Slow Havamal: 99

[kylec]

In the 99th verse, Odin heads out, imagining that he has already won Billing, who he calls his “wise desire,” her love, her joy.

I am writing these essays one by one, without reading ahead. So while I have read Havamal in its entirety before, I honestly can’t remember what comes next—an endorsement for this slow reread I’m doing now. That way, each verse is uncolored by the outcome, the way our experiences each moment contain only imaginings of the future, but no verified account.

Billing's girl seems to have promised herself to Odin, at least as far as he can tell. He goes on his merry way, taking for granted what will happen when he returns by night. I like that Odin portrays himself in what would seem to us a very ordinary situation. How many of us snicker at these lines, having a suspicion of what’s coming? The all-wise all-father didn’t seem to recognize it. Love may blind even the wisest of us, and at least in my view, it makes Odin a very relatable god. He doesn’t claim to be perfect. He has desires and imaginings of things which he can’t quite foresee.

For us, the lesson sounds as simple as it is impossible to grasp when we’re in the thick of it. We can’t assume we know how things will play out. Even if someone promises with all their heart, many things can happen, and the conviction that we can see the future is often overturned. When we have a strong personal investment in an outcome—either a desire for a situation or a dread—we incentivize ourselves to make it so. All of the evidence points in that direction if it can be twisted as such, or it doesn’t register, relegated to the waste bin of irrelevance. This way, we can convince ourselves of many things. Those futures which we love or hate the most are the ones we should treat with the strongest suspicion. Whatever is granted and irrevocable is exactly that which will surprise us.

When we don’t know what will happen, we tread lightly and prepare for many eventualities. No matter what occurs—though it’s still a surprise—we are able to do something appropriate in response. In our certainties, we forfeit alternatives. To quote songwriter Benjamin Tod, “If life’s a gamble, then I bet the table on a pair of twos.” Full commitment can win many things otherwise out of reach, but when it fails, there’s no coming back. An act of imagination takes a desire and sculpts a figure that looms so large, we lose sight of the rest of the scene. The wiser we think we are, the more susceptible we become to black swan events, but worse, the more likely we are to fall victim to ordinary circumstances that were entirely predictable by anyone removed from the situation.