Veiling is a fascinating concept, and it’s one that’s always tickled at the back of my mind. As I’ve written many times before, my time in Catholic school inspired a strange fascination with nuns, and as such I consider myself a Lokian nun, so complete is my devotion, so deep is our relationship. I’ve often joked about wearing a nun’s habit fashioned out of a fox pelt, because I’m just a little insane and weird things amuse me.

The concept of veiling has a somewhat practical appeal to me, as well. My hair is a thick, heavy mass of chaos, so much so that I wear it with the sides shaved in a death hawk style. Even with half of my hair shaved away, I’ve got more than I can control and manage. Not that I’ve got any talent whatsoever with actually styling my hair beyond a messy bun or pony tail. Of course, at work, I have to at least pretend to be careful about not being too deathhawky. Ask my boss how that’s going. He’s lucky that my hair’s too heavy/thick/long to tease up into a proper ‘hawk, and that I’m too lazy to attempt it anyway. I really, really don’t put any effort into my appearance, is what I’m getting at here. Good thing I’m just naturally cute in my potato-faced chaos.

So between the religious nutballery, half-shaved head, my inability to do ANYTHING with my hair that’s even remotely cute and/or professional, my hatred of washing the thick wild mass of floof, and the lack of mirrors in my house that renders everything else moot, it’s pretty clear why the concept of veiling appeals to me on a few levels. So it should come as no surprise that when a friend of mine started covering her hair for a few spiritual reasons, I was hardcore intrigued. She gladly gave me some excellent tips and advice when I reached out to her, all of which I promptly ignored.

Loki was more than a bit bemused when I selected a scarf and threw it on my head. “You’re just doing this so you don’t have to wash your hair as often,” he snickered.

“Quiet, you,” I huffed while I got hopelessly tangled in the cloth almost immediately.

“Now that’s a good look for you,” came the purr as the soft cotton monstrosity flopped down over my face.

“Shut it.”

“No, really. So cute.“

“AAAARRRRGHHHHHH! GOD DAMN IT ALL!” I screamed, ripping the scarf from my hair, where it had somehow become entwined with my hair. FML.

“Oooh, there’s the serene spiritual connection you were going for. So devout. So holy.“

“I hate you sometimes.”

“Kisses, darling. Kisses.“

Long story short, I had been trying to do a rockabilly style head covering, but the only thing I managed to successfully achieve was the Virgin Mary draped look. Guess I should listen to my friend’s advice and watch some YouTube tutorials on how to tie a scarf on my head.

It’s obvious that I’m not being compelled to try veiling by my gods, not like I’m being prodded and needled about becoming an accredited clergywoman, but it’s still something I’d like to try. Something about it resonates within me for a number of reasons, some practical, some spiritual. Perhaps it’s a carryover from my intention to become a nun as a teenager, perhaps it’s tangential to my devotion to Loki and Sigyn, but I’m still fascinated with the practice and would very much like to give it a go. If nothing else, I can clearly provide ample amusement to Himself while I attempt it. Sometimes my offering to him is a donut and coffee, sometimes a healthy dose of a nice pinot bourbon, but usually, it’s some bit of absurdity that prompts a snickering sort of giggle. I’m a mess, but I’m a happy mess, at least.

My hair, on the other hand. . . maybe I want to try being a covered heathen because I’m trying to protect the world from my floof. You’re welcome.