The Norse God, Odin, hangs over all.
His attendant wolves symbolise our lower self,
and both their names can be translated, ‘greed’, which leads us to glut…
For most people the plan is simple:
to experience all they can in sensations quest,
and this too can lead to a sort of glut…
One cannot have too much of a good thing, can one?
After breakfasting we meet at the Whalebone Arch,
and it is difficult not to wonder how
long it will be before our gluttony
as a species empties the oceans…
From here, framed within the jaw bones of the once great sea beast,
we can see the skeletal remains of Whitby Abbey,
where weighty decisions about the religious tenor
of our country were once made.
We, though, make our way back into town, and a Cafe…
and from there, eventually, up to the Abbey,
but not before crossing the swing bridge,
which simultaneously separates and joins the new town
from the old, and which, as we approach, is just about to swing…
For those with eyes to see the swing bridge has something to impart.
Black letters on a yellow board.
‘Krampus Run – Three-Thirty Pee Em!’
The ‘Krampus’, it turns out, is a sort of shadow
side to the European St Niklaus,
who instead of giving gifts to good children,
punishes those that have been bad!
An antidote to wanton gluttony, perhaps,
or a living, breathing, walking Baphomet?
Initially, there will be more than one of them,
a whole parade full vying for the dubious crown.
We count the steps to the Abbey and breeze through
the Abbey gift shop where, historical, religious and fantasy
items all, peculiarly levelled, jostle for attention.
The once grandiose and resplendant Abbey interior,
now stands open to the elements…
Wind whistled bare,
was Odin a Lord of Air?
We try to feel St Cedd’s presence there,
but he is long gone.
As bitter grey clouds-of-cold skit in from the sea,
we perform the second run of our ‘ritual’,
before heading back down into town, for more food.