The Freya Principle

14 Feb

In the Wizard of Oz, Dorothy found herself dropped from the sky into a strange and unfamiliar land after a terrible storm.  When my inner hussy bullied her way into my world, I could certainly relate.  The realization that my good princess days had ended in the snap of painted fingernails, was both shocking and intriguing.  The truth is there was never any good princess days in my life, only my illusion of such nonsense, to which I’d clung with serious tenacity.  Shaking myself loose from the fairy tale wasn’t easy.

Before I could cure the darkness, I had to understand the light and its power.  I needed to figure out how to access that power, and what I was supposed to do with it.  I had to untangle miles of jumbled cable lines that short circuited the way I’d approached anger, hiding it inside, repressing its fury, refusing to acknowledge its presence in any way, and allowing that vicious cycle to fester into subtle self-loathing that over time, manifested as depression.

The problem was me, but not me in the way others believed.   No fundamental flaw existed; I was not the walking soap opera I appeared to be.  Slowly I began to understand I’d wasted a great deal of time trying to meet the expectations of others without having a clear vision of what I wanted, what was important to me. By the time I figured this out, I was alone.  I can’t say that was something I’d counted on, but in hindsight, it needed to happen.

This particular phase of my life was deliberate, filled with intention and ritual.  One of the rituals I enjoyed was Friday night at Barnes and Noble, where I’d cruise the aisles in search of literary wood to stoke the fires of inner growth.  On one such occasion, I found myself seated on the worn carpet between Women’s Issues, Psychology, and New Age books, each vying for attention.  My hand brushed against the spine of a book about Norse Mythology on the bottom shelf.  Without thinking, I picked it up.  The pages fell open, revealing words I needed to read under the chapter heading: Freya, Goddess of Sex, Beauty, and War.  A black ink illustration portrayed the Goddess’ likeness, an angular woman with fiery eyes as sharp as swords, content in her anger, giving an impression of pride and intimidation and sexual confidence.

Again, my eyes settled on words waiting for them in a short tale that recalled Freya and her desire to possess a brooch she had admired in a silver smith’s window.  It was incredibly detailed, catching sunlight and sparkling like diamonds.  Freya was a Goddess used to getting what she wanted, and she wanted that brooch.  Entering the shop, she was greeted by a horrible little man, bent and knotted.  He was a dwarf, but misshapen as he was, he might as easily been confused with a troll.

Freya told the man she wanted the brooch in the window.  He replied it was not for sale.  His adamancy drove her desire.  The shop owner told Freya the only way she would ever own the brooch was if she agreed to sleep with him and his three brothers.  The thought disgusted Freya, but she was a woman who knew what she wanted.  The dwarf’s terms were nonnegotiable.  Freya considered her options: walk away from the treasure she wanted, or have sex with four disgusting, little men. 

The following night, the Goddess of Sex ,Beauty, and War went to the dwarfs’ home where she proceeded to meet the terms of their agreement.  Freya won possession of the jewel she longed for, and in the process, learned an important lesson.  In the days that followed, Freya could be heard bragging to the Gods about her adventure, telling them the four brothers had been the most magnificent lovers she had ever had.

I closed the book, dubbing the story, “The Freya Principle”.  The moral of the mythological story was multilayered.  First, we must know exactly what it is that we want.  Then we must come to terms with what we will sacrifice in order to achieve the goal of acquisition.  Sometimes that boils down to your best bet.  Sometimes that boils down to a matter of trust.  Sometimes it requires a leap of faith. But details of the unknown are always sketchy, that’s why we fear change as much as we do.  Staying in a familiar situation feels safer than gambling on the unknown, although change always facilitates awareness.

Second, we cannot make assumptions based on visual perceptions alone.  We need to go deeper into ourselves and the circumstance that confronts us.  The goal isn’t the destination; it truly is the journey. 

Third, last, but not least, conquering our fear in pursuit of inner growth is rewarded many times over by unexpected pleasures we experience along the way. 

Once I’d made my decision to redefine my life in spite of my fear of the uncertainty of change, I’d taken the first step that was the first of many to follow.  Whenever I wobble, my mind carries me back to that night at Barnes and Noble, reminding me how important it is to keep my eye on the prize and to search through all the surface debris of any situation for its greater, intended content.   And then to have the courage to apply it to my own life.

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4 Responses to “The Freya Principle”

  1. Gypsy February 15, 2013 at 12:56 pm #

    I always saw Freya surrounded by baby animals, as goddess of love, sex, spring, flowers, and in general all pretty things. I didn’t know she was the goddess of war. As for me being “so” Freya, I LOVE spring. Baby animals, gardens blooming, flowers-It’s by far my favorite time of the year, being much like Persephone in the Winter, living 6 months in Hades…

    • ittymac February 15, 2013 at 1:07 pm #

      After meeting Freya in Barnes and Nobles years ago, I’ve fallen in love with the incredible and powerful energies mythological scholars associate with her Goddess stature. She is truly a multidimensional persona. Thanks for following my blog, Gypsy!

  2. losttaurus February 15, 2013 at 9:28 pm #

    Thank you for sharing another life lesson with us!

  3. 2ndhalfolife November 21, 2014 at 3:54 pm #

    Blessed be……..

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