Internal Wiring

Happy "Thorsday," y'all!

First, I'd like to take a minute to address a comment left by "Anonymous" yesterday. I didn't forget to mention that Greenland was actually green 400,000 - 800,000 years ago. In context, I was talking about the Viking Age, and why Erik the Red called it the "Green Land." Like many other large islands, it did have some green patches along the coastline, but overall, as I said yesterday, the island was inhospitable. Erik had to convince the people they would like it there, so they could trade with the Inuits.

It's not what the island is, but what they think it is, right? Nothing like convincing your kinsmen to move away from pristine pastures to rocks and ice solely for the sake of wealth.

What I want to talk about today is the hard wiring in our brains. Have you ever wondered why you like the things you like? Why you choose certain heroes or heroines to admire? Why you prefer certain genres of music or novels?

When I was in my early twenties, way before I knew my ancestry, I came upon a couple of fantasy novels in a used book store. They were by a raggedy, pirate-y wanderer, William Morris, and one I read was The Well at World's End. I loved that book, with it's lyrical kind of prose and romantic elements. It's a tale of four brothers (one of them is named Blaise), and recounts their journeys. This novel mostly tells Ralph's story and is magical and romantic, and full of adventure. I think I read it in one night. 

Well, yesterday, I was reading a book about Vikings I'd picked up at the bookstore a couple weeks ago, and I found out that William Morris loved all things Viking and modeled his stories of high fantasy after Nordic sagas and poetry. I also remembered the Vikings believed the Yggdrasil Tree grew out of the Well of Urd. Urd, in Old English, was wyrd (weird), which meant "destiny." So it could be called, "The Well of Destiny."

Here is an artist's depiction of the well, with the three Norns around it. I'll tell their story tomorrow.

The Yggdrasil (pronnounced ig-druh-sill) Tree was sometimes called the World Tree, and it was an ageless ash, with branches and roots all over the place. The tree housed the nine worlds the Norse believed in. Old Norse could be a complex language, and Yggdrasil in Old Norse was Askr Yggdrasils, which literally meant "The Ash Tree of the Horse of the Terrible One." The Terrible One (ygg) was Odin, who supposedly rode his horse, Sleipner, up and down and across its branches as he traveled between worlds.

Anyway, I thought it was interesting that the novels of William Morris made such an impact on me, long before I knew of my ancestry. And what's even more thought provoking is that there's a book called The Well at World's End; Folk Tales of Scotland, retold by a husband and wife that may very well be related to me: Norah and William Montgomerie. I had no idea this book or these people existed until yesterday, and I'm curious if either one is still alive. If so, I'm definitely going to try to find them!

I just looked up William Montgomerie, and he does resemble some family members!

I just found the answer to my question if they are still alive:

       William Montgomerie died in Edinburgh in 1994, and Norah in 1998. 
       In his Scotsman obituary of Montgomerie, John Pick summed up his subject thus: 

He was a treasure house of information and a master of sharp perception. He shared light, not darkness, and his scholarship was meticulous.

So, I guess what I'm wondering is, are we hard-wired somehow to have a natural leaning toward our ancient homeland? Is there some ancestral instinct inside us that draws us toward our past? I'm not sure how many people are curious about their roots and where they came from, but I am.

I also remember when, in my early twenties, I went to England as part of a Christian band. We had the chance to explore York, which was a Viking city, but I didn't know that until we toured the Jorvik Viking Center, now a World Heritage Site. I got goosebumps as I walked through. I recalled that my maternal grandfather's family was from York. So, it appears that the Viking roots may go back through both my father and mother's side.

One very vivid memory from that trip is getting angry when a couple band members playfully laid down in an empty stone sarcophagus.  I  thought they were disrespecting the dead that had once "slept" there. They replied with a very logical seeming, "They aren't here anymore."

So was something deep and primal inside of me screaming, "You are home!"?  I don't know, but the romantic in me says "yep."

I would love to go and see my "home" one day.