Who Am I?

This essay was originally written on 10 August 2024. Shortly thereafter I gave in to the impulse to self-censor. This decision was grounded in the fear of the opinions of others. A more recent talk with an old friend impressed upon me the importance of such ideas. Indeed, if I am not to share this vision, then who shall? Revised during the contemplative morning of 27 December 2025.

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About ten years ago, I embarked on a search for an answer to the age-old question: Who am I? At the time, I convinced myself that a deeper understanding of my ancestors would reveal that answer. In the course of that search, I discovered Ásatrú—the modern revival of the old Northern gods, intertwined with a strong emphasis on ancestor veneration. I believed I had finally cast off the imposed teachings of Christianity and uncovered my true self in the lives and spirits of my long-dead forebears. Yet today, what once seemed so certain now appears clouded by self-deception.

While I had indeed explored my genealogy, tracing my Dutch roots back to the early 16th century, the stories that comprised the lives of my ancestors were largely lost. I rediscovered names and places, but rarely even an occupation for anyone who lived prior to the 20th century. With regard to religion, while not much is fully known, there can be little doubt that the relatives I found were Christian. History reveals that by the early 8th century, Anglo-Saxon missionaries were largely successful in converting the Dutch population to Catholicism. With regard to my other ethnic lines, the story is much the same. The Germans were largely converted by the 9th century during the rule of Charlemagne. My roots are however more widespread than central Europe alone. My Grandfather on my mother’s side was Italian. In the year 380 CE, Christianity became the state religion of Italy. My Irish roots are filled with legends of ancestors fighting alongside vikings against Brian Boru at the Battle of Clontarf in 1014. Whether such legends are true remains uncertain. Even were it true, their conversion likely occurred shortly thereafter. It is unlikely then that any of my ancestors still worshipped the old gods — and especially, the old Gods of the North— any later than the 11th century. It seems that practicing Ásatrú requires quite a “leap of faith”! It requires a leap over some thousand years of ancestors to arrive at a mythical —dare I say—romanticized time and place where the details are long forgotten if not lost.

To embrace the faith of ancestors who lived more than a thousand years ago is to deny the faith of my more recent ancestors. If my objective was indeed to better understand myself, the resulting vision was both limited and distorted as Ásatrú focuses exclusively on the gods of the pre-Christian Germanic past. While I certainly have German DNA, why should I neglect the gods of my Irish and Italian ancestors? Was there not a rich history of pagan gods in Rome — Jupiter, Apollo, Mercury, and so many others? To consider the roots of a particular branch of my family tree in the exploration of who I am is certainly valid, but in isolation, it results in an incomplete picture. The practice of worshipping only the gods of a particular ancestral line is not merely limiting but inherently divisive. While this need not be the case in principle, the orthodox practice of Ásatrú can discourage engagement with the rich spiritual traditions of my non-Germanic ancestors, as well as those of relatives, friends, and neighbors. When I first embraced Ásatrú, I clearly saw how Christian dogma denied the truth of other religions; what I had not yet realized was that Ásatrú, when practiced rigidly, could produce the same exclusionary impulse.

The effort to discover who I am also demands careful attention to the many influences that have shaped me as an individual. These influences extend beyond the particular convergence of ancestors and events that led to my birth; they include friends, relatives, historical figures, and countless others often overlooked when identity is framed solely in terms of ethnicity or religion. I was undeniably a child of the 1960s, shaped by the music of the 1970s and 1980s—Joe Strummer and John Lydon, in particular, left their mark through the records spinning on my turntable. My political views were influenced by my wife's uncle, who urged me to read Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead. I was also shaped by teachers at every level—elementary school, high school, and college—as well as by pastors and gothis. My perspectives were further formed by the wide range of books I read, a collection so particular that, if it could be listed in full, it would differ from anyone else’s.

Fairly considered, I am unique—an individual unlike any other—shaped by experiences and influences drawn from a wide range of people and sources. Ásatrú did not ultimately help me discover who I am; in fact, it constrained me by denying the richness of my full being. Like many ideologies and faiths, Ásatrú is pervaded by a sense of purity, and with that purity comes a narrowing of focus that is inherently divisive. Certain people, ideas, and even ancestors are deemed “in,” while others are excluded. Such thinking fosters division not only outwardly, but inwardly as well, producing a fragmented self. For a true seeker, this approach is ultimately insufficient.

Today, many scientific theories grapple with the very nature of time itself. Is time an illusion? How do we come to understand reality—and ourselves within it? Our prevailing picture of reality suggests that all times—past, present, and future—are equally real and coexist, much as all points in space are equally real. The beliefs and ideas I once held are no less real than those I hold today. I needed to walk a spiritual path that included stops in atheism, Lutheranism, and Ásatrú; without these experiences, I would not stand where I am now. From my present vantage point, the view is vast and breathtaking. A bright golden thread runs through my life, revealing connections among the great religions, philosophy, science, history, and even the occult. Why should any of this be ignored? More importantly, how could it be? Time does not “flow” or “pass” but exists as a whole—a part of the ALL. In this light, the weaving of the Norns offers a powerful image. Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld—the Norns of what was, what is, and what may be—are imagined as weaving simultaneously. Urd continues her work even now, just as her ancient sisters do; her task is not yet complete.

Does this represent an abandonment of anything I once believed or held dear? Not at all! Rather, it is an embracing of the whole. It has become clear to me that dogma and orthodoxy restrict vision and narrow perspective—is this not the very pattern seen in political parties and in the practice of most religions? Embracing the ALL cultivates a profound sense of unity, one in which the divisions between self and world are ultimately transcended. Perhaps more importantly, it also dissolves the inner divisions that fracture the self.

The way ahead appears pathless—and true.