So you picked up a book about shamanism and Norse magic. Congratulations. You're now officially more interesting than your coworkers who only read self-help books that all say the same thing in slightly different fonts.
But here's the thing: you probably have some questions. Like, "Wait, weren't shamans those people from Siberia who ate mushrooms and talked to reindeer spirits?" And also, "Didn't Vikings just, like, raid monasteries and drink mead? When did they become shamans?"
Valid questions. Let me guess what happened to you. Maybe you've been reading about shamanism because you're tired of therapy that costs $200 an hour to tell you your mother was "doing her best." Or maybe you stumbled into Norse mythology through Marvel movies and stayed because you realized Odin was way more metal than Thor. Or perhaps you've been casting runes for a few years and suddenly wondered, "What the hell am I actually doing here?"
Whatever brought you to this book, you've probably noticed something strange. There's this weird wall between "shamanism" (which apparently only happens in indigenous cultures far away) and "Norse magic" (which is somehow different because Vikings were European and white people aren't supposed to have shamans, or something).
That wall? It's bullshit.
And we're going to tear it down.
The Great Shamanic Identity Crisis
Let's talk about the word "shaman" for a second. It comes from the Tungus people of Siberia. Academics love pointing this out, usually right before they tell you that technically you can't call Norse practitioners shamans because they didn't use that exact word in Old Norse.
You know what the Vikings also didn't have? The word "Viking." That term came later. They called themselves things like "Northmen" or just... their names. But we still use "Viking" because it's useful shorthand for "those Scandinavian folks who sailed around Europe between 800 and 1100 CE doing impressive and terrifying things."
Same deal with shamanism. It's a useful word for describing a particular kind of spiritual practice that shows up in cultures all over the world. And guess what? The Norse had it. They just called it other things. Like seidr. Or galdr. Or "that weird shit Odin does when he hangs himself from trees and talks to dead people."
But here's where it gets messy. Modern Western culture has this bizarre obsession with putting everything in neat little boxes. We want shamanism to belong to "those people over there" so we can either romanticize them or appropriate from them while feeling vaguely guilty about it. We want European magic to be ceremonial and bookish and orderly, all Latin invocations and clean robes.
The actual historical record? Way messier. And way more interesting.
What Your European Ancestors Were Actually Doing
Picture this: It's 950 CE in Norway. A völva (that's a Norse seer, a woman who practices seidr) arrives at a farmstead. She's wearing a cloak made of animal skins. She carries a staff. She sits on a high platform. Someone starts singing a particular kind of song, a weird droning chant that sounds like it's coming from somewhere deep underground. The völva enters a trance state, her consciousness traveling to other worlds to gather information about the future, about the weather, about whether that sketchy neighbor is secretly cursing your cattle.
Now picture this: It's 1950 in Siberia. A shaman arrives at a yurt. He's wearing a cloak made of animal skins. He carries a staff. He sits in a particular spot. Someone starts drumming a rhythmic beat. The shaman enters a trance state, his consciousness traveling to other worlds to gather information about hunting, about illness, about whether the spirits are pissed off about something.
Spot the difference? I'll wait.
The techniques are remarkably similar. Trance induction through rhythm and repetition. Journey to alternate realities or spiritual realms. Communication with non-human entities (gods, spirits, ancestors, the dead). Bringing back information or power. Healing or cursing. Divination and prophecy.
This is shamanism. The Norse were doing shamanism. They just had their own flavor of it, their own gods and spirits, their own cultural wrapping around the same basic human experience of expanded consciousness and communication with the unseen.
Why Everyone Gets Weird About This
There are basically two camps of people who get uncomfortable when you say "Norse shamanism."
Camp One says: "No, no, shamanism is specific to indigenous cultures, you can't just slap that word on European practices, that's cultural appropriation!"
Camp Two says: "The Norse had their own superior magical traditions, calling it shamanism is reductive and imported, we don't need to borrow terminology from other cultures!"
Both camps are missing something important.
To Camp One: Yes, respect indigenous traditions. Absolutely. But denying that Europeans had shamanic practices is actually a form of colonial thinking. It suggests that only "exotic" others do magic, while Europeans have "religion" or "philosophy." It's the flip side of the same coin that tried to stamp out indigenous practices in the first place. Your Norse ancestors were getting weird with consciousness alteration and spirit communication. Let them have their due.
To Camp Two: Nobody's saying the Norse copied from Siberia or that seidr is inferior. Using "shamanism" as a descriptive term for certain types of practice doesn't erase cultural specificity. It helps us understand patterns. The Norse weren't doing the exact same thing as Tungus shamans or Amazonian ayahuasceros. But they were playing the same game with different rules and different players. The word helps us see the connections.
Here's the thing: shamanism describes a technology of consciousness. It's a set of techniques for altering your state of awareness and interacting with non-ordinary reality. Cultures all over the world independently developed versions of this technology because it works. The specifics differ. The underlying principles don't.
The Norse version involved runes, seidr, galdr, interactions with specific Norse gods and spirits, journeys through the Nine Worlds of Yggdrasil. That's beautifully specific and culturally rooted. It's also shamanic. Both things can be true.
What This Book Actually Does
Alright, so if we've established that Norse magic and shamanism overlap in significant ways, what's this book actually about?
I'm going to show you how to use the Elder Futhark runes as shamanic tools. How seidr practices can become your doorway into trance states and spirit communication. How the Norse gods function as archetypal forces you can work with for personal transformation. And how all of this connects to shadow work, that necessary and uncomfortable process of integrating the parts of yourself you've been pretending don't exist.
This book sits at the intersection of several different things:
- Historical Norse magical practices (seidr, galdr, rune work)
- Cross-cultural shamanic techniques (trance, journey, spirit communication)
- Jungian shadow work and archetypal psychology
- Practical modern magic you can actually do without requiring a PhD in Old Norse
If you want the full workbook experience with exercises and spirit work practices, Wyrdwalker: A Norse Magic Workbook is your companion piece. If you're drawn more to understanding fate and the living patterns that shape reality, The Living Pattern: Norse Magic, Fate, and the Art of Transformation goes deep into those mysteries. This book? This is your foundation. Your gateway. Your initiation into the weird wisdom of the rune shaman's path.
We're going to look at what the Norse actually did, compare it to shamanic practices worldwide, extract the psychological and spiritual truths, and give you concrete ways to work with this material in your own life.
What this book doesn't do:
It doesn't claim historical perfection. We don't have complete records of Norse magical practices. The sagas were written down by Christians who had their own biases. We're going to work with what we have, fill in gaps with informed speculation and cross-cultural comparison, and be honest about where we're guessing.
It doesn't require you to believe anything. You don't need to believe in the literal existence of Odin, the gods, spirits, or alternate dimensions. You can treat this entire system as psychological technology, as a way of working with your unconscious mind through symbol and ritual. Or you can believe it's all absolutely real. Both approaches work. The practices don't care.
It doesn't promise easy answers. Shadow work hurts. Trance work is disorienting. Divination often tells you things you don't want to hear. If you want a book that promises you'll manifest abundance and find your soulmate by being positive, this isn't it. The Norse approach is rawer than that. More honest. Sometimes more brutal.
It doesn't worship Vikings. The Norse were complicated people living in a harsh world. They did impressive things. They also did horrific things. We're not here to romanticize them or recreate their culture wholesale. We're here to learn from their spiritual technologies and adapt them for modern consciousness work.
How to Use This Book
You can read this straight through like a normal book. That's fine. The chapters build on each other, starting with foundational concepts and moving into specific practices.
But you can also treat it like a grimoire, a working manual. Each chapter is designed to stand alone as a deep dive into a specific topic. Got a question about a particular rune? Jump to that section. Want to understand seidr trance work? Start there. Curious about working with Odin energy? That's its own chapter.
The book is structured in four main parts:
Part One lays the groundwork. What is shamanism, really? What is seidr? How does Norse cosmology work as a map of consciousness? We're building the foundation here.
Part Two dives deep into the runes. All 24 of them, their meanings, their psychological dimensions, how to use them for divination and magic. This is the technical manual section. For those who want to work with individual runes at an even deeper level, there are dedicated books for several of them (Fehu, Uruz, Thurisaz, Ansuz, Raidho, Kenaz), each one a meditation and exploration unto itself. But we'll cover the essential meanings and practices here.
Part Three explores the gods and the practitioners. Who were the völur (Norse seers)? What does it mean to work with Odin or Freya as archetypal forces? How do you walk this path in the modern world? (If you find yourself drawn to Odin specifically, Odin's Trial: The Wisdom of the Wanderer and Odin as Ancient Serpent explore his shamanic dimensions in depth.)
Part Four brings it all together. Fate and wyrd, shadow integration through mythic frameworks, building a sustainable daily practice that doesn't require you to quit your job and move to Norway.
Each chapter includes:
- Stories and myths that illustrate the concepts
- Psychological insights about what's actually happening
- Shadow work dimensions (because that's where the real transformation lives)
- Practical exercises you can actually do
- Modern parallels that make ancient wisdom relevant
Some chapters will resonate more than others. Some practices will work for you; some won't. Take what's useful, leave the rest, and don't let anyone (including me) tell you there's only one right way to do this.
A Word About the Voice You're Going to Encounter
I'm writing this as a jester, not a priest.
What does that mean? It means I'm going to use humor to reveal depth, not dodge it. I'm going to be irreverent without being disrespectful. I'm going to talk to you like a human being having a conversation, not an academic lecturing from on high.
The myths and practices we're exploring are profound. They deal with life, death, fate, consciousness, shadow, transformation. Heavy stuff. But taking something seriously doesn't mean taking it solemnly. The trickster gods (and the Norse had several) understood that laughter and wisdom aren't opposites. The joke can contain the teaching. The playful aside can open the door to mystery.
So yeah, there will be jokes. There will be pop culture references. There will be moments where I'm deeply irreverent about sacred things. But underneath the humor, we're doing real work. The laughter is just how we keep from getting crushed by the weight of it all.
If you want a book that approaches Norse magic with hushed reverence and academic distance, there are plenty of those. They're useful. Read them too. But this book is for people who want the depth without the pretension, the wisdom without the stuffiness, the transformation without the spiritual bypassing.
One More Thing Before We Begin
Your ancestors were weird.
They hung from trees for nine days to gain knowledge. They sang the dead back to speech so they could ask questions. They carved symbols into weapons and bones to bind fate. They entered trance states and sent their consciousness flying through multiple worlds. They worked with gods who were deeply flawed, spirits who were unpredictable, and forces they knew could destroy them.
They were also wise.
They understood things about consciousness, about fate, about the interplay between individual will and cosmic forces, about the necessity of descending into darkness to find real light. They had technologies for transformation that we're only now beginning to rediscover through therapy and neuroscience and psychedelics.
This book is your invitation to learn from them. Not to worship them or recreate their culture, but to extract the wisdom from their practices and apply it to your own inner work.
The path isn't easy. The runes don't lie to make you comfortable. The gods don't coddle. The shadow doesn't integrate without a fight. But if you're tired of spiritual practices that promise everything will be fine if you just think positive thoughts, if you want something with more teeth and more truth, then you're in the right place.
Welcome to the path of the Rune Shaman.
Let's get weird.
This article is part of our Mythology collection. Read our comprehensive Norse Gods guide to explore the ancient wisdom and mystical power of Norse spiritual traditions.
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