Heidrun

In follow-up to my previous post, a friend on a heathen forum I belong to shared this information:

The only feminine early beings of Heathenism are Audhumbla and Heidrun.

Stretching from Helheim to Valhalla ... bear with me as I lay out the facts.

Heidrun - Derived from Old Norse heiðr meaning "heath". In Norse mythology Heidrun was a she-goat who would eat the leaves from the tree of life and produce mead in her udder.

Heidrun makes all the mead for rejoicing warriors in Valhalla.

Heid means heath - an area of land that is covered with grass and small shrubs

Heid can also mean bright.

Run, of course, refers to the Mother Rune.

So, Heidrun combines all of these meanings.

As this all pertains to the Runic All-Mother, I think that (taking together all of the above meanings), my Dagaz rune poem (describing my preincarnate journey of consciousness and experience of an event that occurred 5 billion years ago through the field of the sun into the making of the earth) links me to this awesome creature of Germanic folklore. So, Heidrun, in my experience, tells of the journey of consciousness through a field of topographic brilliance (Heid) into the secret (run) making of the primeval earth (a heath - a land covered with grass and shrubs).

The video from the previous post describing the birth of the earth from the debris of a newborn sun:



My Dagaz Rune poem I wrote 15-20 years ago:

first rhythms ever plunge, eternal hosts driven into life
drawing through a field of topographic brilliance
where judgment lovingly flows, churning out whole stones
resting against asymmetries trying, like diamonds in chaos
proto-perception foams, over annihilating operations
and from it, dark bursts of lucidity finely entwine
coarse grains of almost something, almost yet sufficient
the silent rush of yet nothing slides, wildly as percolating pivots
diligently thread through it, casting clarity
upon myriads, hard pauses startle into vision
projecting arrays without mass, strings of confluency
impressing discovery, a shadowy tail-end lingers
between depths of opposite observation
iterating embraces of many meanings like quasi-quanta
gathering functions about the head and, and
spinning spectra, pushing forward, yearning toward home
not knowing, yet only knowing
as some featureless reach edging edges stretches out
the magnetic sweet dance
where divisions collapse like crystal caves
softly sprinkling the belly of the night divine
with bytes of thoughtbare kisses
extending the glorious field of apprehension

There is no doubt in my mind that great mysteries of consciousness are hidden in the myths of our folk. 

This insight is offered by another friend on the same forum:

Runic magic being that of consciousness, and intellectual knowledge -- the secrets hidden in the worlds that can only be discerned through conscious thought and processing. 

Indeed, it is so.