Which Rind sang to Ran;[[46]]
That from thy shoulders thou shouldst cast
What to thee seems irksome:
Let thyself thyself direct. (Be independent!)
What is it that seems so irksome to Rind and Ran, and that both cast from their shoulders in order to become independent? It is the ice. When Rind had thrown it off she requested the sea-goddess Ran to do likewise.
The Greeks have a myth corresponding somewhat to this. The god of the heavens, Zeus, comes down in the rain into Hera’s lap; but when she resisted his entreaties Zeus let fall a shower of rain, while she was sitting on the top of a mountain, and he changed himself to a nightingale (a symbol of spring-time). Then Hera compassionately took the wet and dripping bird into her lap. But look at the difference! Hera soon gives way and pities, but our Norse Rind makes a desperate resistance. It repeatedly looks as if Odin had conquered, but the maid reassumes her stubborn disposition. How true this is of the climate in the northern latitudes! Rind is not inapplicable to our Wisconsin winters.
Such is the physical interpretation of Odin’s relation to Frigg and Rind. Heaven and earth are wedded together; and upon this marriage earth presents itself in two forms: fruitful and blest, unfruitful and imprisoned in the chains of cold and frost. As the king of the year Odin embraces both of them. But Odin is also the spiritual (aand) king, who unites himself with the human earthly mind. He finds it crude and uncultured, but susceptible of impressions. Pure thoughts and noble feelings are developed, which grow into blooming activities. But then comes back again the unfeeling coldness and defiant stubbornness which take possession of the mind, shutting out the influence of truth upon the mind. It is a sad time when doubt and skepticism and despair every night lay their leaden weight upon the poor man’s soul. However to the honest seeker of truth it is only a transitory state of trial. A wise Providence takes him with tender and patient hands again to his bosom. He sends down showers of blessings or misfortunes upon him. With his mild breath he melts the frozen heart, and it at once clothes itself with garlands of divinest hues. With all his charms he touches the wintry rind that encases us, and the mind stands forth unmanacled and free. What to the year is light summer and dark winter is to us bright and gloomy periods of our existence, that succeed each other in their turn, advancing or impeding our spiritual development, which must continue forever. This is also contained in the myth about Odin and Rind, nay, it is the better half.
SECTION XIII. GUNLAD. THE ORIGIN OF POETRY.
Poetry is represented as an inspiring drink. He who partakes of it is skáld, poet. This drink was kept with the giants, where Gunlad protected it. Odin goes down to the giants, conquers all obstacles, wins Gunlad’s affection, and gets permission to partake of the drink. He brings it to the upper world and gives it to men. Thus poetry originated and developed. Thus it is related in the Younger Edda:
Æger having expressed a wish to know how poetry originated, Brage, the god of poetry, informed him that the asas and vans having met to put an end to the war which had long been carried on between them, a treaty of peace was agreed to and ratified by each party spitting into a jar. As a lasting sign of the amity which was thenceforward to subsist between the contending parties, the gods formed out of this spittle a being, to whom they gave the name of Kvaser, and whom they endowed with such a high degree of intelligence that no one could ask him a question that he was unable to answer. Kvaser then traversed the whole world to teach men wisdom, but the dwarfs, Fjalar and Galar, having invited him to a feast, treacherously murdered him. They let his blood run into two cups and a kettle. The name of the kettle is Odrœrer, and the names of the cups are Son and Bodn. By mixing up his blood with honey they composed a drink of such surpassing excellence that whoever partakes of it acquires the gift of song (becomes a poet or man of knowledge, skáld, eða fræðamaðr). When the gods inquired what had become of Kvaser, the dwarfs told them that he had been suffocated with his own wisdom, not being able to find anyone who, by proposing to him a sufficient number of learned questions, might relieve him of its super-abundance.