Tag: Brythonic Polytheism

Nodens God of Dreams and Building a Dreamwork Practice

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Nodens is an ancient British God of water and healing dreams. This is evidenced from His temple at Lydney where He is pictured on a mural crown driving a chariot pulled by water-horses and flanked by spirits of the wind and sea. The layout suggests that pilgrims took a ritual bath in the bath house, made offerings in His temple, then retired to a dormitory to enter a sacred sleep. On waking their dreams were interpreted by an ‘interpretus’. 

I have been relating to Nodens as a God of dreams since 2012. I started connecting with Him around the same time I met His son, Vindos/Gwyn ap Nudd*. At this time I found out that Nodens was also worshipped here in Lancashire as evidenced by two Romano-British silver statuettes, dedicated to Him as Mars-Nodontis, found on Cockersand Moss. 

I used to suffer from insomnia and started praying to Nodens as a dream God when I was desperate to sleep the night before travelling to the midlands for a Druid Network Conference in the midlands at which I was speaking for the first time on the bardic tradition. I was nervous not only about the talk but staying away from home in the company of so many people. 

I prayed to Nodens… and I slept… and when I returned home I made Him an offering of mint tea and thus began my practice of praying to Him every night before I go to sleep and making regular offerings. Since then I have never struggled to getting to sleep although I still sometimes struggle with early waking. Skeptics amongst you might argue this is simply the consequence of having a winddown routine and spending time in darkness in front of a candle but I personally believe that my prayers to Nodens are the driving cause. 

Nodens has also helped me to build a dreamwork practice. Several years ago He instructed me to collect a ‘dream stone’ from the Ribble and to place it on His altar then to put my dreams into it as an offering to Him when I wake up. I also journal my dreams for the purposes of remembering them. In the evenings I reflect on my dreams before I pray to Nodens and go to sleep.

Interestingly Nodens has never played an active role in interpreting my dreams, although I have sensed His guidance when making interpretations. I have never used books, but have been encouraged to explore the personal symbology of my dreams and what certain images and themes mean when they arise.

I often dream that I am ‘back at the stables’ – mainly at Oakfield Riding School where I spent a large part of my childhood working on the yard for free rides and where I worked as a riding instructor after giving up my PhD. In my dreams it represents my desire to return to a safe and a familiar place.

Another common theme is visiting shops that are selling a combination of rock/goth clothing and accessories and Pagan paraphenalia. These consistently have multiple levels, like Preston market, or Affleck’s Palace in Manchester, where I used to shop and hang out. I often see people from the past. I find I can’t relate to them and I cannot find what I am looking for. These dreams remind me that although I had friends with a similar taste in music we had nothing in common outside that and I didn’t truly fit in. Also that what I was searching for, some kind of deeper meaning, cannot be bought.

It’s not that often the Gods show up in my dreams but when they do it is deeply meaningful such as when Gwyn showed me how to send my soul into a hazel tree, then a beetle, then something else, in order to escape execution.**

In many of my dreams, frustratingly, I know I am on a mission for Gwyn, but have failed or forgotten what it is, showing my anxieties about failing Him. 

I’ve never had an experience with Nodens in my dreams but sense the touch of His (silver) hand when there is humour. For example a couple of months back I mistakenly allowed a troublesome member who made an inciteful post into the Monastery of Annwn and was not sure what to do about it. I then dreamt I was working at the stables and found someone had put a turd in one of the horse’s water buckets and was furious. The dream told me that, in the same way I could not allow a person who puts turds in horse’s water buckets to come to the stables, I could not have someone who posts inciteful posts in the monastery. With the words of other members this convinced me to ban them.

Dreamworking with Nodens has not given me all the answers to my dreams but it has helped me to remember, record, listen to, honour and act upon them. Over the time I have been recording my dreams I have logged an increasing number each year showing my dream recall has been improving. 

I believe this practice is important as dreams are the way our Gods and our souls can speak to us with the least interference from our conscious minds. For this reason I don’t try to control my dreams through techniques like lucid dreaming.***

I would be interested to hear about whether anyone else has been inspired to take up a dream work practice with Nodens or works other ways with dreams.

*Nodens is known as Nudd or Lludd in medieval Welsh literature.
**I have recorded an account of this dream HERE.
***Another reason I haven’t experimented with this technique is that asking the question ‘am I dreaming?’ in everyday life would be a trigger for returning to doubts about the nature of reality and blurring of boundaries that led to me not knowing what was real and was not and made me fear I was going mad during a mental health crisis in my early twenties.

A good place to start getting into dreamwork is Nimue Brown’s book Pagan Dreaming HERE

On Impossible Tasks

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‘Though you may get that, there is something you will not get. Twrch Trwyth will not be hunted until Gwyn ap 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.’
~ Culhwch ac Olwen

I.
I have completed the impossible tasks. 

I have found You and Your water-horse and Mabon and His dark white-maned steed and every one of Your hounds and every single one of their leashes.

I have ridden down Twrch Trwyth ‘Chief of Boars’ and feasted upon him.

I have found all the giants who Arthur killed but I have not found their beards or the pieces of flesh he cut from them – Ysbaddaden’s ears, his cheeks are gone.

I have found all the treasures and returned them to You – their rightful owner.

I have returned the last drop of Orddu’s blood to Pennant Gofid. 

As for Culwhch and Olwen I have seen they did not live happily ever after. 

Finally I killed Arthur – see his blood beneath my fingertips as I type these words?

II.
Your next task feels more impossible. 

You tell me to ‘build the Monastery of Annwn’.

How? Why? When you mocked at Saint Collen,
taunted him with visions of Your fairy feast.

You tell me “a nun is not a saint.”

III.
I think of how Collen derided You and Your people and how I have danced with inspired ones – wild men, mad women, witches, on the brink of the Abyss.

How I danced towards death – too many pills, too much drink, not enough sleep, not knowing if this would be the night, not caring, hoping we would be united.

I wonder, if You’ve got devils within You, I’m allowed to have devils within me too?

You tell me I must “embrace paradox” and “be a servant of mystery”. 

IV.
You show me a vision of a tapestry detailing all three hundred
of the knights in Arthur’s retinue woven by a monk
in a distant abbey, You amongst them,
my unpicking of the weave

and following of the threads to where we know each other
best in the spiralling madness of the Abyss
where You, God of the Dead,
have known death.

V.
You tell me nothing is impossible 
and I know nothing is impossible except You.

Thus I will strive to fulfil my impossible task for You.

*A poem based on the difficulties of building a monastery that does not fit with recognised religions and that is dedicated to Deities who are ‘other’ / ‘otherworldly’ in relation to practical necessities such as having our own bank account to fund our forum, website and potential Zoom channel.

Taranis Moving

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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.

Honouring the Death of Gwyn

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How do you honour the death of your God? 

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.

You are Gone

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A mourning song for Gwyn

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.

The Place Where Tears Come From

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For Gwyn on Calan Mai

There is a place where tears come from
that reminds me of You

and here we are
on the day of Your death.
The death You are fated to die every year.

Every year a part of me dies with You
like a tear to be buried
in that place

of cold stone

to rise again 
like spring water 
on the day of Your return.

We will rise again from burial.
We will repair what has been destroyed,
by the deepest Annuvian magic turn sorrow into joy.

Ten Year Anniversary of Dedication to Gwyn ap Nudd – from Glastonbury Tor to Beyond the Expected

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Glastonbury Tor

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.

XII. Your Death

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Day Twelve of Twelve Days of Devotion to Gwyn ap Nudd

I come this twelfth day
to consider Your death.

How I have seen You die
so many times yet that

You should die forever
is unthinkable, unbearable…

For when You have gathered
the last stars at time’s end

there will be no tears left,
no-one left to cry them,

and who would gather the
soul of the Gatherer of Souls?

XI. Your Cauldron

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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.

X. Your Kingdom

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Day Ten of Twelve Days of Devotion to Gwyn ap Nudd

I come this tenth day
to consider Your kingdom.

What is a kingdom?
What is a king?

Is it a matter of inheritance
or something within?

The devils
who God was said
to put in You to prevent
the destruction of the world?

The spirits and monsters of Annwn
whose fury You contain within Your realm,
in whose nature You partake and who are part of You?

You are a ruler, You are a leader, You are many,
one of them too, yes, they, themselves…

You rule an other kind of kingdom.
You are an other kind of king.

Like all good kings
You and Your land are one –
both Gwynfa and Gwyn,
King and Annwn.