Saturday, 31 January 2015

Rigantona's Return

It has been ages since I have posted and now I find I have  plenty of words in me to get onto the screen.

Rigantona has begun to return to the land, and Her constellation is beginning to shine. I sat before my altar hearth a couple of weeks ago, offering hymns, cheese, bread and booze and it was the right time to make a promise. after a minute or two of ensuring I knew the enormity of what I was about to say, I made an oath to make a pilgrimage for Rigantona. At the end of May I am going to walk the 87 miles of the Ridgeway from east to west across the south of England along to top of the Downs; the chalk spine into which the great white horses are carved and shown off across hillsides. I want to also use the time to prepare devotional  material to Her; at night sleeping alongside Weyland’s Smithy or in the sun aside Her back. What comes from those 6 days living on her back remains to be seen, but whatever comes from it I want make available somehow. Which led me on to make another decision; I am going to have a go at compiling and publishing a devotional anthology to Rigantona, to Rhiannon, to Epona and the constellation of sovereignty, the land  and the horse.  So, I have set up a website and started putting out a call for submissions (take a look) with a view to combining existing Brython material, what I glean on my pilgrimage and whatever I get from other people in the way of submissions. The other thing about this project is that I want it to be a devotional work and plan on making a sacrifice of the first book printed and the rest to be offered at pretty much cost price to those who wish to buy it.


Gwyn ap Nudd

Gods on occasion turn up in your life. In my case with Gwyn.I was invited to attend a 2nd degree initiation with a coven that a former coven-mate and close friend has joined. I was then invited to go with them to a conference the following day for initiates in Stroud, obviously I went as they were a fantastic group of people. Part of the conference involved a talk with a pathworking and during that I kept getting hassled by a disembodied stags skull which would go away and kept floating into my field of vision. I pushed him away and it wasn't until later that he turned up again and made it clear who he was.  This wasn't the first time he was going to crop up in my life over the following months, including around the time I asked to join that coven too.

This winter everything has come together; threads in my own life, projects I have been researching, in other people’s lives and practices and all weaving together around Gwyn. 


I somewhat regularly travel westwards on the national rail line and every time make an event of seeing the White Horse on Uffington hill about 10 minutes before arriving at or passing through Swindon. Every time this happens - rain may clear, mists may lift and I can't recall ever missing seeing Her on that hill. In the run-up to Calan Gaeaf, I took a new step and joined with a new coven in Wiltshire which has meant travelling up that way every 2 weeks on that same train line past Uffington. I havent seen the White Horse a single time in the past 4 months and had a strong sense that for the time being - particularly over winter - she is away or not ‘there’. This isn't the first time I had had this impression; there is to me a distinct waxing and waning of the god’s presence in my life. and now, as the first bulbs start appearing and the days are perceptibly longer and lighter and the very land is beginning to return to life. Leading on to..

Apocalyptic Witchcraft

I mentioned this a post or two ago. I have gone back and begun reading the book again and this time I’m not quite so reactive to some of the things that set me on edge about it when I first read it. The core message I am taking out from it is one of environmentalism and working against the structures in place which aid degradation of the land which is so innately bound to the gods I worship. Any action I have been involved in before now has been either involvement with campaigns or ‘real world’ action, this book is really suggesting we as witches start taking steps in the ‘other’ ways we know of, because so far, not enough is being done. Which leads me on to..

The Wild Hunt

I don't recall why exactly, but the Wild Hunt is something I have been researching and trying to piece together in terms of pre-folkloric incarnations and relationship to the Gods. It was right as I was researching the Hunt that Gwyn started getting my attention and Gwyn as we know is one of the leaders of the Hunt. The triad of Gwyn, the Wild Hunt and  witchcraft are forming in my mind and for now I am seeing what light that constellation will shine. The time of the Hunt and Gwyn as it’s leader is coming to and and Gwyn will return to the forests, to the cave under the hill and that is where i am going to find him whilst the Mare is riding out.

The Charge of Gwyn ap Nudd

I am he who holds back the andedion,
only their grace falls upon these lands
I am he who rides out in midwinter,
clearing the way for spring.
I am he who wields the bloody spear,
my quarry shall fall to the ground
I lead the pack of the hounds of the otherworld
their howls drive out that which corrupts
I am he who holds their teeth at bay
only their gaze falls upon the hearts of man
I am he who drives out all that is foul
and casts it into the pits of Annwn
I am he who sweeps clean the canvas
so that fresh strokes may be laid down
I am he who strikes down the hawthorn
and lays in it’s place the black thorns
the thorns that drink the blood
of the weak, the malign and the unjust
my horns drive those who would seek you harm
and till the soil afresh

I am the glint upon the spear
the breath within the horn
the rush within the blood
the sweat upon the brow
the thunder of the hooves
and the lust within the heart
I am the fear in every bone
the chase within each fibre
and the pounding  of hooves upon the turf
I am the dodge and turn, the swift race and the bounding escape
The rut, the hunt and the ending of life are mine and all come from me. 
each stag, each doe and each fawn are under the sweep of my spear 
and each to become upon its tip