This Dark Night

Vindos Vindos Vindos
by the Winter Wind
I call to You

Vindos Vindos Vindos
Father of Night
oh hear my cry

Vindos Vindos Vindos
in the darkness
make me one with You

Vindos Vindos Vindos
heal my wounds
on this dark night

Audio HERE

*A chant to Vindos for all those in need of healing over the dark moon and winter solstice period.

Prayer to Vindos for Clear Sight

Vindos God of Clear Light
grant to me Your Clear Sight.
Free me from the fog of self-deception
and remind me of my deathless nature.

Audio HERE.

~

This prayer, which can also be sung as a chant, is based on the famous Hindu Mahamrityunjaya ‘Great Death-Conquering’ Mantra HERE – a prayer to Shiva for liberation from our attachments to ignorance and untruth and a reminder of our immortality. When I was studying yoga with the Mandala Ashram I sung it for 20 minutes every week. I have started singing this prayer / chant to Vindos for 20 minutes each morning for clearer vision as I face a difficult period after giving up being Sister Patience.

Black poplars who do you grieve?

We have not the myth of a son
of the sun who got burnt
by the sun and fell.

When Maponos
stole the horses of Bel
and rode skywards to the horror
of His mother He did not come to grief.

Although Maponos burned He was not burnt.

He returned instead alive and ablaze,
replenished, youth renewed,
as the Sun-Child.

So, why, black poplars, do You grieve?

Do You grieve because Your brother lives?
Do You grieve because You are jealous?
Do You grieve because You got no grief?

Or is there a story of another brother?

A forgotten son of Matrona,
daughter of the King of Annwn,
who mounted a black horse and rode
after the black sun when it set and sunk
to the depths of the Underworld?

Did He drown in a black lake?
Was He eaten by a black dragon?
Or does He still wander lost in sorrow
through a labyrinth unillumined
by the rays of the black sun?

Poor brothers, did You search 
for Him and almost lose yourselves?
Did You get trapped in a dark prison
and scrape Your bloody fingers
against the walls and weep?

If so, how did You get here?

Did You ride with the black sun
or with the King of Annwn on the back
of His black horse who carries lost souls?

Did He plant You here, He and His Queen,
with labyrinthine roots winding down?

Did He seal Your tears deep within?

Did He kiss Your fingers like His Bride’s,
tuck them into a yellow bud
to emerge again
only in the spring to reach
not for the black sun but the love of a mate?

Did He bring You here to tell me when
I grieve my fingers are not talons
to scrape the walls
and my tears are not sap
to entrap the insects who get in their way?

Did He bring You here so I could learn
from Your clawing, Your crying,
my clawing, my weeping,
to turn my grief inward in winter
and then, in spring, to reach out in love?


*This poem is addressed to the two black poplars who stand at the source of Fish House Brook, near to the Sanctuary of Vindos, in my hometown of Penwortham. The photograph is of one of the fallen catkins, taken in spring 2022, not quite emerged.

An Introduction to Vindos / Gwyn ap Nudd

I am writing this article for those who are new to the Sanctuary of Vindos and for those who have been following me for a while who might enjoy reading an article that brings together my research on Vindos / Gwyn in one place. 

Vindos

Vindos is the reconstructed Proto-Celtic name of the medieval Welsh God, Gwyn ap Nudd, ‘White son of Mist’. It stems from the root *Windo ‘White’ (1). It is possible that Vindos was worshipped at Vindolanda ‘the Land of White Springs’ (a Roman auxiliary fort on Hadrian’s Wall) and, like His father, Nodens (2), more widely across Britain during the prehistoric and Romano-British periods. 

From Gwyn’s role as a ruler of Annwn ‘Very Deep’ (the Brythonic Otherworld / Underworld) and gatherer of souls, we might derive that Vindos, too, ruled the chthonic regions and was associated with the dead.

It’s my personal intuition that the chalk God found at the bottom of a ritual shaft in Kent and recorded by Miranda Aldhouse Green might be Vindos: 

‘At the bottom of this shaft… all some 2.5 metres deep, was an oval chamber containing a complete figurine, composed of a featureless block of dressed chalk from which rises a long, slender neck and a head with a well-carved, very Celtic face. This figure may have stood in a niche high up in one wall of the chamber… Pottery would indicate a first or second-century AD date’ (3).

It is possible that prehistoric burial monuments with stonework made from chalk and limestone, described by Rodney Castleden as ‘bone-white buildings… temple-tombs… sharply defined with deep boundaries and blinding chalk-domes visible for many miles,’ (4) were associated with Vindos.

Vindos might be equated with the Gaulish Vindonnus ‘Clear Light, White’. According to James McKillop, Vindonnus was worshipped at ‘a site coextensive with Essarois in Burgundy, eastern France. Bronze plaques nearby depicting eyes suggest he was attributed curing powers for eye diseases’ (5).

It is likely that the coming of Christianity played a role in expunging the evidence for veneration of Vindos on the basis of His associations with the Underworld and death. Luckily, as Gwyn, His stories lived on in medieval Wales.

Bull of Battle – Warrior-Protector and Psychopomp

Gwyn’s clearest representation comes from a medieval Welsh poem called ‘The Conversation of Gwyn ap Nudd and Gwyddno Garanhir’ from The Black Book of Carmarthen (1250). Herein Gwyn and Gwyddno (6) converse at an undisclosed location. I believe the poem implicitly suggests that Gwyddno is dead and Gwyn has appeared to guide his soul to Annwn. This is also the interpretation of translator, Greg Hill, whose translation I have used below (7).

In this poem, Gwyn is addressed with deep reverence and respect by Gwyddno as a ‘fierce bull of battle’, ‘leader of many’, and ‘lord of hosts’. This fits with Gwyn’s name not only meaning ‘White’ but ‘Blessed’ and ‘Holy’. Gwyddno petitions Gwyn for protection, and Gwyn replies that from Him, an ‘invincible lord’ (hinting at His divine status), ‘He who asks shall have protection’. As a ‘bull of battle’, Gwyn is a warrior-protector.

At first, Gwyddno does not recognise Gwyn and thus asks what land He comes from. Gwyn replies: ‘I come from many battles, many deaths’. These words are suggestive of His role as psychopomp gathering the souls of the battle-dead. Only when Gwyddno asks Gwyn of His descent does He reveal His identity: ‘My horse is Carngrwn from battle throng / so I am called Gwyn ap Nudd / the lover of Creiddylad, daughter of Lludd.’ There is a sense here that it is only when Gwyddno recognises Gwyn that he realises that he is dead. ‘I will not hide from you.’ He realises he cannot hide either from Gwyn or the truth that he is deceased and states his own name, ‘I am Gwyddno Garanhir.’

Gwyn is then drawn away by His restless horse and red-nosed hound, Dormach, who is wandering away across the firmament, to further battles. Before He departs, He recites a series of verses recording the names of a number of famous warriors, mainly from Yr Hen Ogledd ‘the Old North’ (8), whose souls He has gathered from the battlefield. He then ends by speaking two of the most haunting verses in medieval Welsh literature. 

‘I was there when the warriors of Britain were slain
From the east to the north;
I live on; they are in the grave.’

I was there when the warriors of Britain were slain
From the east to the south;
I live on; they are dead.’

Here, Gwyn laments His role as an undying God fated to witness the deaths of his people and gather their souls until (as we shall soon see) the end of the world.

Leader of the ‘Demons’ of Annwn and the Wild Hunt

In Culhwch and Olwen (1100), Gwyn is contrastingly represented as a sinister figure. Herein we find the lines, ‘Twrch Trwyth will not be hunted until Gwyn son of Nudd is found – God has put the spirit of the demons of Annwfn in him, lest the world be destroyed. He will not be spared from there’ (9). 

These lines, penned by a Christian scribe, allude to Gwyn’s rulership of the spirits of Annwn. They suggest that Gwyn contains the aryal ‘spirit’ or ‘fury’ of beings seen as demons by the church both within His realm and within His person. Paradoxically, it is only because Gwyn partakes in their nature that He can hold them back in order to prevent them from destroying the world.

The lines about the hunt for Twrch Trwyth ‘Chief of Boars’ also contain darker allusions. The Twrch is not just any old boar but a human chieftain who was supposedly turned into a boar by God on account of his sins (10). That Twrch Trwyth is a human shows this is not a boar hunt but a hunt for human souls. That it cannot begin until Gwyn is found demonstrates He is the leader of the Brythonic variant of the Wild Hunt (which occurs across Europe).

Gwyn’s leadership of the Wild Hunt is further evidenced in the works of John Rhys. He refers to Iolo ap Huw, Gwyn’s chief huntsman, ‘cheering cwn Annwn over Cadair Idris’ every Nos Galan Gaeaf / Halloween (11). Rhys also refers to a horned figure with a black face, likely Gwyn, with the cwn Annwn ‘Hounds of the Otherworld’ hunting down a sinner ‘across Cefn Creini’ (12). As a devilish huntsman with His hounds and demonic followers He rides out through the winter months to hunt down not only the dead but living sinners.

Gwyn’s associations with winter and destruction are also hinted at in Culhwch and Olwen. Creiddylad, His sister, goes off with Gwythyr ap Greidol ‘Victor son of Scorcher’ but before He can sleep with Her, Gwyn takes Her by force (presumably to Annwn). Gwythyr gathers an army, attacks Gwyn, fails and is imprisoned. During their period of imprisonment, Gwyn kills the northern king, Nwython, cuts out his heart and feeds it to his son, Cyledyr, who goes mad. Arthur is brought in to intervene, calling Gwyn to him and determining that from thereon Gwyn and Gwythyr will battle for Creiddylad every May Day until Judgement Day and only then one may take her (13).

This Christianised episode is likely based on a pre-Christian seasonal myth wherein Gwyn, a Brythonic Winter King, takes Creiddylad, a Goddess of fertility and sovereignty, to Annwn for the duration of the winter months. On May Day, Gwythyr, a Brythonic Summer King, wins Her back for the summer.

Arthur’s intervention is employed to show the Christian warlord’s power over Gwyn. Throughout the tale, Arthur is demonstrated to have power over giants, witches, and magical white animals who are associated with Annwn. 

In another episode, Gwyn and Gwythyr accompany Arthur to slay Orddu, ‘Very Black’, a witch who lives in Pennant Gofid ‘the Valley of Grief’, ‘in the uplands of Hell’ (14). Gwyn attempts to stop Arthur from attacking Orddu to no avail, and Arthur cuts her in half and drains her blood. It is likely that Orddu was a ‘witch of Annwn’ (15) who worked magic with Gwyn and His spirits. 

Again, Arthur is shown to have power over Gwyn and His followers. Ultimately, Arthur usurps the hunt for Twrch Trwyth, seizing Gwyn’s role and replacing Him as warrior-protector of the Island of Britain. Yet, in the story and now, Arthur fails to hold back the forces who threaten to destroy the world. It is only Gwyn who can contain the furious spirits, who number the spirits of Annwn and the dead, until the world’s end.

King of Annwn and the Fairies

In The Life of St Collen (1550), Gwyn is described as ‘King of Annwn and of the fairies’, and He and His people are once again derided as ‘devils’. Gwyn summons Collen to His fair castle, which is described as being filled with ‘appointed troops, ‘minstrels’, ‘steeds with youths upon them’, and comely maidens. There, from his seat upon a golden chair, Gwyn invites Collen to feast upon His bountiful feast of delicacies, dainties, drinks, and liquors. Collen refuses, saying he will not ‘eat the leaves of trees’, suggesting the food is an illusory conjuration. He then says the red and blue clothing of Gwyn’s people signifies ‘burning’ and ‘coldness’ (it is hellish). Finally, he throws holy water over the heads of Gwyn and His people, and they vanish (16). Once again, we find a legend showing the power of a Christian over Gwyn.

The description of Gwyn’s castle is similar to the fortress of the King of Annwn / Faerie in other sources. In ‘The Spoils of Annwn’, we find seven fortresses, which I believe to be fragmented appearances of the same fort. This fortress, as Caer Wydyr ‘the Glass Fort’, is made of glass. As Caer Siddi ‘the Fairy Fort’, it contains the treasures of Annwn, and above it is a fountain that pours a drink sweeter than wine. As Caer Wedwit ‘the Mead Feast Fort’, it holds the ‘cauldron of the Head of Annwn’, which is ‘kindled by the breath of nine maidens’ and will not boil food for a coward (suggesting an initiatory function). Again, Arthur assaults Annwn and its people, stealing the spoils (17). 

In spite of Christian intervention, Gwyn and the spirits of Annwn live on as Y Tylwyth Teg ‘the Fair Family’ in later folk and fairylore. Like the Greek Furies, who are referred to as the Eumenides ‘Kindly Ones’ or ‘Benevolent Ones’ (with whom They are equated), this is likely a euphemism used to conceal Their contrary nature. They continue to steal or entice people to Their realm; curing, cursing, driving to madness, turning space and time and lives around.

Protector of the Sanctuary

Gwyn is a paradoxical God. On the one side, dark and furious. On the other, blessed and holy. Only because He is both can He offer protection and healing.

In The Speculum Christiani, Gwyn is invoked to heal the evil eye. ‘Some stupid people also go stupidly to the door holding fire and iron in their hands when someone has inflicted illness, and call to the King of the Benevolent Ones and his Queen, who are evil spirits, saying: ‘Gwyn ap Nudd, who are far in the forests for the love of your mate, allow us to come home’ (18). 

This might be seen to relate to the ability of Vindonnus to cure eye ailments. The father of Vindos / Gwyn, Nodens, was a God of healing dreams. Thus, it makes sense that Gwyn is not only a God of death and destruction, but of healing. 

In my experience, Gwyn is a powerful God of transformation who invites us to put to death the parts of ourselves we no longer need to become more whole.

“You who ask shall have protection,” He speaks. “I shall help you to come home.”

~

Footnotes and References

(1) Proto-Celtic – English https://web.archive.org/web/20060114133008/http://www.wales.ac.uk/documents/external/cawcs/pcl-moe.pdf
(2) Nodens, ‘the Catcher’, later known as Nudd or Lludd Llaw Eraint ‘Mist Silver-Arm’, was venerated at Lydney ‘Lludd’s Isle’ and two silver Romano-British statuettes dedicated to Him as Mars-Nodontis were found on Cockersand Moss in my home county of Lancashire.
(3) Aldhouse-Green, M., The Gods of the Celts, (1986, Sutton Publishing), p134
(4) Castleden, R., Britain in 3000 BC (Sutton Publishing, 2003), p90-91
(5) McKillop, J., Dictionary of Celtic Mythology, (Oxford University Press, 1998)
(6) Gwyddno Garanhir ‘the Knowing One with Crane-Legs’ is a legendary figure most famously associated with Cantre’r Gwaelod, ‘the Lowland Hundred’, a sunken land off the coast of Wales extending from Borth Beach (Porth Wyddno). He also had a port in the North and his hamper is listed in ‘The Thirteen Treasures of the Island of Britain’ which were in the North.
(7) https://awenydd.weebly.com/the-conversation-between-gwyn-ap-nudd-and-gwyddno-garanhir.html
(8) This name refers to the post-Roman Brythonic kingdoms of northern England and southern Scotland, which eventually fell to the Anglo-Saxons.
(9) Davies, S. (transl.), The Mabinogion, (Oxford University Press, 2007), p. 199
(10) Ibid., p. 209
(11) Rhys, J., Celtic Folklore, Welsh and Manx, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1901), p. 180-181
(12) Ibid., p. 281
(13) Davies, S. (transl.), The Mabinogion, (Oxford University Press, 2007), p. 207
(14) Ibid., p. 212
(15) Dafydd ap Gwilym refers to ‘witches of Annwn’ in his poem ‘The Mist’. Browich, R., (ed.), Dafydd ap Gwilym Poems, (Gomer Press, 1982), p. 134
(16) https://www.maryjones.us/ctexts/collen.html
(17) Haycock, M., Legendary Poems from the Book of Taliesin, (CMCS, 2015), p. 435-438
(18) Roberts, B.F., ‘Gwyn ap Nudd’, Llên Cymru, XIII (Jonor-Gorffennaf, 1980-1), pp.283-9.

The Sanctuary of Vindos Dedication

Beloved Vindos,
my patron, inspiration and truth,
on this night of the Reaping Month,
on the total eclipse of the full moon,
I hereby dedicate this Sanctuary to You.

May I honour You well
with my prayers and inspiration.

Through Your guidance as a Guide of Souls
may I guide and heal others too.

Together may we reweave 
the ways between Thisworld and Annwn.

When I unburied the Wise Lad

and polished all his statues
I fell into his smile

and I smiled too

and all the world smiled
and all the universe smiled
and all the people of Annwn.

I can’t rememer how long ago
I forgot how to smile

but here it is –

this sign upon my lips,

not just for me but for you
the Wise Lad’s gift.

When I drew this image it was supposed to represent the unburying of a multitude of meditating Wise Lad statues being unburied from the earth from where they’d lain for eons. On completing it I realised that looked at from another perspective they appear to be hovering over drop down toilets! One of His jokes I think!

The Wise Lad and the Meditating Frog

Many years ago, in early spring at sunset, the Wise Lad was wandering the Frog Song Marsh, watching the frogs and toads emerge from their places of hibernation, forming long slippery lines as they headed to the many ponds.

As darkness fell the mating calls of the male frogs and toads were deafening – a thousand thousand voices raising their caphony throughout the marshland.

Thus the Wise Lad was surprised to find a solitary frog sitting apart on a stone.

“What are you doing?” He enquired. “Why aren’t you seeking a mate with the rest?”

“I’m meditating,” the frog’s legs were crossed and his pads rested on his shins.

The Wise Lad knew a little of meditation from sitting still with his father, Nodens, staring into the waters as they waited together for a fish to take the hook.

“I’ve never known a frog to meditate before,” the Wise Lad was stunned.

The frog frowned. “Can you not see these legs were made perfectly not only for jumping and swimming but for sitting in meditation? These pads not only for catching prey and clinging onto mates but for holding hand gestures? These lungs and gills for breathing deeply both in and out of water?”

“You can meditate under water too?” the Wise Lad asked in admiration.

The frog nodded glibly and demonstrated by hopping into a nearby pool, sinking down to the bottom and once again taking up his meditating posture. 

On getting out, “And don’t you believe the lies of the other frogs who will tell you I’m not a frog at all, that I’m the son of a chieftain who the Hag of Marsh Pond put a spell upon, that I’m avoiding the mating rites because I don’t want to be kissed by a frog or a woman and turned back into a human again.”

“I wouldn’t believe such lies at all,” the Wise Lad reassured him.

“Good,” said the frog as he continued meditating through the nocturnal frog-song.

This story was received as taking place near Marsh Way Pond in Penwortham.

The Wise Lad and the Boy with the Empty Bowl

Many years ago the Wise Lad was wandering the Broad Oak Woodland when he came across a boy sitting beneath the boughs of an old oak tree. 

He’s holding a wooden bowl, the lad noticed, sniffed up, but it’s empty.

He saw the boy was staring in trance into the bowl and recognised a sitting quest. 

For three days and three nights he watched in approval as the boy slipped in and out of his trance, moved not, slept not, ate not. Wondered, what does he see?

As the third night reached its end the Wise Lad foraged for him the tastiest of hazelnuts, the juiciest of blackberries, caught, strangled, cooked a tasty hare.

At dawn the boy fell into an exhausted sleep and the Wise Lad padded up silent as the mist and slipped his gifts just as silently into the empty bowl.

“You,” the boy reached out, grasped his arm, caught him in his dark gaze, “you were watching all along from the sidelines and with me in my visions.”

“Tell me about them,” the Wise Lad spoke curiously and encouragingly.

The boy picked a hazelnut from the bowl. “You took me into one of these, right into the kernel, taught me of its wisdom, from flower and catkin, to nut, of its journey in the belly of squirrel, of jay, of salmon, its growth into a hazel tree.” 

The boy picked a blackberry from the bowl. “You took me to the stars to visit a planet as black as one of these, frosty, taught me of how ice can flow as rivers, volcanoes, how the coldest of planets tastes sweet as blackberries.”

The boy picked out a morsel of hare’s flesh. “I followed a hare to her form and she led into the ground and through to another land where I saw you playing, hunting with other boys, with the dead boys of my tribe and others. They had faces like clouds and mist and smiles like the otherworld’s sun.”

“But there is no sun in Annwn,” the Wise Lad spoke confused.

“I know,” said the boy, “yet still they smiled like it.”

The Wise Lad smiled. “You have completed your sitting quest and one day amongst your people you will be an Inspired One, a Soothsayer, a Wise One.”

I received this story as taking place here in Penwortham in the remainder of the oak wood on Hurst Grange Park. A little closer to me is an area known as Broad Oak. A Damp Oak Forest covered much of Lancashire from the Neolithic Period until the late Bronze Age when much of it was replaced by bogs.

The Wise Lad and the Old Three Bears

Many years ago the Wise Lad was wandering through Ribblesdale. In the limestones crags he espied a cave and was immediately drawn into its darkness.

What drew him was not so much the dark, for there would soon be much of that with winter on its way, but the smell of a delicious stew cooking. Inside he found a skin cauldron boiling over a fire and around it three wooden bowls. 

In each bowl was a mixture of berries, nuts and meat that made his mouth water. He tried the first bowl, “Agh!” He dropped the wooden spoon. “Too hot!” He tried the second bowl. “Ugh!” He spat it out. Too cold!” He tried the third bowl. “Just right.” He grinned, wolfed it down, only slightly disconcerted when he found a golden hair at the bottom.

Full up, rubbing his belly, he collapsed into one of the three wooden chairs. “Too small.” It barely fit his arse. He tried the second. “Too big – enough room for two of me and my dogs on here.” When he sat on the third chair it wobbled because it was already missing a leg then collapsed beneath him. “Someone else has been here before me and broken the chair that is just right!”

Moving into the next cave he was relieved to see three beds lined with mosses and twigs. He tried the first. “Too hard.” The sticks dug in his ribs. Then the second. “Too soft.” He sunk into the moss. Finally he lay down in third. “Just right.” As he curled up he realised he was lying in the sleeping shape of someone else who had slept there before and caught a girl scent.

“Hmm…” Something told him it would be unwise to fall asleep in that bed. 

The Wise Lad got up and made his way into the next cave where he found the skeleton of the girl who the bears had stripped of flesh and put in their stew. By the remnants of her skull and golden hair she had been pretty.

“No wonder the stew was so tasty,” he picked a piece of meat from his teeth. 

“You ate me,” her golden-haired ghost appeared and spoke accusingly. 

“You ate the third bowl too,” shrugged the Wise Lad.

The ghost-girl glanced at the other skeletons piled up in the cave. 

“Once again,” he heard the voices of the Old Three Bears, “someone’s eaten my stew,” “someone’s broken my chair,” “someone’s been sleeping in my bed.”

“It’s time to go,” said the Wise Lad to the golden-haired ghost, “take my hand and we’ll go and share your story with the people who need to know the risks of having their stew, their chairs, their beds, everything in their world just right.”

When the Wise Lad came to the World

I.
No-one knows 
the time or date of his coming
because he slipped like mist into the world

between times, between places –

a boy here, a boy there,
a boy everywhere

on every one of his foreheads a shining jewel.

II.
Some say 
he came as a star 
or in a shining starship

others that he came on turtleback
or was spat out like a prophet by a whale,

others that he crawled from the Abyss,
the darkest pit, the deepest well.

The crows of course claim
they brought him

on a dark moon
like the blackest of storks.

III.
What wisdom did he bring?

Not the knowledge of Uidianos
and his knowing ones and the Court of Don.

No his wisdom was even deeper than Annwn.

It’s told he buried it here to keep it safe like a bomb.

Here, there, everywhere, in all times and places,
in every one of us and so it waits until
he comes to awaken it.

IV.
So he came 
to me, here in Penwortham,
jewel shining like a star in the dark
and took up residence
in my heart.