Galdr – the spoken and the seen magick of Iceland

There are forms of magick that are written. There are forms that are crafted. And then there is the magick that must be spoken.

In the old Icelandic tradition, this is the realm of galdr — incantation, chanting, the spoken working of magickal words. The voice becomes the instrument.

Breath carries intention. Words are not merely descriptions of what we wish to happen; when spoken with knowledge, will, rhythm and purpose, they become part of the working itself.

This is one of the worlds that opens before us when we begin to look into the Galdrabók.

The Galdrabók, the famous Icelandic grimoire, is a small manuscript compiled by several hands between the late sixteenth and mid-seventeenth centuries.

Its pages contain spells, magickal staves and sigils, with material drawn from Icelandic, Latin, runic, Christian and older Germanic traditions. Some workings are protective or healing, while others concern fear, sleep, finding thieves, journeys, illness and other very human concerns.

It is therefore tempting to think of the Galdrabók simply as an old spellbook. But it is more mysterious than that. Because galdr is not only something written on a page.

Galdr lives in the voice. The written stave can hold a pattern. The rune can hold a sound. The word can hold an intention. But it is the Witch who gives breath to the working.

And this is where the old Icelandic magickal world becomes particularly fascinating for those who walk between the worlds of history, mythology and personal spiritual experience.

The Voice and the Wolves

In the tradition of my Witch, there is another presence beside her when danger comes.

Fenrir

The giant wolf Fennrir was standing inside my room. Not merely the monstrous wolf of the surviving Norse mythological texts, but Fenrir as he is known through her own spiritual experience — a vast guardian whose nature can move between forms.

The historical Norse sources describe Fenrir as the wolf-child of Loki and the giantess Angrboða, alongside his siblings Hel and Jörmungandr.

But the Fenrir encountered by the Witch belongs to another layer of the story. Here he is accompanied by his wolf-brothers and wolf-sisters: enormous beings, standing from roughly two metres to six metres high when they take their great wolf forms.

They are not ordinary wolves. They are guardians. They are the pack that answers when Fenrir calls.

And when the danger becomes great enough, Fenrir himself may reveal another form — immense beyond anything the human mind can comfortably comprehend.

A hundred floors high. A presence rather than merely a creature. The Witch does not call these beings casually. They come when protection is necessary.

When something threatens her, Fenrir can call the wolf-kin to stand around her. They form a living boundary between the Witch and whatever has entered her space.

There is something deeply appropriate about this connection with galdr. Because a magickal word is also a boundary.

The spoken word says:

This is what I will allow.

This is what I refuse.

This is where I stand.

And sometimes the strongest magickal word is not a long incantation at all. Sometimes it is the name of the one who comes when called.

Fenrir’s Mother

Behind Fenrir stands another immense presence: his mother. In the historical Norse sources, this mother is Angrboða, a giantess associated with Jötunheimr and the mother of Fenrir, Hel and Jörmungandr.

In the Witch’s experience, however, she is encountered as something more than a name in a genealogy. She is a giant goddess. Ancient. Powerful. Maternal in a way that does not require gentleness.

Her power belongs to the great, untamed forces of the world — the forces that existed before human beings tried to make the wilderness small enough to understand.

And beside Fenrir stands his sister Hel, herself carrying the enormous power of the giantess tradition. The old sources place Hel in the realm of the dead, while Fenrir remains the great wolf and Jörmungandr becomes the World Serpent.

But in the Witch’s spiritual landscape, Hel is not simply a figure to fear. She is a sister. A giant wolf-sister. And that changes the feeling of the story.

The wolf becomes family. The giant becomes guardian. The underworld becomes a place with its own intelligence. And the spoken word becomes a way of crossing the distance between worlds.

When the Witch Speaks

This is why I believe the word galdr deserves to be approached with respect. We should not reduce it to the modern idea of a “magick spell.” A spell can sound like something one simply recites.

Galdr suggests something more alive: the voice, the breath, the rhythm and the intention. The relationship between the one who speaks and the powers being addressed.

The Galdrabók preserves fragments of a world in which magickal practice could involve words, signs, gods, spirits, herbs, objects and ritual actions.

But no manuscript can preserve the entire experience. A manuscript can tell us what was written. It cannot completely tell us what it felt like when the words were spoken in darkness.

It cannot reproduce the breath of the Witch. It cannot reproduce the silence that came before the first word. And it cannot tell us what might have been standing beyond the firelight when the final word was spoken.

That is the mystery of galdr. The word leaves the mouth. The sound enters the world. And somewhere between breath and silence, magick begins and I found myself surrounded by giant wolves 2 to 6 meters high.

My astral bodies were eaten by the wolves to remove spirit attachments and in this way I was purified and restored. It was Fennrir, who called his brothers and sisters. These wolves are 6 billion in number.

I also saw the Valkyries. They are humanoids or perhaps fairies with horns. Fennrir can call upon the Valkyries to assist him in protecting the Witch.