It's that time of year again. Sunna has made her way north and south once more. The wheel of the year, the sunwheel, has turned again, and once more we come to an end and a beginning. That is what Yule means; what it has always mean. For as long as our Folk have existed we have given a special meaning to the Winter Sunstead, the return of the Sun after the longest night of winter.

For those Folk of the more northern latitudes in particular, this is the season of the long darkness and the bone-chilling cold. The last crops are long in, the Earth lies bleak and bare, a gray skeleton of a world, mantled in snow. Life itself seems to hold on by its fingernails against the uncaring forces of destruction. Our ancestors knew this season well; knew it and for good reason feared it. This is a memory that is much a part of the folk soul that makes us who we are; we feel the icy touch of the darkness on our spirits even today.

That is much of why Yule is so important to us. The sunrise on the morning of Yule, after that long, long night, is victory. Once again the forces of darkness have launched their assault against the light of life; once again the dark forces have gone down to defeat. This, too, is war. This, the struggle and the eventual victory, is something that our Folk well understand. We are warriors, we always have been. Just to survive in the lands of our heritage required the indomitable spirit and the will to win of the true warrior. Yule is a holy day for warriors - for our Folk.

For out there in the cold, under that blanket of snow, under starlight more often than sun, life lies dormant. Not dead, as it looks, but merely waiting, gathering strength, waiting its chance to return and reclaim its place of pride How many times has that story repeated itself for our Folk? That is the tale Völuspá tells; how many times has it been our orlog, both our lesson and our legacy. Yule is ever a reminder to us as True Folk, to stand tall and proud in that returning sun and to fulfill its promise.

Völuspá tells us that in the great battle called Rágnarok the forces of Chaos under Surtr's command will prevail on the field, winning apparent victory over the Ása-host, the host of the Gods and the heroes. The victory of darkness, though, is less than a total one. The forces of Chaos, in winning the day, have ultimately wrought their own destruction, and in the midst of their apparent victory the fire-host burns itself out and becomes one with the ash of its own destruction. Then the world-tree grows anew from it's own ashes and those of its enemies, the Nine Worlds are whole and connected once again, and the High Ones rule forever.

57. Garm bays loudly before Gnipa cave
breaks his fetters and freely runs.
The fates I fathom yet farther I see:
of the mighty gods the engulfing doom.

58. I see green again with growing things
the earth arise from out of the sea;
fell torrents flow, overflies them the eagle,
on hoar highlands which hunts for fish.

59. Again the Æsir on Itha Plain meet,
and speak of the mighty Midgarth-Worm--
again go over the great world-doom,
and Fimbultýr's unfathomed runes.

60. Then in the grass the golden figures,
the far-famed ones, will be found again,
which they had owned in olden days.

61. On unsown acres the ears will grow,
all ill grows better; will Baldr come then.
Both he and Hoth will in Hropt's hall dwell,
the war gods' fane: do ye wit more, or how?

62. Then will HŒnir handle the blood-wands,
and Ygg's brothers' sons will forever dwell
in wide Wind-Home: do ye wit more, or how?

63. I see a hall than the sun more fair
thatched with red gold, which is Gimlé hight.
There will the gods all guiltless throne,
and live forever in ease and bliss.
(Völuspá - Hollander translation)

Sounds a mite familiar, doesn't it? This story, of course, can be read on a number of levels. On the physical level, it is played out every year in the march of the seasons. On a personal level, it is a shamanic voyage of death and rebirth. It would appear to me that it could be read as the same on a cultural or folk level as well. The story of Ragnarok, it seems, is played out in the story of our folk over the past thousand years. The hordes of chaos came, from the east and south as Völuspá writes (st. 49-51), and carried the day, those ten centuries gone. Now, though, the golden figures have been found again, after the many years we have been without them. The High Ones reign forever now in their high halls, and across ancient lands and new the raven banner is unfurled triumphant to the sun.

Yule, of course, is a part of this, both a pledge to our Folk and a challenge. Can we - will we - keep our part of the bargain? For a bargain it is. Let's think for a moment. Let's go back to where I started this This is the season of Yule. This is the time when, as the children all know, the jolly old elf rides across the sky in his sleigh, delivering presents to those who have been good. This is also the time when, as those of us who are older and wiser in the heritage of the Folk know, Father Óðhinn rides across that same sky, leading the Wild Hunt. An odd coincidence there - or is it?

Perhaps it isn't. Perhaps they're just different ways of looking at the same thing. Others have done excellent jobs in the past of pointing out how similarly the old elf describes to our own Sigfather. Rather than covering the same ground again, let's take that as written, and get to the point.

Naughty or nice? Honorable or dishonorable? Hero or nithing? Who knows better than Sleipnir's rider does? He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, as the song says. He sits upon his high seat, and with his one good eye looks out over the Nine Worlds The whole earth over, every day, hover Hugin and Munin. Who better to gather intelligence for the fabled list (surely a fitting part of Fjolnir's pledge)? The Truthfinder will know who's been which.

And the point of all this? The jolly old elf is, after all, the giver of gifts, as a drighten should be, and Hár tells us to pay back gift for gift. So what are our gifts to the welcome one to be? That is a question that each of us must ask ourselves. What will your gift be What will you bring to the banner?

From: "Harbard"