In my journey of self-discovery, re-connecting with my Norse ancestry has felt like finding an old friend, one that I never knew I had lost. The more I dive into the Eddas and the sagas, the more I realize that these stories and myths resonate deeply with me in ways that no other belief system ever has. It’s as though these ancient voices, preserved for centuries, have always been calling out, waiting for me to return and listen.
Growing up in Mormonism, I always felt a sense of dissonance. I now recognize that it wasn’t just the doctrines or the culture that didn’t sit right with me—it was that the entire framework was foreign to my lineage, my ancestry, and my soul. Mormonism, to me, is the product of a 19th-century con man, Joseph Smith, whose questionable practices and stories have led countless people into a belief system that, in my opinion, was created for personal gain, not spiritual truth.
But more importantly, beyond my issues with Joseph Smith, there’s the broader issue with the Christian concept of God itself. The God of the Bible is a product of a very specific culture and history—one that belongs to the Hebrew people. Their mythology, their relationship to the divine, and their understanding of good and evil are deeply rooted in their cultural context. And that context is far removed from my own ancestors.
As I study the Eddas—the Poetic Edda and the Prose Edda—I see the values, the gods, and the worldview that are much closer to my original lineage. The gods like Odin, Thor, Freyja, and Frigg are not distant, all-powerful overseers; they are intertwined with humanity, part of the same fabric of existence. They live, struggle, and even perish, much like the people who worshiped them. This worldview is cyclical, full of growth, death, and rebirth, rather than the rigid judgmental dualism of heaven and hell.
For my ancestors, the gods didn’t demand blind obedience or unquestioning faith. Instead, there was a relationship of respect, exchange, and even challenge. The Old Ways were not about submitting to a distant deity who viewed the world in black and white but rather about living in harmony with the forces of nature, the gods, and the cycles of life. This feels more authentic to me than the hierarchical, sin-focused cosmology I grew up with.
Looking back at my years in Mormonism, it’s clear to me now that it was not just spiritually inauthentic for me—it was historically and culturally out of place. It never felt like my story. It was someone else's mythology, one imposed by colonizers, missionaries, and, ultimately, Joseph Smith’s opportunism.
Rediscovering my Norse heritage and studying the Eddas has brought me peace and clarity. It has reawakened something ancient in me, a connection to my ancestors that had been long buried beneath layers of forced assimilation into a religion and worldview that was never truly mine. The gods of the Norse don’t feel foreign; they feel familiar, like old friends whose presence I had forgotten but who were always there, waiting for me to come home.
As I continue to explore these stories, I am reminded that my ancestors were not just names on a family tree—they were part of a rich cultural heritage that is still alive, still powerful, and still relevant. Through the Eddas, I am learning to honor their memory and their ways, reclaiming a spiritual path that feels far more authentic to me than anything I’ve ever known.
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