Threads of Power

Let’s get something straight, this isn’t costume.

When we talk about ritual tools, sacred wear, or anything carried by the völva, we’re not reaching for aesthetics. We’re looking at what’s actually been found. What’s been written down. What we can still trace in word, grave, or craft.

Some things are rare. Some are everywhere once you know how to look. But every piece on this page was chosen for one reason: because it meant something. Then and now. This section walks through the tools of the thread. The things she wore. The things she carried. Not guesses. Not trends. Just the best we’ve got and a few questions worth asking along the way.

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The Headdress

What We Know
Some völur were described as veiled or hooded. Others wore cloaks trimmed in animal fur, especially cat skins, as seen in Eiríks saga rauða. In archaeological finds, we see headpieces ranging from plain wool hoods to elaborate metal circlets or beaded caps. The Oseberg ship burial included textiles with silk and decorative threading, imported, intentional, and not cheap.

In some graves, beads or chains are found positioned around the skull or neck, possibly suggesting a ritual head covering. In Gotlandic imagery, we see seated women in high-backed chairs, sometimes with their heads wrapped or adorned.

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What We Think
The headdress wasn’t just for style. It may have marked the moment of ritual, set the seer apart, or helped shift her identity. Covering the head is a practice found in many traditions during altered states, prayer, or prophetic work. It can signal entry into a role—or a crossing out of the self.

There’s also the idea of concealment. The veil doesn’t just hide—it protects. From the gaze of others, from wandering spirits, or even from the intensity of what’s being seen. Some believe the headdress allowed the völva to “become other” during Seiðr. Not disappear but it will transform.

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What This Means to Me
I don’t wear a headdress because I want to look the part. I wear it because I feel the shift when I do. It helps me get quiet. Get still. And remember whose voice I’m speaking with.

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The Staff

What We Know
The staff shows up again and again. Carved from iron or wood. Tipped with knobs, rings, animal heads. Found in graves across Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Iceland. Sometimes bent or broken, which many scholars interpret as a ritual act—power symbolically released or sealed at death.

The word völva itself comes from vǫlr, meaning staff or wand. That alone tells us the weight it carried. In Eiríks saga rauða, the völva arrives holding a richly adorned staff. Picture this: cat-fur cloak, high seat, and a wand crowned with carved shapes. This wasn’t decoration. It was her tool. In Gotlandic picture stones, we see women holding staffs, seated in authority. On metalwork and amulets, the staff reappears. In some cases, over 80 cm long. Not for walking. Not for show.

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What We Think
The staff might have been used to mark space. To trace patterns in the air or ground. To beat time for chanting. To touch the earth or the body before vision work began. It was an axis between realms, between people, between seen and unseen. The staff may have served as a protective boundary. Or a calling stick for spirits and songs. Some believe the rings or figures on the staff weren’t just ornaments. They made sound. They moved. They might have drawn attention or helped shift awareness, like bells or rattles in other traditions.

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What This Means to Me
My staff isn’t a wand. It’s a companion. A tether. A thing that listens as much as it points. When I walk with it, the land hears me coming. So do the dead.

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The Cloak

What We Know
The cloak appears in a few saga descriptions, most famously in Eiríks saga rauða. The völva is said to wear a dark blue cloak, lined with stones and trimmed with fur. Blue wasn’t a common color it took work to dye, and it stood out. Burial sites sometimes include fragments of cloaks or capes, woven with fine thread, beads, or rare trims. These weren’t everyday garments. They marked status, presence, ritual. Some cloaks appear to be shaped for sitting or traveling. Others are found folded beside the body, with deliberate care. We also see cloaks in myth. Odin wears one to wander unknown. Disir are said to be cloaked figures. The idea shows up across the North a figure wrapped in mystery, arriving when something is about to change.

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What We Think
The cloak may have served more than warmth. It could veil the body, hold the trance, or mark the one who wore it as other. When entering ritual, the völva wasn’t simply herself. The cloak may have helped shift the state, conceal the face, or create sacred distance. In some cultures, cloaks were seen as skins—a second shape, a spirit covering. This may be connected to the idea of hamr, the shape the soul can wear or shift. When the cloak went on, the threadwalker stepped into something more.

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What This Means to Me
My cloak lives in the space between costume and skin. It’s not about pageantry. It’s about permission.When I put it on, I’m not hiding. I’m arriving.

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