Tag: Wildwood Tarot

The Return of the Hooded Man

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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.

On Money and Fear

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“Stop thinking about money!”
~ the voice of my God

I.
I am the blindfolded woman
and two arrows have pierced my heart
in spite of my charms and incantations against love.

I have been wrapped up in my own heartbreak leaving me blind.

I have been trying to weigh inspiration against money,
a feather against gold – one heavy one light.

I have been a slave to what is bled
from rocks over millenia at such toil and cost,
ignoring what is easily shed, fletched, lifted by a breath.

You are the archer and as always Your arrows strike true.

II.
What is it I fear? Hunger? Having no home?

I do not think I could sit and beg but would rather walk,
homeless, foodless, until I could walk no longer,
lie down and die, be back with You.

III.
When I think of my worst fear it is fear of madness –

I am looking into a round tunnel without a train
but just a whistling train track
rushing through it,

the dance of limbs
on the platforms belonging
to no-one, not to people, to robots, or to spirits.

That the whole journey of life is nothing but meaninglessness.

IV.
I think of my longstanding fear of falling apart.

I recall my vision of a knight riding forth,
the plates of his armour rusting,
his flesh starting to decay,
falling from his limbs,

the skeletal man
falling from his skeletal horse

but his horse going on to where the bones
of all horses crumble and the dust of dead horses
is borne on the winds to where You ride Lord of Annwn.

You taste the wind, lick Your forefinger, another failed quest.

Your hounds prowl and sniff at the dust and Your pale horse rolls in it.

IV.
Yet I have chosen to collect feathers not gold
for the birds are giving and we are nothing but birds
who are learning how to fly and to empty out our pockets.

I want to be light, my lord, to depart from lands where scales exist.

To where we no longer need to weigh, measure, measure up.
To where You tear my blindfold off and show me
the truths that lie in my unbroken heart.

The Call of the Hooded Man

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He started appearing in my tarot readings at the beginning of the year: the Hooded Man. In my reading for 2020 on New Year’s Eve in the place of ‘home’, then again and again, strangely, mysteriously, as we shifted from a stormy winter to a glorious spring and I was spending more time with people outdoors.

In the Wildwood Tarot the Hooded Man occupies the traditional position of the Hermit. His ‘Position on the Wheel’ is ‘the mid-winter solstice’. Dressed in a black cloak adorned with holly he stands amidst the snow with a wren at his side, a staff in one hand, a shining lantern in the other. He points towards a doorway in a great tree with a wreath upon it, offering solace from winter’s harshness.

The main meaning of this card is ‘this is the time of solitude and contemplation’. Why was I getting this card when I was busying myself with work parties five days a week and preparing for an internship at Brockholes, which involved outdoor work and engaging with large groups of volunteers?

The answer came as the arrival of coronavirus, as the lockdown, the perfect reason to respond to his call. But what did I do for the first three weeks? Spend my time watching what everyone else was doing, beating myself up for not being busy, for not having a proper job, resisting the call of the Hooded Man.

And yes, I felt it, and he spoke to me clearly. On one occasion this was through the new module on ‘Holly’ in the Tree Spirit Medicine course on the Way of the Buzzard Mystery School. The course leaders, Jason and Nicola associate holly with ‘sanctuary, resilience, and protection’. These were qualities I felt I needed to draw upon and immediately I associated them with the Hooded Man. I journeyed to holly to ask ‘how to slow down and participate in the Hooded Man’s sanctuary.

Holly said:

The berries of life
are not always yours.

So what is yours?

How will you
grow your berries?

What can you offer?

How will you shape
your sanctuary?

I took this to mean that I couldn’t just barge into the Hooded Man’s sanctuary and assume his berries (the hard-won fruits of many years of solitude and contemplation) are mine for the taking. That I must take the time and effort to shape my own sanctuary, grow my own berries, share them with others.

What was particularly significant about this journey is that the day afterwards, after I had cut back and cleared the blackberry bushes which were taking over the bottom of my parents’ garden, I found a little holly sprig. Immediately I knew this was ‘the Hooded Man’s corner’: a place I could find sanctuary.

But still I resisted for fear that retreating would make me less of an awenydd to my community and gods. When I first set out on the awenydd path it was with the purpose of serving Gwyn and the spirits of the land through sharing poems and research on mythology and my personal journey.

Somewhere along the line, when I was involved with Dun Brython, when Greg Hill and I founded ‘Awen ac Awenydd’ I felt these responsibilities were nudging me toward community leadership. However, Dun Brython never grew due to a lack of interest in Brythonic Polytheism. Whilst the Awen ac Awenydd Facebook group generated some interesting discussions, the participants didn’t mesh enough to develop a shared practice, and the plans for a physical meet-up failed completely.

I reached the conclusion that Facebook is not a suitable platform for building meaningful relationships and left. ‘You’re not a follower but you’re not a leader,’ the words of my wise friend, who read my tarot, haunted me. What am I then? What is the role of an awenydd who neither leads nor follows?

“You must focus on your gift,” the voice of my god from within.

Reflecting on the nature of this gift I realised that it is the awen and the meaning of ‘gift’ is manifold. The awen is not only my gift, my talent, my role in the world, my destiny, but is given by the gods and something I have a responsibility to give back to others. This being gifted with and my giving of awen is of value in itself. I don’t need to be a leader or a spokesperson for my path.

This revelation came as a huge relief and has given me clarity about where I’ve made mistakes in the past. After watching a podcast with Martin Shaw on ‘Pandemic and Mythic Meanings of this Cultural Movement’ in which he posed the question ‘would this not be a good time to re-establish a relationship with our souls?’ I realised over the past few months I have neglected my soul’s journey.

When I journeyed to the Hooded Man for advice on how to focus on this he said I need to ‘clear space outer and inner’ and ‘cultivate a longing for the mysteries’ in the place of my anxieties.

What was of interest, and slightly disturbed me, was that he told me has had burning ambitions, been riddled by doubts, that he has made made mistakes, that his aura of calm is the result of centuries of inner work. That sometimes it is just a facade that covers over the conflicts he feels within.

For some reason I thought he had always been the Hooded Man at perfect peace in his self-mastery. Yet a story, or many stories, lie beneath the the hood of this man who has many faces.