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Inner Art - July 2007
Norse Mythology: Valkyrian Inspiration for Living
by Bente Mirow
"You are a little Valkyrie, my father said to me often while I was growing up. This comment always left me mildly confused as a child. I associated the word with criticism, yet he always said it with a kind smile. Given my healthy imagination, and had I known about the Valkyries then, I would have probably embraced my Valkyrie-ness and enjoyed a life of glorious, yet schizophrenic, imaginary shape-shifting.
Norse mythology was delivered to me in weekly bites during elementary school in Denmark, at an age when skepticism and questions had already invaded the innocent belief in all things magical. Even so, I loved the colorful glimpses into the Valkyrian beings and their "lives."
The Valkyries worked for Odin, the mighty Norse God of warriors and dead heroes. They were a small band of dazzling warrior women riding through the atmosphere on winged horses, garbed in glittering dresses with flowing long hair and capes, equipped with helmets, breastplates, shields and steel spears. They were Goddesses, demigoddesses or humans depending on what the situation required, or perhaps who told the legend. The Valkyries' primary job was to fly to the battlefields and choose the bravest and most heroic warriors to die in the battles so that they could join Odin in his exclusive Heaven, Valhalla.
In my young mind, it was a mighty fancy job to have the power to choose who lived and who died in battle. Dying peacefully was a disqualification for Valhalla. Odin was intent on surrounding himself with only the most ferocious warriors. After all, in Valhalla, when they were not eating or drinking, the men were fighting and cutting each other into pieces only to be restored to wholeness again for the next meal.
I was fascinated with the fact that dying was more glorious and prestigious, than living. The ones who were to die would see a Valkyrie while fighting. She would be invisible to everyone else.
But choosing who died wasn't all they did. These magical women also transformed themselves into the role appropriate to the situation.
When Valkyries arrived home to Valhalla with the dead heroes, they turned into elegant ladies who took care of the recently arrived warriors. They served cups of mead, kept the table piled with food, the fires going, and played stringed instruments. The Valkyries ensured everyone's enjoyment in the endless feast‹including their own.
As if that weren't enough power, in their spare time, Valkyries could also transform themselves into swans, ravens, and wolfs.
All through my life I thought about the Valkyries' ability to transform themselves and others, and how deeply things would improve had we had the ability to shift back and forth in our roles to best accommodate the situation at hand. I have tried to imagine how the life I shared with men in friendship, marriage and divorce would have been easier if I had been able to change shape and roles as the Valkyries did.
As I have grown older, my understanding and interpretation of the Valkyries has transformed and refined many times. I came to see my father's exclamations as the endearments I am now sure they were meant to be. But I have also chosen to see the comparison of myself to a Valkyrie as a true compliment. And with the same great artistic and interpretive liberty as those authors, storytellers, and composers who have cherished the Valkyries, I have chosen to see these mythic women as symbols of flexibility and understanding.
I have done my best to use the Valkyries as my inspiration in daily life and difficult situations. The times of the Valkyries were Viking times known for male dominance, yet the Valkyries seem to have had more power than even the greatest God. They resolved conflicts between power and love so that both of these strong drives could co-exist. They could turn from fearless dominant leaders to subservient and caring wait staff. They could even choose to be human and enjoy bathing in a cool stream.
In battle, protected by armor, shields and swords, their feminine weapons were the more effective. Valkyries sang such sweet songs to the enemy, he went weak and couldn't defend himself.
As the Goddesses of fear who controlled the destiny of warriors, they infused courage in men while remaining hauntingly gracious. They made the lives of both men and women poetic, a harmonious symbiosis annulling the need for opposition between power and love. The Valkyries represented a godlike picture of the female: spiritually, mentally and physically.
I'd like to think that the Valkyries represent an enduring Scandinavian philosophy, one of an ever-lasting equality. With a little practice we can all use the Valkyries as inspiration to shape-shift between decision-maker to second fiddle when partner, kid, parent or co-worker need the upper hand to take turns in power and love. And always present under the surface is the awesome strength of all women to protect the ones they love.
Bente Mirow writes what her heart and mind demand. She can be reached at hyggemer@netscape.net