In Scandinavia, Oskoreia (also called Åsgårdsreia, Julereia or Odens Jakt in other regions) meaning “Asgard Riders” is the modern folk belief related to Christmas that traces its roots back to the Old Norse tradition commonly known as The Wild Hunt.
Oskoreia is a Yuletide tradition viewed as a phantasmagoria of dream-like images of hunters (usually led by Odin) and hunted engaging in battle, typically signalled by the howling of Odin’s wolves, always one louder and the other quieter. The group of riders may be alive or dead, real humans or deities, insignificant or noble, male or female and with many regional variations.
It is said to have foretold changing weather in many regions but it could also mean imminent war and unrest. According to some reports, the forest turned silent and only a whining sound along with dog/wolf barking could be heard.
The pursuit can span across the sky but it is said that the hunt may never get closer to the ground than an “ox can wear its yoke”. If caught in the path of Oskoreia it is believed that a person may be swept up into the mayhem and so a good strategy to keep safe is to jump to the ground, thus making oneself lower than the height of an ox’s yoke and allowing the hunt to pass above.
In some regions, folk wisdom advised that people should carry some iron/steel and some bread with them as they walked during the Yule season in case they might encounter Oskoreia. If one should find themselves face to face with Odin, then they should throw down the iron/steel in front of them to ward off trouble. Further, if the person should meet his wolves then they should throw the bread, which they will eat instead of the person.
Another tradition stemming from Oskoreia is the “Christmas goat walk” (”Gå julebukk” in Norwegian) in which masked and costumed people (now usually children) go from door-to-door, singing carols for rewards of sweets.
A black dog is a spectral or demonic entity found primarily in the folklore of the British Isles. The black dog is essentially a nocturnal apparition, some of them shapeshifters, and are often said to be associated with the Devil or described as a ghost or hellhound. Its appearance was regarded as a portent of death. It is generally supposed to be larger than a normal dog and often has large glowing eyes.[1] It is sometimes associated with electrical storms (such as Black Shuck's appearance at Bungay, Suffolk)[2] and also with crossroads, places of execution and ancient pathways.
The poem by Tom Hirons, read by the author. Now available, in higher quality, as an mp3 at https://shop.hedgespoken.org/products/sometimes-a-wild-god-sound-recording-mp3 Recorded…
Sometimes a Wild God
Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.
He is awkward and does not know the ways
Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.
His voice makes vinegar from wine.
When the wild god arrives at the door,
You will probably fear him.
He reminds you of something dark
That you might have dreamt,
Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.
He will not ring the doorbell;
Instead he scrapes with his fingers
Leaving blood on the paintwork,
Though primroses grow
In circles round his feet.
You do not want to let him in.
You are very busy.
It is late, or early, and besides…
You cannot look at him straight
Because he makes you want to cry.
The dog barks.
The wild god smiles,
Holds out his hand.
The dog licks his wounds
And leads him inside.
The wild god stands in your kitchen.
Ivy is taking over your sideboard;
Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades
And wrens have begun to sing
An old song in the mouth of your kettle.
‘I haven’t much,’ you say
And give him the worst of your food.
He sits at the table, bleeding.
He coughs up foxes.
There are otters in his eyes.
When your wife calls down,
You close the door and
Tell her it’s fine.
You will not let her see
The strange guest at your table.
The wild god asks for whiskey
And you pour a glass for him,
Then a glass for yourself.
Three snakes are beginning to nest
In your voicebox. You cough.
Oh, limitless space.
Oh, eternal mystery.
Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.
Oh, miracle of life.
Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.
You cough again,
Expectorate the snakes and
Water down the whiskey,
Wondering how you got so old
And where your passion went.
The wild god reaches into a bag
Made of moles and nightingale-skin.
He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,
Raises an eyebrow
And all the birds begin to sing.
The fox leaps into your eyes.
Otters rush from the darkness.
The snakes pour through your body.
Your dog howls and upstairs
Your wife both exults and weeps at once.
The wild god dances with your dog.
You dance with the sparrows.
A white stag pulls up a stool
And bellows hymns to enchantments.
A pelican leaps from chair to chair.
In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.
Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.
Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.
The hills echo and the grey stones ring
With laughter and madness and pain.
In the middle of the dance,
The house takes off from the ground.
Clouds climb through the windows;
Lightning pounds its fists on the table.
The moon leans in through the window.
The wild god points to your side.
You are bleeding heavily.
You have been bleeding for a long time,
Possibly since you were born.
There is a bear in the wound.
‘Why did you leave me to die?’
Asks the wild god and you say:
‘I was busy surviving.
The shops were all closed;
I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’
Listen to them:
The fox in your neck and
The snakes in your arms and
The wren and the sparrow and the deer…
The great un-nameable beasts
In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…
There is a symphony of howling.
A cacophony of dissent.
The wild god nods his head and
You wake on the floor holding a knife,
A bottle and a handful of black fur.
Your dog is asleep on the table.
Your wife is stirring, far above.
Your cheeks are wet with tears;
Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.
A black bear is sitting by the fire.
Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.
He is awkward and does not know the ways
Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.
His voice makes vinegar from wine
And brings the dead to life.
Walpurgisnacht, known in English as Walpurgis Night, is the German name for the night of the 30th of April. It is the eve of the feast that celebrates Saint Walpurga.
In Germanic folklore, Walpurgisnacht is also known as “Hexennacht” - which literally translates as “witches night” - and is the night that witches gather upon the highest peak in the Harz Mountains in central Germany.
Walpurgisnacht is celebrated throughout Europe (Germany, the Netherlands, Czech Republic, Sweden, Denmark, Slovenia, Finland, Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania), in locally varying forms.
Omnia per carnalem concupiscentiam, quae quia in eis est insatiabilis - All (Witchcraft) comes from carnal lust, which is in women insatiable. - Malleus maleficarum.
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