TEUTONIC MAGIC - Awaken Video

aspect, it is the rune of sexual magic and the “alchemical marriage” in which each of the single
components is sacrificed for the sake of creating something transcendent ( see Dagaz).
Gebo is used in all cases of equal exchanges of energies, especially those in which a binding is
wished. The power of gebo brings friendship, loyalty, and hospitality.
In workings of woe, gebo may be used to bind someone to an unwanted obligation or to return woe
for woe.
Gebo is the rune most often used in ‘love magic.” Properly used, it creates an awareness of the selfsacrificial
and balanced nature of love between two people.
In ritual, gebo represents the payments which must always be made: the gift of energy or food
made to a plant before cutting it; the blood and life of the vitki which give life to the runes; and the mead
or ale poured over the altar to the gods.
The initiatory value of gebo is that of Nietzsche’s “going under”-giving up all that you are for the
sake of becoming something higher, as Odhinn did on Yggdrasill. When the Christian trappings have
been stripped away, you may see the workings of gebo in the Parzival story.
Gebo works as a moderator with other runes, especially fehu, the force of which it binds and guides
for a balanced weal, warding off the woe that comes when fehu is blocked or misguided.
The stones associated with gebo are emerald, which is a traditional emblem of love and loyalty,
and jade, which is said to open you to an awareness of the need and fitting times for sacrifice to seal your
relationships with the gods and other wights.
Gebo: Meditation
You sit at the head of a long wooden table inside a great hall. The polished wooden seat is hard and
smooth under you; the air is cold with winter and rich with the smells of bread and roasting pork. Longhaired,
bearded warriors line the benches along the tables, talking and laughing. You know that this is
your hall-you have provided the great roasts of meat that weigh down the table and the mead that flows in
ceaseless streams from the pitchers of the serving maids into the drinking horns of your followers.
Nevertheless, there is a certain chill to the hall, and you see several men pulling their cloaks about them
and glancing at you uneasily. You yourself are beginning to become uncomfortably warm, as if a fire
burned just beside you. The heat, you find, is radiating out from a large bag by your side.
Standing, you pick the bag up. It is very heavy, so heavy that your arms ache after holding it for a
few moments. Slowly you begin to walk down one side of the table, stopping before each warrior and
taking a heavy gold ring or bracelet out of the bag to give him. Receiving the gift, each warrior draws his
sword or axe and turns the hilt for you to touch as a sighn of his trueness to you. As you keep walking
down one side and up the other, the hall becomes warmer and the unnatural heat fades from your bag of
treasure. Your enlivened men cheer and toast you as you pass, returning to their feasting with redoubled
vigour, fingers and arms weighted with your gold.When you have gifted your last man and received his
troth, you return to your place at the head of the table.A knock sounds hollow against the far door and one
of your warriors gets up to open it.
At the door is an old man in a dark and tattered cloak, soaked through and dishevelled by the high
night winds.One of his eyes is a frightful ruin of scar tissue, and his grey beard cannot hide the livid scars
ofrope burns on his throat.Your warrior is about to push this old beggar away roughly, but you always
mindful of the laws of hispitiality, command him to let the old man in.With yout own handsyou bring the
unexpected guest a heaping plate of meat, bread, and cheese and a large horn of your best mead, making a
place for him in the seat of honor at your right hand. He eats and drinks with an amazingly hearty appetite
for such an old man, but there is always plenty of food and drink for everyone in your hall.
The time has come for you to make sacrifices to the gods.Behind your seat is a harrow of heaped
stones, glassy from the many fires that have been lit by you and your ancestors. On the harrow leis the
great gold ring of oath-taking, the hammer used for hallowing the sacrifice, a cold-glittering sax, a stone
bowl, and a dark-needled pine twigg.Two of your men lead the sacrifice. A great bull with a glossy
flawless white hide, through the hall and up to the harrow.The old man watches you carefully, his one
dark eye bright, as you swing the heavy hammer over the bull’s head, chanting,”Holy thou art /gift gladly
given / to the gods for good given us/ and good that shall be”. The handle of the sax-knife is cold and
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