The Sigrblót Experience
The Sigrblót ritual for changelings is quite the gamble. Many remember the first time, they saw something truly otherworldly as well as the first time, they saw something really magical. Almost all who participate have assumptions and hopes, but are told to prepare for anything - several even spend a moment to say goodbye to their closest friends, before taking the leap, in case Fate claims them for herself. This makes it perhaps the most emotional event of the entire year.
As memorable as the night is, as silent and solemn are the days after, where we lament the ones who left, reminding ourself that they are out there doing more, than they could do here. But there is also joy in Fey Folk packs greeting new faces to their flock.
The focus of the Dís and the Àlfs is to present the loss of the ones who left as something good and wholesome - "they have become what they were meant to", or "though they may have left our Fey Grove, they are still here" - and I'm sure they believe so and mean well, but that's our friends giving away their selves to become something wild and unthinking. Something so unlike who they were - who they could have remained.
I'm actually happy many of us choose to remain changelings. We may have our issues, but we also have a community in ourselves. Some things that bring us together. Some things we experience, but the high and mighty Alfs - in their infinite wisdom - don't.
I know they have an oppinion about our choice, yet they do a lot not to show it. Nothing besides their usual pity for our kind anyway. Could they be conflicted about our lot as well? I guess they didn't have much interaction with changelings before The Unravelling, so we must be almost as new to them as they are to us - as we are to us.
Still, they make the blòt every year - revel in the moments changelings deliver themselves to true feydom. The sentiment is clear - It's something to celebrate.
We, who pass on the practice usually hang out together elsewhere. Try to make our own thing. The first years, we tried doing usual stuff - pretending that it was a normal night like any other, but it would be on everybody's mind - filling out the space between every word, every laugh, every moment of silence. And then we would talk about it. Talk about who was going. What we imagine they'd become. What we imagine we'd become as well. I understand the curiousity, but I don't like to think about it - It's a gamble with too many extreme ourcomes.
As memorable as the night is, as silent and solemn are the days after, where we lament the ones who left, reminding ourself that they are out there doing more, than they could do here. But there is also joy in Fey Folk packs greeting new faces to their flock.
The focus of the Dís and the Àlfs is to present the loss of the ones who left as something good and wholesome - "they have become what they were meant to", or "though they may have left our Fey Grove, they are still here" - and I'm sure they believe so and mean well, but that's our friends giving away their selves to become something wild and unthinking. Something so unlike who they were - who they could have remained.
I'm actually happy many of us choose to remain changelings. We may have our issues, but we also have a community in ourselves. Some things that bring us together. Some things we experience, but the high and mighty Alfs - in their infinite wisdom - don't.
I know they have an oppinion about our choice, yet they do a lot not to show it. Nothing besides their usual pity for our kind anyway. Could they be conflicted about our lot as well? I guess they didn't have much interaction with changelings before The Unravelling, so we must be almost as new to them as they are to us - as we are to us.
Still, they make the blòt every year - revel in the moments changelings deliver themselves to true feydom. The sentiment is clear - It's something to celebrate.
We, who pass on the practice usually hang out together elsewhere. Try to make our own thing. The first years, we tried doing usual stuff - pretending that it was a normal night like any other, but it would be on everybody's mind - filling out the space between every word, every laugh, every moment of silence. And then we would talk about it. Talk about who was going. What we imagine they'd become. What we imagine we'd become as well. I understand the curiousity, but I don't like to think about it - It's a gamble with too many extreme ourcomes.
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