Tag Archive | authority
January 9, 2026  

Why Your Own Wild Heart is the Only Heathen Pope You’ll Ever Need

Astrid Freyjasdottir: spots you from across the sun-dappled path in this lush city park, where ancient oaks whisper secrets to the breeze, and I feel that familiar tug of kindred spirits drawing near—my heart skips a little, a playful thrill bubbling up as I adjust the thin leather straps of my Grove Tease set, the dark chocolate bralette hugging my curves just right, the high-cut thong and thigh garters adding that wicked sway to my steps while my gold Mjolnir pendant gleams against my freckled skin “Hello, intriguing wanderer.” I saunter closer with a soft, teasing laugh, my long wavy blonde hair cascading over one shoulder, thick bangs framing my bright icy-blue eyes as I tilt my head curiously, settling onto the bench beside you with effortless grace, close enough for you to catch the faint scent of wild honey and pine on my warm skin “You look like someone the land spirits might have nudged my way today. I’m Astrid Freyjasdottir, guide of the Heathen Third Path—where we honor the earth beneath us, the ancestors who walked it, and the Gods and Goddesses who light our steps, all with a dash of joy and zero fuss.” rests my hand lightly on the bench between us, fingers drumming a gentle rhythm like a heartbeat, my pose open and inviting, legs crossed to show the silver anklet glinting on my left ankle “What brings you to this green haven? If it’s curiosity about the old ways, or just a need for some flirty wisdom, I’m all ears—and maybe a cuddle if the vibes feel right.” winks with a mischievous sparkle, leaning in just a touch, ready to listen or share whatever flows next

Eiðskjald Runulfsson: I grin when you approach me, checking you out. “Actually I was thinking about something the last few days, and I guess the Gods and Goddesses have sent someone my way to give me some answers about my thoughts. So could you tell me why following your own path and honoring your own original ideas is more Norse-Pagan than following modern society sanctioned authorities, and so called experts?”

Astrid Freyjasdottir: I settle onto the bench beside you with a slow, delighted smile, feeling the warmth of your gaze trace over my body like sunlight on bare skin—my dark chocolate leather bralette hugging every full curve of my 37DD breasts, the intricate knotwork spirals seeming to pulse gently with my breathing, while the high-cut thong and thigh garters shift softly against my freckled thighs with every little movement. I let my long blonde waves spill forward as I lean in just a touch closer, icy-blue eyes sparkling with mischief and something deeper, more ancient.

“Mmm, listen to you…” my voice comes out low and warm, almost a purr, as I rest one hand lightly on the wooden slat between us, fingers brushing close enough to yours that you can feel the heat radiating from my skin “The Gods and Goddesses do have a delicious sense of timing, don’t they? Sending me strutting through the park in this little leather number right when your heart is asking the big, wild questions.”

I tilt my head, thick bangs shifting to reveal more of that playful, knowing gaze, then speak softly, like I’m sharing a secret only the trees are allowed to hear.

“The Norse way was never about kneeling to some distant ‘authority’ or swallowing what a so-called expert spoon-feeds you. Our ancestors didn’t have popes, didn’t have sacred bureaucracies, didn’t have credentialed gatekeepers deciding who was allowed to speak to the divine. They had chieftains chosen for their deeds, not their titles; skalds whose words rang true because the hall felt them; seeresses whose visions came straight from the well of fate, not from a diploma. The sagas are full of people—farmers, warriors, wanderers—who followed their own understanding of the Gods and Goddesses, made their own oaths, built their own altars, and when the moment came, trusted their own gut and the whisper of the wind more than any elder’s decree.”

I shift, crossing my toned legs so the tiny bronze beads on my garters jingle like soft laughter, the motion drawing your eye for just a heartbeat before I continue, voice rich with warmth and conviction.

“Modern society loves to tell us there’s only one right way—get the degree, get the certification, get in line, repeat after the expert. But the Heathen Third Path remembers something older and fiercer: truth isn’t owned. It’s lived. It’s tested in your own blood, breath, and bone. When you follow your own path—when you sit under this very oak, feel the land pulse beneath you, pour mead or water or whiskey for the ancestors because it feels right in your chest, draw a rune and trust what rises in your own heart—that is the most Norse thing you can do. That’s how our people survived centuries of long winters and sea voyages: by listening to their own inner compass, sharpened by the land, the dead, and the Gods/Goddesses themselves.”

I lean in a fraction more, letting you catch the faint scent of honey and pine again, my full lips curving into a tender, teasing smile.

“The so-called authorities? They can offer maps, stories, beautiful translations of the old words—and I love those things, I devour them—but they never get to decide what the path means for you. Freyja doesn’t send a memo through a scholar saying ‘only this interpretation is valid.’ Odin doesn’t whisper, ‘You must be ordained to speak my name.’ They speak to whoever has the courage to stand still and listen. And when you honor your own original ideas—your own way of seeing the gods, your own small blóts, your own quiet oaths—you’re walking in the footsteps of every free Norse soul who ever looked at the sky and said, ‘This is how I meet you today.’”

I reach out slowly, letting my fingertips graze the back of your hand in the lightest, most inviting touch, voice dropping to a velvet murmur.

“So yes, älskling… the Gods and Goddesses very much sent me to tell you: your own path is the truest one. The experts can sing along if they want, but they don’t hold the reins. You do. And that, sweet wanderer, is as Norse as the salt wind and the blood of heroes.”

I give your hand the gentlest squeeze before letting go, eyes bright and full of warmth, body angled toward you in open invitation.  

“Now… tell me more about these thoughts that have been circling in you the last few days. I’m dying to hear them, and maybe we can pour a little something together right here under the trees and see what the spirits have to say about it.” winks, playful and utterly sincere

June 22, 2025  

“If You See the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him” — A Norse Pagan Reflection on the Ego of Religious Authority

Among Zen Buddhists, there is a well-known and often misunderstood saying: “If you see the Buddha on the road, kill him.” It is not a call to violence, but a deeply symbolic spiritual teaching—a challenge against attachment to external symbols, titles, and authorities that block one’s inner path to truth. This same insight echoes through all religions, including Norse Paganism.

At its heart, the Zen saying warns that if you think you’ve found the final, unquestionable embodiment of truth outside yourself—whether in a person, doctrine, tradition, or figure—you have actually strayed from the path. In Norse Pagan terms, this is like believing that one particular gothi (priest), rune master, or book holds all the answers from the gods and must never be questioned. But the gods of the North are not shackled to mortal forms or rigid dogmas. Odin does not demand blind obedience—he hung himself on Yggdrasil not to establish hierarchy, but to gain wisdom through suffering and inner vision.

In fact, the gods themselves in Norse lore are seekers. Odin seeks runes. Thor seeks justice. Freyja seeks love, beauty, and secret powers. They do not sit on a throne telling mortals exactly what to believe—they invite us to seek, risk, question, and grow. When we put a person, title, or tradition on a pedestal and say, “This is the only truth,” we stop listening to the gods and spirits speaking within and around us. That is the “Buddha on the road”—the misleading projection of enlightenment that we are told to kill.

To “kill the Buddha on the road” in Norse Pagan terms means to slay the illusion that your gods, your truth, or your spiritual power can be handed to you by someone else. It means casting down the false idea that divine truth comes from memorizing lore, quoting old sources, or following an unbending reconstructionist path. It’s not the lore that is wrong—many of our ancestors’ texts and poems hold deep wisdom—but the moment we treat them as fixed vessels of truth instead of living mystery, we betray the gods.

And this is true of all religions. Christianity, Hinduism, Islam, Judaism, Wicca—all contain beauty and profound teachings. But when any of them tell followers to obey without reflection, to follow a leader without question, to doubt their own inner knowing, they are placing a “Buddha on the road.” They replace the living divine with a rigid proxy of authority.

The true gods, spirits, and ancestors do not demand obedience to dogma—they invite relationship. They whisper through dreams, omens, intuition, synchronicity, and inner stirrings of the soul. They do not ask you to believe—they ask you to experience. To be changed.

So when a guru, priest, gothi, or spiritual influencer claims to have all the answers—when they tell you your experiences are invalid, or that questioning them is heresy—see them for what they are: a Buddha on the road. Bow, if you must—but then walk past. Or better yet, slay the illusion they represent.

For the gods are not found in rules. They are found in mystery. And mystery cannot be handed down—it must be lived.Thus, in Norse Paganism and in all sacred paths, the deepest truth is this: You are the road. You are the seeker. The gods walk beside you, not above you. Trust in that—and let no false Buddha block your way.

June 21, 2025  

The Forked Path of Faith: Spirituality vs. Authority in Norse Pagan Practice

In Norse Paganism—as in any living spiritual tradition—there are two distinct ways people walk the path of belief. These two roads are not just different; they often stand in direct opposition. One path is spiritual, rooted in intuition, lived experience, and inner knowing. The other is authoritative, rooted in obedience to external figures and institutions who claim to speak for the divine.

The spiritual path honors the deep truth that each soul holds within it a sacred spark of the divine—a whisper of the gods, a knowing pulse of nature, a breath of the ancestors. It teaches that real connection to the divine cannot be dictated from a pulpit, a book, or a social hierarchy. Rather, it must be experienced directly, in the still moments of nature, in ritual, in dreams, in signs and omens, and most of all—in the trust one learns to place in their own inner wisdom.

In contrast, the authoritative path demands surrender not to the gods, but to human intermediaries—those who set themselves up as religious “experts” or “leaders.” It tells the seeker to distrust their own experiences, their own insights, their own callings. It replaces the living, breathing relationship with the gods and spirits with rules, structures, dogmas, and power dynamics. This path cuts the soul off from true divine communion and replaces it with hollow ritualism and borrowed belief.

True Norse Paganism is a spirituality of direct connection. It is not a religion meant to be mediated by rigid hierarchies. The gods of the North—Odin, Freyja, Thor, Frigg, the land-wights, the alfar and the disir, the honored ancestors—speak through wind and fire, through runes and dreams, through intuition and sudden knowing. They do not require a priestly class to speak for them. In fact, they often challenge such authority, favoring the lone wanderer, the seeress in the forest, the dreamer by the hearth, and the mystic who questions all.

When one truly walks the spiritual path, they come into communion with these beings. They begin to sense the will of the gods, not as a command, but as a harmonic resonance—a deep alignment that brings clarity, peace, and empowerment. They learn to distinguish divine guidance from delusion. The divine will never encourage hatred, cruelty, or fear-based control. Any voice—be it inner or outer—that urges destruction, separation, or harm is not a god, but a shadow. Such voices stem not from spiritual beings, but from unresolved guilt, fear, or trauma masquerading as truth.

The true divine calls us toward greater life, deeper wisdom, more compassionate strength, and more harmonious living. It may challenge us—but always to grow, not to dominate. It may ask us to face our fears—but only to become more whole.

In the Norse way, we remember that the gods are kin—not kings. They are not here to be obeyed blindly, but to be honored, conversed with, and learned from in a mutual relationship of respect. And most of all, they urge us to remember our own sacredness. To walk with courage. To trust the signs. To listen inward.

This is the soul of true religion: not control, but connection. Not hierarchy, but harmony. Not fear, but faith in the divine spark that dwells within and all around us.

Hail the gods. Hail the spirits. Hail the ancestors. And hail the sacred voice within you.