Taranis moving across the dark sky! Hail to the Thunderer!
Taranis moving His chariot wheels cry! Hail to the Thunderer!
Taranis moving His lightning bolts fly! Hail to the Thunderer!
Taranis moving I roar my reply! Hail to the Thunderer!
*We have had very hot weather here in the UK which has been broken by some much appreciated thunderstorms. Whilst I was reading a book in the midst of one this evening a massive roar of thunder made me leap from my seat. I interpreted as a sign that Taranis, ‘the Thunderer’, desired some acknowledgement. I poured Him some tea but it didn’t seem enough. So I wrote this poem and read it for Him and will continue to use it to show my appreciation when, again, He brings our much needed rain.
This is a question many religions have an answer to. One of the most obvious is Christianity with the traditions surrounding the death of Jesus. Within Paganism and Polytheism rites have been developed for many Gods (often grain Gods) including Osiris, Tammuz and figures such as John Barleycorn.
When I started worshipping Gwyn ap Nudd over ten years ago I found out on Calan Mai He fights a battle against His rival, Gwythyr ap Greidol, for His beloved, Creiddylad. Although it isn’t explicit within the source material (1) parallels with other seasonal myths (2) suggest that Gwyn, as Winter’s King, is defeated by Gwythyr, Summer’s King (3) at the turn of summer, ‘dies’, and enters a death-like sleep. He then returns at summer’s end to take Creiddylad to Annwn and assert His rule as Winter’s King.
For most Pagans and Polytheists Calan Mai / Beltane is a fertility festival. The rites of dancing of the May Pole, and crowning of a May / Summer King and Queen have a basis in the sacred marriage of Gwythyr and Creiddylad.
Even before I realised I was asexual I always felt like an outsider on Calan Mai. Whilst I enjoyed the white flowers and verdant energy I never got into the full swing of the celebrations (at least not without a large amount of alcohol).
Then I met Gwyn and found out this was the time of His death. I have now come to understand why it is bittersweet – finding joy in the new growth on the one hand and feeling His loss and commending His sacrifice on the other.
‘From the blood of the King of Annwn the hawthorn blossoms grow.’
Slowly, Gwyn has revealed to me visions of the mythos surrounding His death and ways of honouring it within my personal practice as a Polytheist.
It happens slightly differently every year but I present here a ‘core narrative’ and the rites by which I navigate this difficult time in my seasonal calendar.
On Nos Galan Mai I offer Gwyn a sprig of thyme for courage and recite my poem ‘If I Had To Fight Your Battle’ and then meditate on its meaning.
At dawn on Calan Mai I visit Him in spirit as He dons His armour and makes His way to ‘the Middle Ford’, Middleforth on the Ribble, which is the place within my local landscape where His battle takes place and there speak my farewells.
Later in the day I go for a walk and look out for signs of the battle of Gwyn and Gwythyr. I often see Them as warriors, animals, or dragons in the clouds. On one occassion I heard ‘We are the Champions’ playing at a May Day fair.
I place the sprig of thyme at the Middle Ford then look out for signs of Gwyn’s death.
Gwyn’s death takes place before dusk and I have felt it signalled by sudden cold, the coming of rain, and a feeling of melancholy. Once, when I was running, I got the worst stitch ever, like I’d been stabbed in the side, knew it was Gwyn’s death blow and received the gnosis His death was bad that time.
I pay attention to the hawthorn, a tree of Creiddylad’s, symbolic of Her return.
In my evening meditation I bear witness to Gwyn being borne away from the scene of battle by Morgana and Her sisters (4) who appear as ravens, crows, or cranes. They take Him and lay Him out in His tomb in the depths of His fortress in Annwn. His fort descends from where it spins in the skies (5) and sinks into the Abyss (6) to become Caer Ochren ‘the Castle of Stone’ (7).
I then join Morgana and Her sisters and other devotees from across place and time saying prayers of mourning for Gwyn and spend time in silence.
Three days later Morgana and her sisters heal Gwyn’s wounds and revive Him from death. This a process I have taken part in and was powerful and moving. He then remains in a death-like sleep over the summer months.
I would love to hear how other Polytheists honour the deaths of their Gods.
FOOTNOTES
(1) The medieval Welsh tale of Culhwch ac Olwen (11th C)
(2) Such as the abduction of Persephone by Hades in Greek mythology.
(3) Clues to Their identities as Winter and Summer Kings are found in their names Gwyn ap Nudd ‘White son of Mist’ and Gwythyr ap Greidol ‘Gwythyr son of Scorcher’.
(4) I believe Morgana and her sisters are Gwyn’s daughters through personal gnosis based on the associations between Morgana, the Island of Avalon, and Avallach, the Apple King, who I believe is identical with Gwyn and the possible identification of Morgan and Modron, daughter of Avallach.
(5) ‘the four quarters of the fort, revolving to face the four directions’ – ‘The Spoils of Annwn’.
(6) The existence of an Abyss in Annwn is personal gnosis.
(7) This name is not a direct translation (Marged Hancock translates it as ‘the angular fort’) but comes from Meg Falconer’s visionary painting of Caer Ochren ‘the cold castle under the stone’ in King Arthur’s Raid on the Underworld.
Dawn arrives yet You are gone. The birds are singing yet You are gone. The flowers are turning their petalled heads towards the sun yet You are gone.
Your absence is like the spinning of the Void.
You are gone to its bottommost depths with Your castle of cold stone.
You are gone but Your haunting is everywhere with Your promise of return.
You died but You are not dead but only sleeping.
We share a heartbeat and a breath and every one brings us a little closer together. I remember this when You are gone.
This is a gifted song that I have been singing for Gwyn at His altar in my morning and evening devotions since His death in His seasonal battle against Gwythyr on Calan Mai after which He sleeps over the summer months in His castle of cold stone. (At night I replace ‘dawn’ with ‘dusk’ and ‘towards’ with ‘from’).
This is the first time I have sung on video and I’ve only sung in public once before in a performance group. I was put off when a friend jestingly told me I ‘sing like a nun’ in the sense I am not rock ‘n’ roll enough. Well I am a nun now so I can sing like a nun!
The image on my altar is a visionary painting by Meg Falconer of Caer Ochren ‘the cold castle under the stone’ from King Arthur’s Raid on the Underworld.
On star circled tor You stand lawless vigil. Tower swallows cloud in Your endless waiting. Years I have run the edges of Your world Yet quietly my destruction You disdain. Call to the stars shining out the full moon, One blast of Your horn draws my soul back home. In Your sublunar shrine springs from Annwn Pour a cauldron of infinite wisdom. Daughters of Avalon dance at its ridge. Their shadows twist to the roaring song. I see You, White Keeper of Time and Mist, Watching patiently beyond mortal bonds. The moment rings clear as Your guidance sure: Let the words be spoke and the path be walked.
Hail Gwyn ap Nudd, King of Spirits! (January 26th 2013)
I wrote this sonnet ten years ago following my initial dedication to my patron God, Gwyn ap Nudd, at the White Spring beneath Glastonbury Tor. It was a magical and transformative moment and has changed and shaped my life.
My service to him as his awenydd ‘person inspired’ has gifted me with meaning and purpose beyond the rules and norms of this world. I’ve written three books for Him and the other Gods and Goddesses of ancient Britain and the spirits of the land along with countless poems, stories, and articles.
My relationship with Him continues to lead ever deeper into Annwn and into His mysteries. To getting to know myself better and more wonderfully to know Him. Most recently it has led to me becoming a nun of Annwn.
To mark the occasion my friend Aurora J Stone* made me some prayer beads. They are the colours of Annwn – howlite (white), carnelian (red) and onyx (black) and feature animals and symbols I associate with Gwyn. A hound, a horse, an owl, a raven, a spiral and a star. Aurora lives near Wells and very kindly laid them out on Glastonbury Tor to pick up some of its energy and sent some leaves and twigs from the tor when she posted the package. Receiving them around this time felt symbolic of the completion of a ten year journey.
Last night I journeyed with Gwyn to see what lies ahead. I can’t disclose what He showed me yet but His main message was that I must go ‘beyond the expected’.
This spoke to my fears about my series of books focusing on Gwyn’s story from origins to end being less accessible to my existing audience because they go beyond known Brythonic lore into personal gnosis and the realms of fiction. His words reassured me that this is exactly what I need to do. It also seemed meaningful that I recalled it was on my initial dedication day He appeared to me as a black dragon and that deciphering how Gwyn ‘White’ takes this form is one of the mysteries behind me writing these books.
I cannot guess what the next ten years might hold but ‘beyond the expected’ sounds like an exciting prospect.
*You can find Aurora’s writing online at ‘Grey Bear in the Middle’ HERE.
Day Eleven of Twelve Days of Devotion to Gwyn ap Nudd
I come this eleventh day to consider Your cauldron and how it will not boil a coward’s food.
“Why, then,” I ask, “do You allow me to eat from it when so many times I have failed to live up to the demands of the world, to match up to its worthy warriors and bards?”
You tell me that I “lack not courage but confidence” and remind me that everything I believe in I have done –
I have stood and recited poems for You before a world that once derided You as a devil and now derides only those who dare speak openly about their religion in public.
I have climbed mountains, run half marathons, forded a river in leaking waders. Ascended Glastonbury Tor in torrential rain in the dead of night to gift to You the first book I ever published.
I have stood before Your cauldron made my dedication to You.
I have fled the world, but I have not fled from You, my God.
I pray that You, Your cauldron, will grant me the courage to face my fears.
Day Nine of Twelve Days of Devotion to Gwyn ap Nudd
On this ninth day I consider Your doors.
How they are without number yet You can name every one of them.
How I searched for Your doors but could not find them until I stopped looking
and You opened a door and galloped through.
Since then I have known all manner of doors in many places – seen and unseen, in caves, springs, trees, walls, holes in the sky, hell holes, gates guarded by fierce hounds
yet I have found the best of doors is always an open heart.
The Sanctuary of Vindos 