Wyrd

Wyrd is too vast, too complex for us to comprehend, for we are ourselves part of wyrd and cannot stand back to observe it as if it were a separate force.

I had journeyed back to England as part of my research on this book to meet with two Englishmen who were practicing Anglo-Saxon shamans who had been researching and practicing the sounds and ways of wyrd.

His three sisters sat, beneath the tree, one twisting the wyrd on her distaff, one spinning the wyrd on her wheel, one weaving the wyrds of gods and men on her loom.

Both Wyrd (2574, 2526) and the Mighty Maker (979) measure out dooms, though God is said to control fate (1056).

No one spoke of where he had gone, or of how he had ended his days. Wyrd had doomed him to die.

At last she spoke, “My name is Anawin. I am the valla. I am the keeper of secrets. I am the teller of truths. I speak for the Wyrd, the three goddesses of fate. I speak for past, for present, for future. What is it that you wish to know?”

He recognises these women, and with dawning realization so do I. The Queen within, is the Wyrd, Goddess of chance, destiny and death.