Flower Angel
Prophets are the mirrors held unto men by God
Jelal-ud-Din Rumi: Mathnavi
The godar had been alone in the temple for many days and he had given strict orders forbidding anyone from entering after the final offerings had been placed on the altars and the last animal sacrifices had been performed. Although this was an unusual request following such a long and sustained period of communal worship, the people of Helgö, feeling that the gods had blessed them with great fortune, did little to question the reasoning of a godar who was so highly regarded as a fearless warrior. Now that they had carried out the rituals of gifting the gods and ancient heroes with all manner of fine goods brought back from the Roman towns and temples of Gaul, the returned warriors and the population of the island prepared eagerly for the long nights of joyous feasting and the drinking of many barrels of mead and amphorae of Roman wine. The kinship bonds between the people were strengthened and there was a general feeling of euphoria and a certainty that the sacred union between the fylgja, hamingja and themselves was being maintained.
The old warrior sat alone in the temple, unable to share in the celebration that he could hear developing beyond the thick wooden walls. Something had to be done about the dark and troubling weight which had been burdening his conscience since that cursed incident in the temple of Apollo. With prayerful eyes he scanned the effigies of the gods who quietly glared down at him, until an object amongst the offerings on the altar of Odhinn caught his eye and distracted him from his state of uneasy contemplation. He took the beautiful bronze and silver jug in his hands and as he turned it to appreciate the delicate craftsmanship he noticed an inscription which read: APOLLINI GRANNO DONUM AMMILIVS CONSTANS PRAEF TEMPLI IPSIVS VSSLM. Summoning his knowledge of Latin, which he had gained from a Marcomannic slave, he managed to translate it, only to realise that he was holding a vessel removed by one of his warriors from that temple in Gaul. The disturbing expression on the priests bleeding face flashed through the godars mind and he began to relive the bloody event. Waves of anguish rippled through his being as he dropped the precious vessel to the floor. He had killed a priest in a temple, and for the first time he was unable to accept killing another man.
Knowing the devastation that could be brought upon his people if he displayed any weakness as a result of his inner crisis, it was becoming increasingly urgent that he drive off any evil spirit that might have been invoked through his actions or expel any curse which might have been placed on him by the dying Roman priest. But days had passed and he was still unable to recognise a good omen and regain his composure as a warrior elected as godar by the wise elders. Had he been dealt a twisted fate that had reached a turning point? Could it be that he was losing his inborn gift for reading omens sent from the gods? He agonised over these possibilities without reaching any satisfactory conclusions and the piercing eyes of the dying Roman remained fixed in his mind. Why? Why was this event so significant? This gnawing uncertainty brought on a physical weakness.
He prepared himself for the ritual that could invoke a helpful fylgja bearing a droplet of hidden wisdom from the fountain of Mimir. He slashed the palm of his hand in order to present blood offerings for each god. Seated on the hard earth in the middle of the sanctum he began chanting the ancient prayers and inscribing the sacred runes into the skin of mother earth. Before long his body shuddered with the onset of a powerful trance which focused his attention back onto the altar of Odhinn. From the mouth of Odhinn’s wooden form emerged a serpent which dripped and
coiled its way down the intricately carved body and onto the earth in front of where the godar was seated.
The serpent proceeded to form a circle with its long body and by sinking its poisonous fangs into its own tail began to slither in an endless cycle of self destruction. He watched the rotating snake circle get increasingly smaller as the suicidal creature swallowed itself into nothingness.
The old man emerged exhausted from his trance, and all that remained on the ground where the strange and terrible events of his vision had occurred was the feint circular impression of a serpent. The godar, sapped of his strength, lapsed into a deep and healing sleep. He awoke the next day rejuvenated and in a state of ecstasy from the two enlightening visions he had received. The serpent revelation had lead to the visitation of the flower angel in his dream and it was as if the indefinable mysteries of truth and life had been breathed back into his being. Although he had never before imagined such an angelic spirit, he accepted it as visitation from beyond the glorious realm of Valhöll and possibly even from the waters of Mimir which flow beneath the timeless roots of Yggdrasil. The flower angel had brought with it a feeling of peace and intense love never before experienced by the old warrior, who proceeded to emerge from the heavy wooden doors of the temple as if reborn to the world. He felt that he had glimpsed the eternal beauty which would be created in the aftermath of Ragnarök itself.
Soon after this experience the godar had taken to a life of wandering through the northern lands, visiting temples, altars and sacred sites as a servant to the great god Odhinn. One day, while passing through the market place of Birka he suddenly felt drawn towards a merchant who traded in rare and precious items from foreign lands. His eyes immediately fell upon an object which until that very moment he believed could only have existed as an image in his mind and a feeling in his heart, but here before him was an almost perfect representation of the flower angel that had changed his fate forever. He immediately traded all his personal belongings for the idol who’s body was of polished bronze and who’s peaceful all-seeing eyes were inlaid with fine silver. The angel was seated on a delicately beautiful flower from who’s petals he seemed to have emerged. The discovery of this treasure bestowed the final confirmation to the godar that he was indeed following the true path of his fate, and in the luster of the angels statue he saw the reflection of his own face and in it’s silver gaze he could sense an all encompassing compassion.
He immediately returned to his home on the island of Helgö on the sacred lake Mälar where he established the peace shrine of the flower angel and remained its guardian until his death.
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The godar often tried to imagine whose hands had brought the image of the flower angel into being and where this person who had shared his dream existed.
Little did he realise that the statue of the Buddha on the lotus throne was crafted by monks in the Buddhist city of Balkh in Bactria. It had changed hands over many years along the trade routes of kingdoms and empires until it reached it’s final destination in the shrine and ultimately the grave of an old man in Scandinavia.
