The Call of the Old Gods: Why Norse Spirituality Touches My Heart

The old gods have many faces. Some people see strength in them, others danger. For me? For me, they are one thing above all else: a calling. Quiet, persistent, unobtrusive. Certainly not political—but deeply personal.

I am not an Ásatrú¹. I never have been. But I felt the Nordic world early on: in dreams, in deep forests, in moments when ancestors suddenly seemed to speak. Odin, Freyja, the Norns – they are part of my pantheon, alongside Celtic, Roman, female, queer gods. But above all else is my credo: I am an Omnist. I do not believe in one truth – I move between worlds, letting the ancient voices speak through me.

And yet: the Norse path is beautiful, wild, and at the same time difficult. It has been abused, appropriated, politicized. And that is precisely why it deserves to be retold.

Runes, right-wing shadows, and radical honesty

Anyone who openly works with runes or professes their belief in Odin or Freyja today runs the risk of being pigeonholed. The association is immediate: runes = right-wing. Yes, it's true: nationalist, fascist groups have misused Nordic symbols. And yes, that hurts. For everyone who feels a genuine connection. For everyone who rightly asks themselves: Can I still feel without being appropriated?

The truth is: this appropriation not only robs people of their spiritual home. It robs Nordic culture of its depth, its diversity, its versatility. It erases the spaces where questions are allowed – and replaces them with slogans.

I remember my early twenties, forums full of mythology geeks—anti-fascist, queer, feminist spirit. We talked about Odin, the Völva, the World Tree, and the Wyrd. With curiosity, with respect, with political awareness. Maybe I was lucky. Perhaps what defined those spaces was my first lesson: spiritual paths can be profound without excluding, belittling, or even destroying other people.

My own path within the Nordic traditions was never a straight one.

I took courses, followed dreams, and listened to quiet voices that often guided me more than any structure ever could. It didn’t take long to realise: spiritual paths aren’t certificate programmes. They are wild, subtle, shape-shifting — and they belong to no one. This insight showed me how much depth and freedom lives within the Nordic path. And that’s exactly why it hurts so deeply when runes and gods are co-opted by right-wing ideologies.

No refuge for fascists

And so today I know that Nordic spirituality is not an argument for racial thinking. It is not a symbol of cultural wars. It does not exclude – it heals, it calls, it transforms. Anyone who believes that runes are only for “Nordic bloodlines” has missed the point. Anyone who does not understand this also fails to understand many other things in life.

A final thought

Despite all my positive experiences along the way and with Nordic traditions, I have not become an Ásatrú. I am a witch. An urban mystic. I follow ancient paths – not out of tradition, but out of connection. And I do not allow them to be misused for ideologies. When the call of the runes reaches you, when you hear the voices beneath the ice, when Yggdrasil calls you and the Wyrd guides you – go. Follow your path. With awareness. With questions. With attitude.

Nordic spirituality is not right-wing. But it needs people who will ensure that it never becomes so again.

We are many. We are visible. And we remember.

¹Ásatrú: from Old Norse, literally “loyalty to the Aesir.” It refers to a contemporary form of Germanic-inspired spirituality. It is a modern form of spiritual practice based on pre-Christian, polytheistic, Germanic-Norse belief systems.