke, shuffled over to the nearby well and filled his giant drinking horn and took his lunchtime drink. Finally he sniffed along the four winds and muttered: "There must be a human  around!How well must he taste, for I have but eaten three little hares today, and they could not satisfy me!" He started to curse under his breath and rummaged around the cave, between the rocks, and by the well, but that the wanderer was in hiding in the cave, he could not think of. So he could not find the poor wanderer, who sat there in hiding, utterly frightened, and he was getting more and more furious.And the wanderer cowered ever lower in his hiding, until he let go of the fox´s tail. The fox ran away, and passed the giant. And the giant let go his hunting roar and pursued the animal, and ever farther away from the cave the fox led him. The wanderer, however, escaped and finally arrived at Limburg, but it was a long time until he found his blissful song again."

 The weather was being fine, and the woods were murky... a very special atmosphere lingers around the place, and I took it in in deep breaths. The saga is old. Could it be that the dwarf and the fox might act as psychopomps? Is there a Shamanic background? The Klutert cave has never had a connection to the Hünenpforte geologically. So why has the saga been told that way? Is it a case of simple analogy? Who is this giant? Local legends often have an older saga as  a predecessor, and you can rely on dwarfs, giants, animals, white women and other figures and personae relating back to pagan times. The older versions were corrupted for several reasons:

-folkloristic trading often leads to many things getting lost in the process
-Christian monasterical recording in most cases corrupted local legends by purpose
-Adaptation of graver topics as child-adequate in the enlightment movement
-Romanticism often went to grave libetries with the subject

If you know how it was being made, you get a grammar as to how the subject might have been changed.

 The path is narrow, though, and truth is hard to find;-) and the trail was narrow and difficult indeed, with a good deal of climbing involved.

 Raspberries were blossoming.

 Evergreen covered the ground, thick as a matress. There was this contrast of light and murk everywhere. I passed by the ruins of an ancient tower. 

 Submerged deep in the green, there lies the arch of the giant´s gateway, all but undisturbed by the roaring traffic on the highway below.

 Into the darkness I ventured, deep into the stronghold of the earth.

 At the entrance, at the side with the well, there was this "rock formation";-). Below it someone had heaped roses and wildflowers, draped systematically. There, I offered my respect to the place and the force of the land, and to the Earth mother, and I sat down and meditated.

 It was happening when I was deep in meditation when a pointed nose and two pointed ears, clad in red fur looked around the corner. In broad daylight, a fox came by the place. It was so unreal, I was asking myself if I was dreaming. Of course, I fumbled my camera. And he seemed to grin as he went on his merry way. I wished him a good journey. I was sitting there, quite amazed, but with a deep peace filling my heart and soul.

I left the place.

 Through the giant´s gate I went, into the enchanted sunlight.

And on my way back, a legend was forming in my mind.

Watch this place;-).

....bit wet on the bike lane today... and the legend of the dwarven fox.

On Friday I decided it was time to get in some endurance riding...

Oh, yes, it´s that time of year again, miles of boring road riding to keep me from falling off in summer;-). To keep my annoyance on not getting dirty at all to a minimum, I started by riding the beautiful (and flat) bike lane around the lake near my place. This lane is a good way to get around, for it connects several towns in my region, and with some creativity, it even gets you as far as Cologne! No Cologne however that day, just two hours to get the muscles flexed. I set out into the direction of Hohenlimburg, a beautiful part of my town (although the inhabitants insist on not belonging to Hagen at all, a stance I can relate to-somehow:-) especially when looking at all the beautiful houses, all the castles (one intact, one ruin) and archaelogical sites to boot). The lane is a beautiful one that runs along the river Lenne. It turned out it was the other way round, and the river ran along the bike lane.

I actually tried to ride it (some 100 m or so), lunatic that I am, and got wet and cold chest-high, but no worries, that dried in the wind... brrrrr:-). No big feat, however, just plain stubbornness and stupidity. I even was washed off two times, and it was really plain stooooooopid to try that at all. Advice: Leave it be. Take a boat. Really.:-)

 I left the lane (or the river) as soon as possible, and boy was I grateful I wore lycra / spandex /fleece tights and a jersey, for that dries rather quick. Also found out that my pack keeps water out fairly well, for even my two washouts left it rather dry inside, so dry in fact, that my documents and money came out unscathed. Phew! Advice: Put them in a zip-tie bag inside the pack... or two plastic bags. On the trail out I got some mud (more of a swamp) in the face in the bargain, and it was a _____ ordeal, so much for some relaxed endurance riding;-). But might be I am a bit strange in the head, but I actually liked that ordeal a lot afterwards. Gives me strength when facing my everyday office job, if you ask me. Whenever there´s something going awry, I know that this simply cannot be as hard as riding a stream by bike. Little can.

In Hohenlimburg I decided to ride to the "Hünenpforte" (the giants´gate), for there is an interesting local myth to it. It is a rock formation that actually leads inside a little cave. Maybe I ´ll do a post on it later, together with my own (mythologically reconstructed) version of the story. Oh, and the story...it goes as follows:


Once upon a time when dwarves lived in the Klutert caves in the Ennepetal valley, there came a lone wanderer headed towards Limburg at the Lenne. He was very tired and did not know where to go. In the Ennpetal valley he met a dwarf, strolling along following his own business. He asked him of the way to Limburg, and the dwarf called a fox that was his companion. "Here," he said, "take that fox by the tail and follow him through the Klutert caves. But whatever may occur to you, never ever let that fox´s tail go, and he may guide you well through the darkness!"
So the wanderer took the fox by the tail and followed him through the darkness, and well was he guided. Thus they came to an exit, and the wanderer saw a big gateway leading to the outside. But what terror begot him when he looked outside! There was a mighty roar and huffing and a sound of the wind tearing town trees and branches, and before the gate there lay a mighty giant, sleeping and snoring along. Suddenly he came awake, and he rose and yawned and spoke as follows:

"What is that smell? There must be a human near! I want to eat it whole!"

The wanderer in his hideout began to shake and tremble with fear, his face slack and ashen grey with terror, and, with his shaking hand, let go of the fox´s tail. And the fox, was he glad to be free again or fulfilling his master´s biding, ran away into the woods, and the giant followed him to hunt him down. If he ever succeeded, I do not know, but the wanderer was able to escape, for the giant was distracted, and thus came to Hohenlimburg.

(Retold freely after a telling by an old Hohenlimburg guy, for a German version of the official tale look here)

This place certainly has a very distinct atmosphere to it, and although it is geological nonsense that the Klutert cave (Ennpetal) had a connection to Hohenlimburg, there HAS to be a truth to it, for in the neighbouring just across the road there is the site of a prehistoric (palaeolithic, meso-, neolithic and iron age) archaeological key find. There is another archaeological site just upon the hilltop, the "Alte Stadt" (old town), a medieval watchtower, and one hill farther away the "Raffenburg", a castle ruin dating back propably to the early medieval ages (Saxon hill - fort) and maybe even older. A lot of material for a myth - head and scribe like myself;-). By the way, it was my team´s own Jaykay helping out with reaming and saving the finds in the "Blätterhöhle". He is quite an interesting guy, riding mountainbikes for ages now (he was one of the founders of our team), a cave climber, archaeologist, even gets a fit of reenactment now and then;-), invents and builds his own somewhat weird ...erm.. things , paints, carves wood, does bushcraft, rides cruisers, writes (and not even bad at all;-)), works as an engineer and loves the meatballs of his mother;-).

Being wet and cold and fluffy from all that harcore action and climbing through raspberry vines to shoot some bad pics of the Hünenpforte (apologies!the light did not deserve that name that day...), and weather turning even fouler, I rode home.