Disablót Colouring Page and Story

 

Disablót: The Night of the Wise Women

The wind that night was still, as though the whole world held its breath. The fire crackled low, its light painting long shadows across the stones. The air was thick with the scent of herbs—mugwort, meadowsweet, and juniper—offerings for the Disir, the mighty women who walk between the worlds.

Long ago, when the threads of fate tangled and the path ahead grew dark, Wayfinder Odin sought the wisdom of one who could see beyond time. Not a king, nor a warrior, nor a God’s counsel would do—he needed the sight of the Völva, the seeress who had been buried long before his time.

With his staff in hand and spells upon his tongue, Odin rode to the edge of the world, to the burial mound where she lay. He chanted runes over the Earth, his voice low but heavy with command.

"Wake, Wise Woman. Speak to me of what is, and what shall be."

The ground trembled, and from the deep came the voice of the Völva, slow as the turning of the seasons, strong as the roots of Yggdrasil. She rose, pale and cold, her eyes seeing through both the worlds of the living and the dead.

She spoke not only to Odin but to all who had ears to hear: of beginnings and endings, of the weaving of wyrd, of the fall of Gods and the rise of new days. She spoke of the Disir—the mothers, grandmothers, and foremothers who stand unseen beside their descendants, guiding hands and whispering warnings.

Odin listened, drinking in her counsel as though it were mead. He knew the price of such wisdom: it would weigh upon him. But knowledge was the coin of the Gods, or at least of Odin, and he would pay for it gladly.

When her voice faded and she sank back into the Earth, Odin stood alone beneath the dim starlight. Yet he did not feel alone—around him, in the rustle of the wind and the flicker of the firelight, the presence of the Disir could be felt. They had heard. They would remember, and share what they had heard with their Kin when it would be of aid to them.

---

At Disablót, we call to the mighty women who came before us—mothers of blood and mothers of spirit, women of wisdom and will. Like Odin before the Völva, we seek their guidance. We lay out food and drink for them, we speak their names, and we listen for their counsel in dreams, in omens, in the quiet between heartbeats.

We say:

“Hail Mothers and Grandmothers, Hæl and well ancestors.

You are the breath on the wind. You are the smoke in the fire.

Share with us your wisdom, So we may live well.”

For the Disir are never truly gone. They whisper in the flames of our hearths, their voices echo behind our thoughts, they spin for us visions to light our paths forward.

The End.

Alfablót Colouring Page and Story

 

The Wise Head and the Hostage Oath - An Alfablót Story

Long ago, the Æsir and the Vanir waged war — not with mere skirmishes, but with the fury of Gods. Walls fell, fields burned, and even the sky seemed to bruise from the clash of their might.

Eventually it became clear neither side could claim victory. War wearied even the war-loving. So they made peace in the way of ancient kings; they traded hostages.

From the Æsir, went Hœnir, broad-shouldered and comely, swift of stride. With him went Mímir, the wise, whose thoughts ran deep as roots beneath the World Tree. To the Vanir, it seemed a fair trade — one leader, one counselor.

For a time, peace held. The Vanir made Hœnir a chieftain, trusting his decisions. But Hœnir, though strong and handsome, had little wit without Mímir’s counsel. Whenever a choice weighed heavy, he said only: "Let another decide — Mímir knows best."

The Vanir saw this and grew wroth. They felt cheated. So they took Mímir and struck off his head, sending it back to the Æsir with bitter words.

Odin, High One, took the head into his keeping. But he would not lay it to rest. Instead, he worked seiðr and sang galdr over it, anointing it with herbs and speaking secret runes. Thus Mímir’s head spoke again, and its counsel poured into Odin’s ear, guiding his steps in all the ages to come.

So it is that wisdom can outlast flesh,  that the voice of the dead may still serve the living. Odin claimed that counsel for himself — not for war alone, but for the shaping of the future, as a farmer saves the best seed from one harvest to plant in the next.

On this night, we pour the ale and call to the Alfar — the spirits of our fathers, forefathers, and their fathers before them.

We say:

“Hail Fathers and Grandfathers,

Hæl and well ancestors.

You and your wisdom are welcome

At our tables and in our hall.”

For though the bodies of our forefathers are gone, their counsel may yet guide us, if we have the courage to listen.

The End.

Ancestor Veneration for Kids

It is easy to venerate ancestors as a family. "Venerate" is a fancy word that means to honour or show respect to. 

What you need:

• a low table
• photos of ancestors
• a bowl
• a pitcher or jug with water
• incense or steam diffuser

Steps: 

1. Wash your hands and face.
2. Gather supplies on the low table.
3. Sit, stand, or kneel in front of the low table. (You want to still be able to reach the things on it.)
4. With adult help, light the incense or start the steam diffuser. Use it to purify yourself by wafting the steam or smoke over yourself with your hands. While you do this you can say these words:
5. "I am pure, I am clean, I am present in Midgard."
6. Look at the pictures of your ancestors and knock on the table 3 times to call them in.
7. Pick up the jug or pitcher and say:
8. "From Urd's Well, pour out these memories. Let this water bless me and my family line."
9. Pour out the water carefully into the bowl.
10. Now you can tell your ancestors anything you want to share. If you want to ask them for something you should give them a special gift. It can be food or a pretty rock or flower you found, or whatever else you think they would like.
11. Take as long as you want. If you have incense burning wait for it to burn out. Then you should clean up the incense and any offerings that shouldn't stay there for whatever reason. Ask your family how they want things cleaned up, as each family will have its own rules.

Jól Colouring Page and Story

The Longest Night: A Heathen Tale for Jól

Long, long ago, when the world was young, the Gods watched that the Sol and Mani dance a circle through the sky, bringing Day and Night, Summer and Winter. But there was one night each year when darkness lingered longer than any other—the longest night.

The Gds knew this was a special time, for from that night onward, the Sun’s light would begin to grow again. And in that deep midwinter darkness, the worlds came closer together: the realm of the living, the realm of the dead, and the halls of the Gods.

---

On that night, the Yule God, Odin, rode forth on Sleipnir, his eight-legged steed. He was joined by Freyja, the bright goddess of love, beauty, war, and magic.

Together, they led the Wild Hunt—a great host of riders and spirits that swept across the Winter sky. With them rode the honoured dead, our ancestors, who came to visit their kin by the flickering firelight, but there were also mischievous spirits who would play tricks on humankind if they were out after dark, and even malicious spirits who would chase humans through the night if they had the chance. It was easy to know when the Wild Hunt drew near because you could hear their shrieking on the wind. Humankind knew to stay inside. The honoured dead could always find their way around the hearth fire, but the other spirits could not come in out of the darkness unless someone foolish bade them.

---

In the roots of the great tree Yggdrasil, the three Norns—Urðr, Verðandi, and Skuld—sat at their well. They wove the threads of fate for Gods and mortals alike into a rich tapestry, memory, becoming, and what shall be. On Jól, they listened closely to the voices of the living, for this was a night when wishes, oaths, and memories could weave themselves more strongly into the great tapestry of the nine worlds.

---

So the people gathered in their homes. They lit bright fires to guide the ancestors’ way and set out food and drink to honour them. They left a little grain, hay, or bread for Sleipnir, and a strong cup of drink so Odin would bless their household with good fortune if he happened upon their home.

They sang songs to call the Sun back, told stories of the Gods, and spoke the names of those who had gone before them over the horn, so they would never be forgotten.

And when the night was darkest, they remembered:

“The sun will return.

The threads of fate are still being woven.

Our Kin, both living and dead, are with us still,

To keep us strong through the darkest time.”

---

From that longest night onward, each day grew a little brighter. Jól was not just the turning of the Sun—it was the turning of the heart, the weaving of love, memory, and hope through all the worlds.

And so it is to this day:

We honour Odin for his wisdom,

Freyja for her love and magic,

The Norns for their weaving of fate,

And the honoured dead who celebrate beside us in the firelight.

The End.