A poetry collection charting the story of a personal alchemy and learning how to love based around my sacred marriage to my patron God, Gwyn ap Nudd, as Sister Patience of the Heart of Annwn.
Published posthumously as a way of saying a final goodbye to Sister Patience at summer’s end HERE.
Whilst watching the Carmelcast Podcast on Youtube for its discussions on prayer I noticed the hosts introducing themselves as Brother John Mary of Jesus Crucified and Brother Pier Georgio of Christ the King. This alerted me to the fact many monastics not only take a monastic name but add a dedication to an aspect of their Deity or religion. Other examples include Saint Elizabeth of the Trinity and Sister Mary of the Divine Heart.
Thus I meditated on what aspect of Gwyn or my tradition I’d dedicate myself to. I considered firstly our Monastery of Annwn Nine Faces of Gwyn – Gwyn the Warrior, Gwyn the Hunter, Gwyn the Lover, Gwyn the Dreamer, Gwyn the Inspirer, Gwyn the Reaper, Gwyn the Gatherer, Gwyn the Unknown.
Ten years back I might have chosen Gwyn the Inspirer. As a trainee shamanic practitioner practicing soul retrieval I wondered if Gwyn the Gatherer (of souls) might be apt but it didn’t feel right. I felt drawn to Gwyn the Unknown but that didn’t feel quite right either.
I then contemplated aspects of our tradition such as the Awen. Not as important in my life as it was once was. I gave up and went upstairs to the bathroom and on my way saw what should have been obvious considering that central to our monastery is the Rule of the Heart – the Heart of Annwn. I saw and felt it beating in the depths of the Otherworld and within my own heart.
“Will you dedicate yourself to the mysteries of my Sacred Heart?” Gwyn asked.
Returning to meditation I agreed and for the first time Gwyn took me into His heart.
There is a black butterfly in Your heart.
I cannot decipher the meaning
on a bright spring morning
when the May flowers blossom
and all the hawthorns are in bloom.
There is a black butterfly in Your heart.
I cannot decipher the meaning
at midday when the sun burns bright
and Maponos strums a song on His harp
with chords of sunlight brighter than the fires of Bel.
There is a black butterfly in Your heart.
I cannot decipher the meaning
at sunset as the blackbirds sing
the sun down and burning happy dancers dance
and talk and do the things that people do.
There is a black butterfly in Your heart.
I cannot decipher the meaning
until midnight comes and I follow
the funeral procession of the sun into darkness.
Until I walk with the dead sun into the depths of the Otherworld.
~
“Dead sun, dead sun, what are we doing here,
what are we doing here in this darkness,
darker than the dark side of the moon,
darker than the dark side of the sun?
“Dead sun, dead sun, what are we doing here,
what are we doing here in this silence,
more silent than the silence
when the King of Annwn died
and Maponos ceased to play His harp?
“Dead sun, dead sun, what are we doing here,
what are we doing here in this stillness
stiller than the places between
the dance-steps of His faery dancers,
the hoofbeats of the horses of His hunt,
the spaces between the beats of His heart?”
“Come deeper, come deeper,” says the dead sun,
“beneath the world’s chatter and words and images
that paint butterfly colours, come deeper, come deeper.”
~
The dead sun takes me to Your tomb in the Castle of Cold Stone.
Reminds me of how Your castle fell from the skies of Annwn,
circling four-cornered, from the songs of the mead-feast,
from the revelry, from the boiling of the cauldron,
from the passing of the mead-cup,
down, down, down,
into the Abyss,
into the place between
the end and the beginning of life and death,
the end and beginning of words and of worlds…
~
You’re dead – there are no words to express my sorrow.
You’re alive, only sleeping, there are no words to express my hope.
You’re dressed in black as if ready to attend Your own funeral.
Your hair is white and silver as the light of the moon
and the hairs in the manes and tails of the horses of Your hunt.
And Your heart, Your heart is red as the reddest
of the roses of Your queen who forever betrays You on May the first.
For You I plant five red roses in Annwn and a single rose above.
~
For you I sit here in the darkness, the silence, the stillness.
I listen to Your breath and the beating of Your heart.
At first it is felt, not heard, not seen.
Then I hear it, then I see it –
the dark flutter of the butterfly in Your heart.
“What is this? What is this?” My heart flutters in concern.
“Why has a black butterfly come to abide
in the heart of the King of Annwn,
the heart of the Otherworld?”
“Worry not.” Even death does not faze You.
You do not speak like a corpse
but like the most living of the living
and the brightest light in Annwn’s darkness.
“You are the black butterfly who flaps her wings in my heart.”
~
“Did You hear that?” I ask the dead sun.
The dead sun has already fled – it is morning.
“Did You hear that?” I ask Maponos.
He has already gone to play His harp.
We’re alone now, my King and I, butterfly and heart,
in the darkness, in the silence, in the solitude,
for a moment before the world’s call forces us to part.
I created this painting at a Beltane focused seasonal creative workshop with Two Birds Therapy and wrote the poem afterwards. It’s based on the dichotomy I always feel at this time of year between the beauty and energy of nature and the sadness of Gwyn’s death and my need to be alone with Him whilst others are celebrating. The black butterfly was the result of a mistake wherein I tried to make Gwyn’s heart redder but instead smudged black into it. For me this gave the piece its meaning.
A place of quiet beyond the row,
the heartbeat of Annwn
is Your only sound,
the occasional song rising
like heartbreak from the Deep.
To keep me safe Your invisible roses twine around.
Your forget-me-nots remind me
of the King of Annwn in the summer.
Into You I am gathered by the Gatherer of Souls.
In You, with my Beloved, I am at home.
In You I can heal and I can heal others too.
Into You I gather the lost pieces of our souls.
In You I am complete in every single moment.
In You I can breathe every single breath.
In You my heartbeat is at one
with the heartbeat of Annwn – the heart of my Lord.
So hold me here, until I die, my sacred home.
I have an announcement to make. A happy announcement. One that may come to you partly as a surprise and partly not at all (as it did to me).
Gwyn and I got married! – A sacred marriage between a God and a nun of Annwn.
The moment Gwyn and I met and He revealed His name and His face I fell in love with Him and knew that I’d known Him from time’s beginning.
It’s taken a long time for me understand the nature of that love, which has taken many forms – of the love between patron and devotee, of teacher and apprentice, of inspirer and inspired one, of truth and one who receives truths.
For many years that we might be beloveds – married as bride and groom, husband and wife – was completely unthinkable to me as someone who is asexual and aromantic and found the language of love soppy and sentimental.
Another reason is that although Gwyn saved my life and my sanity and has been there for me through the toughest of times it’s taken me a while to become open to the possibility that He cares about me let alone loves me.
This changed when I had my first soul retrieval with my spiritual mentor, shamanic practitioner and wild therapist Jayne Johnson, in March. Jayne knew Gwyn is my patron God but didn’t know the meaning of Gwyn ap Nudd, ‘White son of Mist’ or His earlier name Vindos / Vindonnus ‘White / Clear Light’ or about His associations with Gwynfyd, ‘Paradise’.
Before we began Gwyn told me He would oversee the soul retrieval and I told Jayne. The landscapes she journeyed were covered with mist and she came across an area of thick mist and an incredibly bright light and felt confused – like she was in the upperworld although she was in the lowerworld. The mist revealed an ancestor who led her to my lost soul part – the young girl who had fled the trauma of school to the stables. Gwyn appeared to carry her back and Jayne blew her into my heart. The experience was incredibly moving and I was astonished to learn Gwyn cared.
This tied in with my experiences of the Heart of Annwn as Gwyn’s Sacred Heart. Of my playing a heartbeat on my drum every night to unite my heart with His and with my offering my heart to Gwyn several years ago and its travails in fire and ice before Him returning it to me on His feast day last year.
More recently attending a shamanic workshop in London led me to discovering the Tyburn Convent and the Christian mystics whose experiences of the Sacred Heart of Jesus related to mine with the Sacred Heart of Gwyn. In the writings of these Brides of Christ I found descriptions of sacred marriage as a spiritual union that was neither sexual or romantic.
At the workshop, for the first time, I practiced being possessed by my spirits – my winged horse, my hounds, my crows, Orddu and all her ancestors. My teacher, Simon Buxton, described this as a form of sacred marriage / hieros gamos.
When I returned home, Gwyn asked, “Why have you denied me?”
I could provide no answer beyond my fears of that kind of intimacy with a God so intense, so terrifying, so beautiful and of what other people might think.
On Nos Galan Mai He asked the question: “Will you marry me in life and in death?”
Knowing I couldn’t deny my love for Him, His for me any longer, I said “Yes.”
On Nos Galan Mai we got married in life. An amusing side story – how I got the ring. Many years ago I was told to get a ring as an offering for the river Defwy, a river in Wales that is also a Brythonic river of the dead, and found a fitting ring with a black stone in a charity shop. It turned out I never visited. Gwyn admitted it was a trick as I would never have got the ring otherwise. It turns out it fits perfectly on my wedding finger – He knew I’d marry Him then!
After Gwyn fought his yearly battle with Gwythyr on Calan Mai and died and returned to sleep in His tomb in His Castle of Cold Stone I married Him in death. This took place as the finale of a shamanic burial ritual. I have rewritten the Yorkshire folk ballad, Scarborough Fair (in which a woman completes impossible tasks to win a fairy lover), loosely based on my experiences.
The Land of the Fair
Chorus:
Are you going to the Land of the Fair
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Remember me to one who lived there
For she once was a true love of mine
Verses:
Tell her to build us a coffin of wood
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
From no tree that ever has stood
And she will be a true love of mine
Tell her to dig the deepest of graves
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Without a pick axe or a spade
And she will be a true love of mine
Tell her to seal our burial tomb
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Without hammer or nails return to the womb
And she will be a true love of mine
I can’t say anything else about our sacred marriage in life and death only that as the final result of it Gwyn has become ‘the Heart of the my Heart’. He is within me, me within Him, like in the mystical unions of the Brides of Christ.
My heart has been opened to Gwyn, through this opening to others, to the nuptial spirituality of the Mystics of the Sacred Heart and fellow godspouses.
I am now happily married as a nun of Annwn and Bride of Gwyn.
Through addiction and anxiety,
anger and jealousy
to the Altar of the Heart
I come to make my offering again.
This time You accept it and say:
“May its fire light the way
to the worship of my family.”
I wrote the words above a few years ago when I offered my heart to Gwyn on an altar in meditation (I’d tried once before and that time He rejected it!).
Since then my heart has been with Gwyn in the Otherworld. I first saw it again around six months ago in a shamanic journey in an icy pool thawing out.
In a meditation for Gwyn’s Feast with the Monastery of Annwn last September Gwyn returned my heart and said that the Heart of Annwn now beats in my chest as it beats in the chests of all living creatures.
When I returned to those words in my prayer book and looked at the image it was no longer my heart on the altar but Gwyn’s and I received the gnosis that if I succeed in founding a physical monastery He wants an altar to His heart.
This happened after I finished my ‘Mystics of the Sacred Heart’ series. It seems that an exchange of hearts of sorts has happened between us after all.
Through my recent visit to London and to the Tyburn Convent I found out about the Roman Catholic devotion to the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus. I have since been reading further on the subject and have been astonised by the parallels between my gnosis of Gwyn’s heart as the Heart of Annwn and the experiences of the Christian mystics of the sacred heart.
In this series I will be sharing the story of the origins of the devotion to the Sacred Heart and discussing how the visions of these mystics relate to my experiences.
*
The devotion to the Sacred Heart originated from the devotion to the Sacred Wounds of Jesus. There were five in total. The first four were the wounds to His hands and feet from the nails when He was crucified. The fifth was the wound in His side from the Spear of Longinus by which He was pierced to ensure He was dead. From this wound poured blood and sweat.
Associations between the Sacred Wounds and the Sacred Heart began in the Benedictine and Cistercian monasteries in the 11th – 12th centuries. In Sermon 61 St Bernard of Clairvaux (1090 – 1153) speaks of ‘the soul of the martyr’ being ‘safe’ ‘in the heart of Jesus whose wounds were opened to let it in’. (1)
In the 13th century, in ‘With You is the Source of Life’, St Bonaventure (1221 – 1274) wrote: ‘“They shall look on him whom they pierced”. The blood and water, which poured out at that moment, were the price of our salvation. Flowing from the secret abyss of our Lord’s heart as from a fountain, this stream gave the sacraments of the Church the power to confer the life of grace, while for those already living in Christ it became a spring of living water welling up to life everlasting.’ (2)
The last of Christ’s lifeblood was seen as pouring as an offfering from His heart. This resonates with my vision Gwyn showed me of His death, pierced by a spear, in raven form, hanging upside down on a yew over the Abyss in a sacrifice in which He gave every last drop of His blood to ‘set the world to rights’ following the devastation wrecked by his battling with His rival, Lleu / Gwythyr.
In a follow-up story I wrote Mabon won a cup containing Gwyn’s blood from the Abyss and used it to heal Nudd, Gwyn’s father, ‘the Fisher King’. It is interesting to note that abyss imagery occurs in the writings of Bonaventure.
It seems no coincidence that in a later legend the blood and sweat of Jesus was taken in the Holy Grail by Joseph of Arimathea to Britain and buried near Glastonbury Tor – a site sacred to Gwyn. When Joseph rested wearily on his staff the Glastonbury Thorn sprung up giving name to Wearyall Hill.
In my visions when Gwyn is killed by His rival on Calan Mai the hawthorns blossom from His blood. Could the Christian legend be based on an earlier myth wherein a cup containing the blood from Gwyn’s Sacred Heart was buried?
REFERENCES
(1) ‘Sacred Heart of Jesus – Part One’, Knights of the Precious Blood, https://www.kofpb.org/2020/05/06/sacred-heart-of-jesus-part-1-history-of-the-devotion/
(2) Sister Julie Anne Sheahan, ‘Call includes Consecration to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, Franciscan Sisters, https://fscc-calledtobe.org/2022/06/23/call-includes-consecration-to-the-sacred-heart-of-jesus
Over the past few years the Heart of Annwn has become increasingly important in the mythos Gwyn has gifted me and in my devotional practices.
For me, the Heart of Annwn is Gwyn’s heart, inherited from His mother, Anrhuna, Mother of Annwn, and also the ever-beating heart of Annwn itself.
I believe that, like Hades and Hades, Hel and Hel, are both Deities and Otherworlds, Gwyn, who is associated with Gwynfyd is one with His land as well.
The Heart of Annwn literally became the heart of my practice two years ago when I began playing its beat and chanting to align myself with Gwyn’s heartbeat. This led to the formulation of the Rule of the Heart within the Monastery of Annwn – following our hearts in alignment with the Heart of Annwn.
In this post I will be sharing two of the core stories of the Heart of Annwn.
*
The Heart of the Dragon Mother
Gwyn has shown me that the Heart of Annwn once beat in the chest of His mother, Anrhuna, the Mother of Annwn, when She was a nine-headed dragon. When She was slain Vindos / Gwyn ate Her heart. The Heart of Annwn became His and this gave Him sovereignty over Annwn as King.
“Now,” the ghost of Anrhuna turned to her corpse, “there is a rite amongst the dragons of Annwn – as you are the only one of my children left here you must eat my heart.”
The boy swallowed nervously as with a single bite of her ghost jaws she tore it from her chest and offered it to him, big and bloody, large and slippery, uncannily still beating. “My heart is the Heart of Annwn. If you succeed in eating it all, its power will be yours and you will be king.”
“But it is so much bigger than I and I have little appetite.”
“Little bite by little bite and you will be king.”
The boy very much wanted to be king. He needed his kingship within him. He bared his teeth and bit in, took one bite, then another. As he ate, he grew. He became a mighty wolf, a raging bull, a bull-horned man, a horned serpent, finally, a black dragon. As he tore and devoured the last pieces of the heart he spread his wings to fill the darkest reaches of the Deep. He roared, “I am King of Annwn! I will rule the dead! I will build my kingdom from the bones of dead dragons and the light of dead stars! I will bring joy to every serpent who has known sorrow and I will take vengeance on my enemies!”
Weary and full he slept and when he awoke he was just a boy with a large heart that felt too big for his body.
*
The Hidden Heart
In another story, in which Arthur raids Annwn, killing the King of Annwn and stealing His cauldron, Gwyn instructs His beloved, Creiddylad, to cut His heart from His chest and help hide it so that Arthur cannot take the Heart of Annwn.
Gwyn gave Creiddylad a Knife. “Cut my heart from my chest. Give it to my winged messengers and tell them to hide it in a place that even I could never find It.”
“Do what?”
“I will not die.”
“Worse – you will be heartless.”
One of my practices around this story was receiving the honour of finding Gwyn’s heart and returning it to Him and helping Him to return to life.
‘I knew it was a death unlike any other
but still I heard the beating
of your heart…
Your hounds dug wildly beneath trees,
bloodying their frantic paws
to find only the hearts of
dead badgers,
sniffed suspiciously at the edge of pools
where I searched through reeds
as if looking for a baby
in the bulrushes,
plunged in
and emerged draped in duck-weed.
We snatched a still-beating heart
from a bear’s claws (not yours).
We searched every cave for a heart-shaped box.
When we found one
and the keys to the lock
inside was only a locket and a love letter in an illegible hand.
When we had searched everywhere in Annwn
we rode across Thisworld following
your fading heart beat.
We found your heart in the unlikeliest of places.
Clutching it tightly, fearing every time it skipped a beat,
we galloped back to Annwn with our hearts
beating just as wildly.
Through the fortresses within fortresses…
Into your empty chest we placed your still-beating heart.’
*
Gwyn has revealed a lot about the Heart of Annwn and I believe there is more to come. Recently I had a vision of Gwyn as a black dragon with His heart visible in His chest bearing an important message. He appears in this form when He brings tidings for the future. What will be the future of the Heart of Annwn? What stories from the past remain to be disclosed? I share what I know with gratitude and await further revealings.
I didn’t go to Tyburn to ‘go to Tyburn’. (1) I went to London to attend an introductory weekend as a prerequisite to a three year shamanic healing course. But I ended up staying in a hotel in Tyburn as it was relatively cheap. When I visit a place I like to do a bit of historical research before I go and have a map of the land past and present to help me connect with the spirits and this what I found out.
The Tyburn Tree
The dark but now absent centre of this place is the infamous Tyburn tree. It was the King’s Gallows from 1196 to 1783. It has also been known as the Elms, the Deadly Never Green Tyburn Tree and the Triple Tree (because it was a wooden triangle on three legs – a ‘three legged mare’ or ‘three legged stool’). The triangular traffic island where it once stood mirrors its structure.
All manner of criminals were executed there by being hanged, drawn, then quartered. Many of the victims were religious people of the Catholic faith – friars, priors, abbots, monks and hermits, who resisted King Henry VIII’s separation of the Church of England from legal ties to the Catholic Church and papal authority of Rome and the dissolution of the monasteries.
The Carthusian Martyrs, 18 monastics of the Carthusian Order from the London Charterhouse, were executed between 1535 and 1537. As a result of the Lincolnshire Rising, the Pilgrimage of Grace and Bigod’s Rebellion over 250 rebels met their deaths again including large numbers of monastics. Many were northerners, such as the bowbearer of the Forest of Bowland, and people from my home county, Lancashire, joined the rebellions.
This had meaning for me as a polytheistic monastic because these Catholics were standing for the freedom to practice their religion and to continue to lead monastic lives. The anglicisation of the church and dissolution of the monasteries removed much of the mysticism and sanctity from Christianity in England.
Tyburn Convent
In 1901 the Tyburn Convent was established near the site of the Tyburn Tree with a shrine to the Tyburn Martyrs. This order of Benedictine nuns was founded by Mother Marie Adèle Garnier as the Adorers of the Sacred Heart of Jesus of Montmartre in Paris in 1898. When the nuns were forced to leave due to restrictions on monasteries in France they made their home in London.
What is unique and beautiful about their tradition is their perpetual adoration of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. What this entails is that, at all times, day and night, at least one nun is kneeling before the eucharist worshipping Jesus’s heart.
Mother Marie is ‘honoured and remembered’ for her ‘ardent love of Christ’, ‘her heroic love of God and neighbour, her spirit of prayer, divine contemplation, rich mystical and spiritual doctrine, humility, obedience, patience, simplicity and purity of heart, and above all for her spirit of total self-abandon to the Holy Will of God, which she declared to be her unique good.’ (2)
This is one of her prayers –
‘O blessed portion! Lot worthy of envy!
My heart is ready, O Lord, my heart is ready!
Here I am, speak, act, inflame me,
unite me to Yourself!
O Mary, O my tender Mother
entrust me to Jesus,
love hidden in the adorable Eucharist.
Henceforth make my life
become a repeating with you:
I look for nothing other than Him…
I know only Him alone…
Jesus, my soul is thirsting for You
so unite it to Your Heart
that no longer may I be able to live without You.’ (3)
When the nuns make their act of consecration they speak a prayer that has been spoken in their communities since Pope Leo XIII consecrated the world to the Sacred Heart of Jesus on the 11th of June 1899.
‘Lord Jesus, Redeemer of the human race,
look down upon us humbly prostrate before Your altar.
Yours we are, and Yours we wish to be;
but to be more surely united with You,
behold we freely consecrate ourselves today to Your Most Sacred Heart.
Many, indeed, have never known You;
many, too, despising your precepts, have rejected You.
Have mercy on them all, most merciful Jesus,
and draw them to Your Sacred Heart…’ (4)
The Sacred Heart and Healing
I had never come across the perpetual adoration of the Sacred Heart of Jesus before. It resonated deeply with me because over the past few years my patron God, Gwyn ap Nudd, has revealed His heart to be the Heart of Annwn, which He inherited from His mother, Anrhuna, the Mother of Annwn.
My personal practice has increasingly involved devotion to the Heart of Annwn. Keeping the heart beat by drumming and chanting. Meditating, journeying on and recording the stories gifted to me about Gwyn’s Sacred Heart.
Before I set off to London I was instructed by my guides to make a pilgrimage walk to the Tyburn Tree and the Tyburn Convent. I was told I must take ‘purity, grace and the pain of the dead’ in a small obsidian spearhead I was gifted by a fellow nun of Annwn and leave it as an offering.
I did this on the first day in the early evening after I left the course. I was disappointed to find the stone and three young oak trees put there in 2014 to mark the site of the Tyburn tree had been removed. I can only guess this was done because people were hanging about the site or leaving offerings. In spite of the rush of traffic and people I paused and spoke some prayers then made my offering at the foot of the London Plane tree on the island.
I went to the Tyburn Convent and paused to pay my respects to the Tyburn Martyrs and shared my gratitude for the work of the nuns and gained a sense of release and peace and of our unity in the adoration of the Sacred Heart.
When I got back to my hotel room, although I didn’t have my drum, I played the beat of the Heart of Annwn on my knee, sung one of my chants, again imagining my offering of song as uniting with the devotion of the Tyburn Nuns.
My weekend course, The Shaman’s Pathway, with Simon Buxton of the Sacred Trust, was profoundly moving and deeply healing. Whilst the first day was more introductory on the second day we practiced ecstatic union with our spirits, healing each other, and the culimination was a powerful group healing ceremony in which I was honoured to take the role of drummer.
In the following of my heart, in alignment with Gwyn’s heart, the Heart of Annwn, I feel healing has taken place and I have received confirmation I’m on the right path in pursuing the three year training to become a shamanic healer.
(1) ‘Going to Tyburn’ or ‘taking a ride to Tyburn’ are metaphors for being hanged.
(2) https://www.tyburnconvent.org.uk/site.php?menuaccess=161
(3) https://www.tyburnconvent.org.uk/site.php?menuaccess=240
(4) https://www.tyburnconvent.org.uk/site.php?id=234
the mountains would stop talking to each other,
the hills would lose their nerve and flee,
the rivers would stop rushing down,
turn their tides to the source,
vanish back to Annwn,
and the sea, oh the vast sea!
The mournful waves would lose their songs,
the sea-horses their nostrils of foam and proud crests.
Water would be water no longer and salt would not be salt.
There would be nothing to quench our thirst or cleanse our wounds.
With the marching trees we would be rootless vagabonds
for the snakes beneath our houses and the serpents
beneath our towerblocks would shake
the foundations tear them down.
The animals would run away
through the caves and cracks in the earth
and all the fish would disappear into the Lune Deep
and the birds would fly away on the winds before the sky
did his thing of crashing down like a fallen bird or a fallen wrestler.
If Your heart ceased to beat oh Gatherer of Souls,
would our hearts too not cease to beat?
Then who would gather us?
Oh lonely lonely souls!
Grateful are we that on the moment
of Your death Your heart skips but one beat
then continues to beat in Your sleep and in Your dreams.
*A poem for Gwyn ap Nudd on Calan Mai when He loses His battle for Creiddylad to Gwythyr and ‘dies’ and retreats to Annwn to sleep for the summer.
The Sanctuary of Vindos 