Gwynn Ap Nudd - Celtic

This God might seem frightening or very dark to you as you read a few of his

statistics & myths I have noted below. But, this is the first official day

of Winter, and the longest night of the year… Gwyn rules this night, and

since I am typing this on the Yule, I obliged him.

Other than that, I would love to share something with you to ease your

“goose bumps” about this fine God, should they creep up or down your spine.

This God was one of the few deity that actively shared in my pain and grief,

along with Cailleach and Cu Chulainn, of my father’s dying and death. In

the end, it was he who reached out his hand, along with Cailleach, to take

my father “home,” and my father went with them, before my very eyes, without

a fight. My father was a Catholic, and I was quite relieved when he went

with these dark deity, and happily so; I guess the Soul does know the

difference.

He took my father away with him, back to his kingdom of the heroes, where my

father, as a WW2 veteran, who had seen active combat and, who at just under

the age of 16, rallied to the aid of the French via the British army, and

liberated them, had every right to be escorted by this God.

When my father died, I was standing by his bedside… and after I watched him

take his last breath, I almost hit the floor. But, this dark, unseemingly

gentle God took me into the folds of his cloak and comforted me there.

My opinion is to never judge a book by its cover. At the very end of this

entry is a poem I wrote with Gwyn ap Nudd in mind; I guess I can go so far

as to say I wrote it “for” him, and about him. It reveals how I see him in

my mind’s eye, and since my father’s death, in my heart. Some of you may

have already seen the poem, but I have never revealed the inspiration for it

until now.

Blessings, Macha

*****************************

*Dec. '03*

GWYN AP NUDD

(or Gwyn Ap Nuad) (Sometimes Gwynn)

(Pronounced Gween-ap-Neeth)

Celtic God (Welsh)

Name meaning: White Son of Darkness. Gwyn, like Finn, means White, Fair, or

Holy. This is ironic as Gwyn is the dark force, or God of the waning time

& winter. He can also take the shape as the Holly King.

Gwyn ap Nudd is the son of the sun/death God Llud (Nuad, Nudd = the leader

of the hunt). * Macha’s note: Hence, Gwyn ap Nudd could also be translated,

IMO, as Fair/Holy God of the Hunt.*

Gwyn ap Nudd is said, like Finn in Gaelic legend, has pressed himself more

deeply and lastingly on the Welsh popular imagination than any of the other

divinities. A mighty warrior and huntsman, he glories in the crash of

breaking spears, and, like Odin (Norse), assembles the souls of the dead

heroes in his shadowy kingdom, for although he belongs to the kindred of the

Light-gods, Hades is his special domain.

Gwyn is a God of war, death, and the wild hunt, and a patron God of fallen

warriors. He is equated with Ireland’s Fionn Mac Cumhaill (or Fionn

MacCumhal) as both Gwyn & Fionn mean “white.”

As the Master Hunter, he rode a wild horse, and had 3 massive hounds: one

red, one black, and one white. In one early Welsh poem, he is a God of

battle & of the Otherworld, the escort of dead souls to Annwyn. Still, to

this day, rural people claim they can hear his wild chase at night.

Presently he is often referred to as the king of Tylwyth Teg, the fairies of

Wales that can be equated with the Tuatha of Ireland. Modern myth has him

living on the summit of high Welsh hills, looking down on his people.

Another myth has his Underworld/Otherworld realm, or at least the entrance

to it, under the hill known as Glastonbury Tor in Wales.

Some more myths:

Also, known as Wild Huntsman of Wales and the West of England, it is his

pack that is sometimes heard at chase in waste places at night. He features

as a god of war & death in a poem from the Black Book of Caermarthen where

he is represented as discoursing with a prince who had come to ask his

protection.

**I come from battle and conflict

With a shield in my hand;

Broken is my helmet from the thrusting of spears.

Round-hoofed is my horse, the torment of battle,

Fairy am I called, Gwyn the son of Nudd,

The lover of Crewrdilad, the dauther of Ludd…

<snip>

I have been in the place where Gwendolen was slain,

The son of Ceidaw, the pillar of song,

Where the ravens screamed over blood.

I have been in the place where Bran was killed,

The son of Iweridd, of far-extending fame,

Where the ravens of the battlefield scream.

I have been where Llacheu was slain,

The son of Arthur, extolled in songs,

When the ravens screamed over blood.

I have been where Mewrig was killed,

The son of Carreian, of honourable fame,

When the ravens screamed over flesh.

I have been where Gwallawg was killed,

The son of Goholeth, the accomplished,

The resister of Lloegyr, the son of Lleynawg.

I have been where the soldiers of Britain were slain,

From the East to the North:

I am the escort of the grave.

I have been where the soldiers of Britain were slain,

From the East to the South:

I am alive; they in death.**

Gwyn ap Nudd appears as an Otherworld king who appears as a warrior & hunter

in the saga of Cuhlwch & Olwen.

Gwyn ap Nudd’s stature has sorely diminished over the years due to the

growth of Christianity. In the oldest literature, he is the ruler of

Annwfn, or the Otherworld, and has within the ferocity of demons or fiends.

Despite the meaning of his name, Gwyn bears a blackened face while leading

the pack of fairy dogs called “cw^n annwfn.”

Shortly after this tale, Gwyn progresses. He also features in the tale of

Creiddylad (kray-thee-lahd), daughter of Lludd Llaw Ereint. Gwyn abducts

Creyddylad, although she is about to marry Gwythyr, son Gwreidawl. Arthur

besieges him in his fortress, and finally it is ordained that Gwyn & Gwythyr

should fight an annual combat, and whoever wins that combat on Doomsday will

be the victor (note “doomsday” is a slightly Christian view). The tale over

all is very similar to that of the Greek Hades. Gwyn & Gwythyr meet every

May Day (Beltane) to have this battle; it represents the battle between

winter and summer for the flowery & fertile earth.

After the 16th Century, Gwyn becomes the king of the “tylwyth teg” (fair

folk, i.e. fairies). As commonly noted, the name Gwyn ap Nudd is

philologically related to that of Fionn Mac Cumhaill, who is descended from

Nuadu (Airgetlam or Necht). T.F. O’Rahilly speculated that both Gwyn &

Fionn are identical with the Divine hero Lug Lamfhota (Lugh Lamhfada).

In magick & ritual:

Spirit contact, strength, Passing Over rituals, seasonal rites (Macha’s

note: I like to invite Gwyn ap Nudd to my rituals for Winter Solstice/Yule &

for Summer Soltice/Midsummer).

Pathwork with Gwyn’s archetype to venture into the Otherworld.

Correspondences:

Dogs; mandrake roots.

*Macha’s note: also, don’t be shy to use holly, or myrrh, or even pine, to

offer/to call upon Gwyn; and he has not problem with Irish beer. Another

offering of dark roses the color of black, purple or crimson might also be

greatly appreciated as an offering. Also, blessed/consecrated cemetery dirt

works well in magicks.*

*Do not be shy to pick apart a deity’s aspects to find new ways to work with

that god or goddess. As with Gwyn, he is also patron of the fallen warrior

and if you are looking at this aspect you can find many things to work with

in magicks and rituals where he is concerned.

*Do not fear the deity of the darker/night/Underworld/death side of any

pantheon…if you do, you are just denying the dark side of another god. You

should at least acknowledge and treat with respect both sides of any deity

you love/honor.

THE STIRRING OF DEATH

All day and all night

I long to see

That dark god of light

Who wishes to conquer me.

Through the wood

I watch, and I wait

For the one who hides under his hood;

I long to meet the one who claims he holds my fate.

He is the Lord they call Death;

I dare him, “Come, and let me feel your icy breath.”

Ah, Death, my dark god,

And if you do, away with you shall I trod?

Oh, no! I won’t do it!

No, I just await you to dare you,

Here in my wood with one candle lit.

I hear a footstep, “My Lord, is that you?”

Out from a shadow

Steps he whom I await;

Laughing, I fly on now

Oh, my Lord, how you’ve taken the bait!

Night’s lit by the full moon

Who hums a solemn and lovely tune.

Death will follow me all through my night of strife

And at the end, I will take his hand and give him my life.

Until then, my Lord, you will wait.

You will wait, as I am the one who dictates my own fate.

But I must confess

I love you best.

And if you beg and plead

I might follow thee,

For my heart is stronger than my head

And the longing of my heart is not to flee.

It is naught, but to stay here with thee,

So that you might comfort me.

And now you offer me immortality?

Oh my Lord, I cannot leave.

And my Lord extends his hand

As the stars strike up a midnight band.

For us, a dark tune they play

As the night and I both quietly slip away.

Copyright 2003 Wanda S. Paryla

Sources:

Dictionary of Celtic Mythology by Peter Barresford Ellis

Celtic Myth & Legend by T.W. Rolleston

Celtic Myth & Magick by Edain McCoy

Oxford Dictionary of Celtic Mythology by James Mackillop

The Mythology Library- Celtic Mythology: The Myths & Legends of the Celtic

World by Arthur Cotterell

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