The wind is blowing. The Reaper is busy with His scythe. After my insights about being more of a hermit than a nun a whisper on the wind, ‘Sister Patience must die.’ Three years ago I took temporary vows by this name as a nun of Annwn and, as the time comes to renew them approaches, I realise I will not be taking them again this year. Instead I must surrender this name, this identity, disrobing over the next few weeks, then giving it entirely back to Gwyn, from whom it came, on His feast day on September the 29th. I have learned many lessons and received many blessings from this name. Hopefully some of the virtues of Sister Patience will live on as I return to my birth name and continue to serve Gwyn as a hermit and shamanic practitioner.
I’ve recently spent a week in retreat and a huge insight came up as I was contemplating why I’m struggling to feel I’m of value and to stand in my truth as a nun, not only in polytheist and shamanic groups but in my local community.
I realised this is firstly because I’m not a cloistered nun and secondly that, although I’ve tried on the role of a lay nun, this doesn’t truly fit either. I’m not naturally a community person. I’m not naturally an active. I’m not smily and sociable. This is not only because I’m autistic and struggle with social anxiety but because my soul has a deep need for solitude and silence – it hurts when that state of being is broken by the social demands for polite conversation and small talk.
One sign that I was forcing myself to do the wrong thing by trying to be a community person was the problems I experienced when I tried running in-person shamanic circles (something I felt I should do but was not told to by my Gods). I had to cancel the first one at Galloways, a lovely venue that was formerly a home for the blind, due to the extremely cold weather in January. After this, the numbers were good for one circle, then dwindled, meaning we couldn’t afford the room. When I tried co-organising another at the Education Hut in Greencroft Valley, where I’ve been conservation volunteering for thirteen years, it was very stressful due to being weather-dependent as based in a woodland and was called off due to a storm.
Ok, I admitted to the Gods, I’m not meant to be running in-person circles. If I don’t listen next time, you’ll send something worse than cold and ice and a minor storm. In retrospect, I could see they were safeguarding me from the stress of organising people to do things (my main trigger for burnout) along with the discomforts of making small talk at the beginning and end and co-ordinating the group drumming (which really hurt my head!). I realised I’d be able to mask for a certain amount of time, but long term, the attendees would perceive how uncomfortable I am in community.
As I sat with these thoughts, I received the gnosis ‘the truth is I’m a hermit’. It’s risen from within before and has been repeated by the people who really know me. I’ve shrugged it off again and again as I haven’t felt hermit-like enough. I run an online monastery. I’m training to be a shamanic practitioner. I go to the gym.
When I looked into this, I found there were no rules that prevented a hermit from going to the gym. Most hermits are expected to support themselves by work that fits with leading a prayerful solitary life, and being a shamanic practitioner does. And it is possible for a hermit to found and run a monastery that accommodates an eremitic lifestyle as exemplified by St Romauld and the Camaldolese order.
So, I realised, I can be a hermit nun. This thought made me feel incredibly happy and at peace with myself. It made me think of all the times I’ve drawn the Hooded Man in the Wildwood Tarot, ‘my old friend’, and felt the deepest of kinships.
Finally, I can stand in my truth when people ask me what I do without feeling I need to put on pretences to be a smily sociable lay nun but can explain I am a hermit nun and that silence and solitude are intrinsic to my role.
For the first time in my life, my nature and vocation are at one.
Oh Hooded Man, my old friend, what have you come to say? In solitude and silence cloaked dark and familiar on a spring day?
~
After two years of solitude focusing on my writing my shamanic work has led me out into the community again. I’ve really enjoyed guiding individuals and groups into the Otherworlds in one-to-one sessions and shamanic circles. Offering shamanic healings is magical work that fits perfectly with my calling as a nun of Annwn dedicated to Gwyn and makes my soul sing.
However, I’ve discovered that, as an autistic person and introvert who needs a set routine (my natural circadian rhythyms work best on 4.30am get-ups and 8.30am bed times) I can only cope with such intense interpersonal interaction in the daytime. I tried shifting my timings half an hour to 5am and 9pm to make it easier to attend and run groups in the evenings. Yet when I did, I found I was getting overstimulated, unable to sleep, then when I slept, waking up early with my mind whirring desperately trying to process the events. As a knock-on effect I was coming to dread late groups and that was causing additional sleep loss. Running a shamanic circle each month locked me into a monthly cycle of anxiety and sleep deprivation. Thus, although it was sad, it was also a relief when due to not having enough numbers to pay for the room, I was forced to close Penwortham Shamanic Circle.
As an alternative to evenings I thought about running weekend groups as I wanted to provide opportunities to practice shamanism to working people. As an experiment I tried attending a seasonal creative workshop on a Sunday but in spite of it being really thoughtfully put together and well run struggled with the shift in routine. It made me realise how much I need weekends after working with clients during the week. Once-upon-a-time my Saturday wind-down was drinking a bottle of wine and writing drunken poetry but more recently I’ve replaced that with playing the heartbeat of Annwn for Gwyn for an hour then entering deep relaxation through an hour of body scan meditation or Yoga Nidra. This provides me with a much-needed nervous system resest before I spend Sunday continuing to recharge by praying, meditating, cleaning and going for a local walk or a swim. Attending an event on a Sunday made me stressed all Saturday and unable to benefit from my wind-down then resentful on Sunday as I couldn’t have my alone time. This made me realise that weekends aren’t going to work for me either.
I’ve been trying to force myself to do things against need for solitude and routine for several reasons. One is that I have been trying to follow as role models shamanic practitioners who have succeeded in making a living from their work by running evening shamanic circles and weekend workshops. Another is, although I’m not naturally a community builder, I have mistakenly stepped into the role of attempting to build community in the hope this will establish a foundation for my one-to-one work. The last is financial insecurity – feeling that if I can provide more opportunities for more people I will be more likely to make a living from my shamanic services.
By trying to copy others I’ve not only gone against my own nature but forgotten there are other models available. In the Brythonic tradition the awenyddion ‘people inspired’ (our native soothsayers / spiritworkers / shamans) appear to be hermits, edge dwellers, who were occasionally consulted by the community for prophecies spoken through possession by spirits. One of my spirit guides, who I consider to be an ancestor of spirit, Orddu, lived alone in a cave in Pennant Gofid ‘the Valley of Grief’ in ‘the uplands of Hell’ and was referred to as a gwrach ‘witch’ likely on account of her practicing spiritwork / shamanism inspired by Gwyn and the spirits of Annwn. Myrddin Wyllt is another prophetic figure who lived a hermitic life as a wildman in the forest of Celyddion and only occasionally appeared to prophecy.
I have a print-out of the Hooded Man from the Wildwood Tarot on my wall to remind me to honour my need for solitude. He’s been absent from my tarot readings of late and it’s unsurprising he has reappeared at this point in time. I have taken this as a sign that I need to better balance my monastic need for solitude and routine with my outward-facing vocation of doing shamanic work.
The Sanctuary of Vindos 