“The Valkyries of Norse mythology were women of vast prestige and power. They were one of the few factions of warrior women from ancient lore recognized as having any power over the mortal realm. Known as beacons of strength, they descended from the sky garbed in the feathers of swans coated with sturdy, iron chainmail, their faces protected by helmets and their spears held aloft fearlessly. Upon the backs of their ethereal horses they came from the heavens to the mortal realm, guttural cries at the back of their throats. When seen by the male soldiers on the ground, both awe and terror would sweep the battlefield – their role was to determine the fate of fallen warriors.”
Horse riding warrior goddess, since I heard ride of the Valkyrie, Wagner, I was…obsessed. Everything about them fascinated me, everything about the ring cycle fascinated me, but the Valkyrie, exemplified who I simply was, deep down. I had tried so many times to not a Valkyrie, kept my wings clipped too long for too many people, and Valkyrie’s well…they take a certain person to love them, someone who can handle the fire, they are not for everyone.
But it wasn’t just me, it was many women, women who you would expect the least who have a bit of the Valkyrie in them. Today, watching one woman unfold her wings on the back of my horse made me grin ear to ear with knowing. This woman, seemingly quiet, beautiful, with not much to say, no wild life or career to brag of; rather, she preferred gardens, her children and not traveling with her husband. Not because she didn’t love him, only because…well…I understood. Gardens and home…they called her, not the false glamor of an audience and stage. Grounding…realness called her. And watching this seemingly quiet woman’s eyes light up when I asked if she wanted to canter, then watching her hips move as she took stride, the wild feminine arise with sparkle and natural grace….well….I wish her husband had been there to see his Valkyrie ride.