Rune Yoga

This essay was originally written on 4 July 2019. Perhaps, with numerological significance, it came to serve as the eighteenth chapter of my book, Tales from the Ironwood. It was in 2016 sometime that I attended my first Rune Yoga class. I had learned of the practice sometime earlier with my first read of Edred Thorsson's Futhark: A Handbook of Rune Magic. Over the years, I have come to teach Rune Yoga on many occasions to several dozen students. I continue to explore its power and mystery each day. What follows contains a few minor edits and updates from that work which was published in 2019.

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I was excited, if not perplexed, when I received an invitation to a class on “Rune Yoga.” Skylands Ásatrú Fellowship always placed a major emphasis on education. There were classes offered on a wide range of subjects from “Cosmology” to “Eschatology.” But what exactly was “Rune Yoga?” While I had never practiced yoga, I was quite aware of its popularity. There must be at least a half dozen shops offering yoga classes in my town alone. I also knew that it was an Eastern tradition of various physical, mental, and spiritual practices derived from Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism. As a burgeoning Ásatrúar, I had already acquired and read several books on the runes, and understood that runestaves were more than a simple alphabet—they held deep esoteric and even magical significance. It seemed bizarre to imagine Vikings performing yoga before embarking to raid foreign lands, – whether runic or not.

As one might suspect, Rune Yoga entails forming the runestaves with one’s body. Some have asserted that this practice is, in fact, quite old—that its poses were magical postures dating back to the ancient Indo-Europeans. Artifacts that might support such a theory include the Golden Horns of Gallehus.[1] These horns, which date from the early fifth century, were decorated with various symbols including human figures forming the shapes of various runes. Skeptics however believe that Rune Yoga has a much-more-modern origin.

In the early twentieth century, Friedrich Marby pioneered the technique, referring to it as Runengymnastik (Rune Gymnastics). By the early 1930s, Siegfried Kummer[2] further developed the practice, which he called Runenyoga (Rune Yoga). Following World War Two, Karl Spiesberger further systematized the practice. In English-speaking countries, Rune Yoga is generally known because of the work of Edred Thorsson. Thorsson further developed the work begun by Marby, Kummer, and Spiesberger and applied the Old Norse term Staðagaldr, which basically translates into “magical postures.” In addition, Thorsson applied the work developed using the Anglo-Frisian Futhorc and the Armanen Futhorkh to the Elder Futhark—the oldest historical set of runes. All the rune magicians noted above would agree that Rune Yoga involves far more than striking a pose. In the class that I attended, we learned each of the 24 poses corresponding to the runes of the Elder Futhark and moved rather swiftly from one to another. Kummer, however, emphasized holding the various poses for long periods of time in which the student should enter a meditative state and chant the associated rune sound. He recommended that the student begin with the IS (ISA) rune—that is formed by standing straight with arms generally down—in a sort of military “attention” stance. In his Heilige Runenmacht (Holy Rune Might) he writes that this exercise “should take 10 to 20 minutes.” He goes on:

"Above all, the student must gain peace, patience and perseverance, which is absolutely necessary in order to penetrate the rune mysteries."[3]

The practice of Rune Yoga is precariously positioned on one of the major fault-lines of modern Ásatrú. Since there is no central authority, various groups differ in their practices and beliefs. One of key areas of disagreement is between the Reconstructionists and those whom I shall call the “Traditionalists.” The fellowship that I had joined was solidly in the Reconstructionist camp. While one might argue that the whole of Ásatrú is reconstructionist, in that the religion itself has been reconstructed from what we know from the past, those who label themselves as such apply a strict methodology to ground their religious beliefs and practices. Practices embraced by Reconstructionists require an identifiable source, and typically an ancient one. Ásatrúars who are not from this camp sometimes dismissively refer to such Heathens as “recons” or even “retro-Heathens.”

Those who practice what I call “traditional” Ásatrú certainly anchor their practices in tradition, but view the religion as a “living tradition.” In fact, the various groups and individuals who pioneered the rebirth of the religion developed most of the common practices of Ásatrú no earlier than the 1970s. For traditional Heathens, it's all fair game—Rune Yoga, Runic divination, astrology, and perhaps even Rune chakras. The traditionalists don't turn their back on tradition, rather they embrace the recent developments of the past hundred years or so.

Initially I embraced Reconstructionism, partly because it was the mantra of Gothi Joseph, and partly because it seemed to add an air of authenticity to a religion that could easily be “contaminated” by the incorporation of inappropriate or foreign practices. Over time however, I came to realize that the Reconstructionists too were subjective in their determinations. Hammer hallowings were out—because, while we read that Thor performed them, we don’t know exactly how he did so. Rune Yoga? The evidence for an ancient origin is quite limited and there is a good chance that its true origin is no earlier than the 1920s—so that too must go. Even the celebration of Ostara was verboten since the sources for such a goddess were sparse. But where does it end? Heathenry was practiced in different ways over the centuries and varied from place to place. One ancient tribe might primarily worship the god Ing while another might worship Thor. We can be quite sure that the fifth-century Goths practiced their religion quite differently than the tenth-century Icelanders.

Exact adherence to the methods of a particular time and a specific people is fraught with difficulties. One key issue is that there is no equivalent of a Bible for Heathens. European Heathenry was largely an oral tradition. Some point to The Poetic Edda as a Heathen bible, but much of that volume comes from the Christian era. For the Reconstructionist, not only is there the difficulty of determining what practices to include, there are a set of mental gymnastics required to determine what to exclude. We know, for example, that ancient Heathens performed human sacrifice at the temple of Uppsala—but despite the documentation, such practices won't be included in the rituals of even the most ardent adherents of Reconstructionism.

I’ve come to accept that it is a good thing that Heathens in the aggregate embrace a wide array of ideas and approaches. There are those who worship Loki and those who do not. There are those who embrace the idea of universalism—that people of any ethnicity can practice Ásatrú and there are those who view Ásatrú strictly as a folk religion. There are those who dress in traditional garb and those who wear modern street clothes. There are even groups that dress in suits and ties for their rituals and events. Some Ásatrúars are quite inflexible. They believe that their way is the only way—that all others are wrong. Such thinking strikes me as having its roots in monotheism. I’m happy with the diversity that I've found within Ásatrú. As polytheists we should acknowledge a multiplicity of approaches to our pantheon of deities. The very concept of a pope, king, or central authority is foreign to our outlook. To be sure, our greatest threat is not Christian evangelism, but rather internal strife resulting from those who see their way as the only way and who prefer conflict to peace.

Upon returning home from that first Rune Yoga class, I went out into the fresh air of my backyard. As fate would have it, a full moon appeared from behind the clouds. Outside the air was crisp; the energy vibrant. The moon’s rays cast a faint glow across the yard. I assumed the ISA rune pose. I breathed deeply and began to chant “IIIIIISSSSSSAAAAA.” I felt a strange energy pulsing through my body. My mind became perfectly still. The storms that were my thoughts and emotions vanished. The wind gently blew a wave of peace over my body.

At that moment and in that place, all else ceased to exist. 

Notes:

1. Nordic Culture: The Golden Horns of Gallehus. https://skjalden.com/golden-horns-of-gallehus/ 

2. Despite Kummer’s völkisch outlook, his school "Runa" was banned in 1934 and he ultimately suffered incarceration by the Nazis for being “an unauthorized occultist.” While popular culture may suggest otherwise, the Nazis were not supportive of Germanic Heathenry. The vast majority of Nazis were of Catholic or Lutheran persuasions. 

3. Siegfried Adolf Kummer, Holy Rune Might: Rebirth of the Armanendom through Rune exercises and Dance, trans. Aelfric Avery (Vavenby, Canada: Woodharrow Bund Press, 2019), 32.