The youth thought him mad.
He gazed into shadows in the noon slumber of high summer,
and in snow he sat, or stood until it melted about.
At the marsh he sat,
rubbed the juice of roots about to keep the biters away,
yet stayed and sat.
Now and then one sees him.
A boy asked of him, “Why gaze or sit?”
The man of magan answered,
“Much do we do between birth and death and most of it no matter.
In all that Grímr does, he becomes aware.
When he hung upon the tree, he became aware.
When he bade Mimir speak, he became aware.
Much passes between birth and death.
What means any of it, I am not aware.”
“But how”, asks the youth, “is to gaze to be aware?”
The man of magan replied:
“In each place and force a náttúra dwells before me,
after me, and always.
They show me the world before me and after me.
They have shown me our world at the time of hidings –
when the folk of stones and oaks, when the folk of staves and ravens –
And they show me we shall return again,
in the night after the next victorious frithu.”
Now and again, folk see him at marsh or skerry stone
and none think him mad.
~Seiðr Sprëhhan, 51