Rune night and the pizza-slice carving

By Sol Runemaster

Hi there. Samuel here. Every third Thursday I haul a milk crate of birch blanks, two gouges, sandpaper in three grits, and a laminated sheet I made in 2019 that shows the Elder Futhark with my own handwriting, which is not as mystical as people assume, into the Santa Fe community center side room that smells like coffee and the mop bucket from Tuesday yoga. I started doing this because a woman named Rosa asked me if runes were only for people who already believed in magic. I said no, runes are for people who want to pay attention. She signed up twelve neighbors. I have been showing up ever since. I am not a historian. I will say that upfront because the internet loves to correct you at volume. I am a sound healer and astrological guide who fell in love with runes in my thirties when a friend pressed a carved stone into my palm after a bad winter and told me to stop trying to think my way

out of grief. The stone was Ansuz. I did not know that yet. I just knew the weight of it made my breathing slower. That is still my whole teaching philosophy. If your hands are busy, your chest gets quieter. The room before anyone arrives I get there forty minutes early to set bowls of water for smoothing edges, newspaper for shavings, and a little Bluetooth speaker that usually behaves. Last Thursday it did not. The speaker crackled like it was clearing its throat and died mid-playlist during the track I use for grounding, a recording of canyon wind I captured near Abiquiú. I panicked in that specific way middle-aged men panic when technology fails in front of teenagers. I was about to apologize to an empty room when Mrs. Delgado walked in carrying her own cassette player from 1987 and a shoebox of tapes labeled in Sharpie. She said, try this one, and popped in a tape that turned out to

be her late husband playing acoustic guitar at their kitchen table. The sound was imperfect. A chair creaked. Someone laughed off-mic. The room filled with the kind of warmth no streaming service can manufacture. I almost cried before the first student arrived, which is on brand for me and embarrassing in a way I have made peace with. When Rosa came in with her nephew Mateo, the guitar was still playing and Mateo said who is that and Mrs. Delgado said my husband, and Mateo nodded like that answer made complete sense to him. I stopped trying to fix the Bluetooth speaker. Some nights the old technology is the right altar. I wrote that in my journal later with a star next to it, not because it is a profound sentence, but because I need reminders that my job is not to control the atmosphere. My job is to hold the room while people find their own frequency. The guitar tape played softly all

evening. Nobody asked me to change it. Carving letters, carving honesty I teach the runes in order but I do not demand reverence on schedule. First we talk safety, always. Gouge away from the body, stabilize the blank, breathe before you cut. Then I pass around the laminated sheet and let people choose one symbol that pulls them, which is a woo word for something very practical. Your eye keeps returning to a shape. Start there. Mateo chose Fehu because he said it looked like a bird with opinions. A retired electrician named Gerald chose Thurisaz and said nothing else, which was fine. Rosa chose Berkano and told a story about her mother's garden without being asked. Halfway through the session Mateo held up his blank and said he was making a pizza. The room laughed. I almost corrected him. That old teacher reflex, the one that wants everyone to stay inside the lesson plan so you can feel

competent at the end. Then I looked at what he had carved. A triangle with a wobbly crust line and a dot he called pepperoni. He said Fehu is cattle and wealth and his family owns a food truck and maybe the rune was telling him to put extra cheese on special. Gerald snorted. Rosa said do not encourage him. Mateo grinned. I put my gouge down and asked Mateo what extra cheese would mean on a bad week versus a good week. He thought about it longer than I expected. He said on a bad week it means my uncle is stressed and yelling about the register. On a good week it means my cousin got into the school play and we are celebrating with free slices. That is Fehu, I told him. Not textbook Fehu. Living-room Fehu. The wealth you share when you have enough and the argument you survive when you do not. He nodded and went back to carving pepperoni. Mrs. Delgado squeezed my shoulder on her way to the

water bowl. I felt it for the rest of the night. Sound after the shavings settle When carving winds down I bring out the singing bowls. Last week I used three brass ones and one crystal bowl a client gifted me when she moved to Colorado. I do not perform. I strike once, let the tone find the walls, and invite people to sit with whatever came up while their hands were working. Gerald fell asleep in his chair and snored gently through the second resonance. Nobody minded. Rosa stayed awake with her palm on Berkano like she was checking a pulse. Mateo whispered that the pizza rune vibrated and I whispered back good, and we left it at that. People ask if I read the runes they carve. Sometimes. Not like a verdict. More like listening. Ansuz still shows up for me when I need to stop performing wisdom and start speaking plainly. Mrs. Delgado's husband's guitar tape was Ansuz in the room even

though no letter was carved. I do not say things like that to everyone because some folks came for crafts night and deserve crafts night without a sermon. But the ones who want the thread get the thread. After cleanup Rosa helped me fold the newspaper and said Mateo has not sat still for ninety minutes in two years. I told her the pizza helped. She said do not tell him that, let him think it was the runes. We laughed. I drove home with wood shavings in my cuff and the smell of old tape player dust on my hands. The sky over Santa Fe was doing that thing where the stars look close enough to tune. I thought about my own Ansuz winter. I thought about how teaching is just remembering out loud. Closing Reflection If you have been waiting for a sign to try something tactile, this is not that. This is me saying the community center side room is open every third Thursday and you can show up with

no experience and carve badly and still belong. Bring your own cassette player if you want. Mrs. Delgado might beat you to it. Until next time 🌙 — Sol