Slow Havamal: 107

[kylec]

In verse 107, Odin brags that he made skillful use of a disguise in bringing Oderrir to the rim of Midgard,, but that few things are too difficult for the wise.

The circumstances of Odin’s visit to Suttung’s hall, as described in Havamal at least, become even more perplexing when we learn that he used a disguise. Was he disguised the entire time, including when he made his speech earlier, or was it just to fool Gunnlod? To escape? I do recall in another version that he turned himself into an eagle, I believe, to get away, and he may he referring to this. Presumably the listener of the poem is expected to know this and other details—like the reference behind Rati’s tusk—so well that no explanation is required.

The confusion does well to illustrate that a disguise can take many forms, be used at many times, and for many purposes. A disguise is that which conceals our true nature and intentions. It could be a manner of dress, a mask, a cover story; it could be a deceptive way of acting, or an illusion created to mislead. It may sound farcical to craft a disguise to accomplish something, but by the wider definition I just offered, most of us don some manner of disguise every day, when we present ourselves otherwise than we see ourselves. Our clothing signals a certain class or personality. Our stories craft an image. Our habits conceal something deeper and more genuine. We disguise ourselves to others, but sometimes, we also fool ourselves. (Those whose beliefs include reincarnation may see yet another level of disguise that people adopt).

But a clever disguise is apparently no big deal for the wise. The wise are those who have experienced many things and understand how they relate. A wise man would know what others want to see, expect to see, and be able to satisfy them. In Odin’s case, he may even know the magic words to transform into a bird. I would argue that the best disguise is undertaken with the most complete knowledge of who it is that’s being disguised—that is, if I don’t know myself, I can convincingly present myself as something else, either. The seams will show tufts of hair, the paint will smear, an inappropriate twitch will slip through. Perhaps that’s where the wise excel.

By his success, Odin brings the mead of poetic inspiration to the rm of Midgard, which is...well, here. We reside in Midgard, and thus we can make use of Oderir thanks to Odin’s effort. It’s important to note that he specifies the “rim,” though, not an ocean lapping at our toes. This special drink resides in a liminal place, not easy for the vulgar to reach. To retrieve it involves certain risks, and of course it must be translated into terms that can live in Midgard proper. As I mentioned last week, this reminds me to a degree of Jung’s collective unconscious, from which the individual derives his personal experiences. We share a well, but each draught is filtered through a particular mouth and takes a different earthly form in its fruition.