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I offer words of praise to Mathonwy, O great one
whose tales have been lost to the years, whose might
and wisdom we know through your son and heir, far-famed
Math who carried your name in love and pride,
who ruled his realm with judgment and courage, who held
the vast powers of magic in hand. Mathonwy,
we know you in the shadow you cast, in the fine
and noble spirit you rouse within your kin,
within the people of your lands; we know you
in the soft sweet song still held within your name.
Mathonwy, gracious and gentle one, who knows
the strength and worth of men, I honor you.
I call to wise and shining Nudd, son of noble Don
and Beli Mawr the bright, father of Gwyn and Edern
who served so well the court of the far-famed king.
Nudd of the tangled tales, the confoundment
of the years, of tongues that stumble, words gone wrong,
Nudd of the many faces and the many names,
we see you reflected in the rippled pool,
we see you in shadow, we see you in the fog,
in seamist and in smoke. I call to you, O god,
granter of blessings, upholder of tribe and kin,
for all we know of you, for all we are with you,
I thank you for your many gifts, I praise your name.
(I do realize that I’ve just recently written a prayer to Lludd; as a very hard polytheist, my thoughts on this are “better safe than sorry.”)
I offer my praise to Gwyn, son of Nudd,
whose tales have been told for many long years,
whose stories have shifted–have lost and gained
in word and in meaning–but cast a still-familiar
shadow, keep their beauty, keep their might. Gwyn
of the brave and gallant ways, Gwyn of passions
fierce and full, you carried off the maiden fair
and battle for her each new May Day; you gather
the souls of the valiant and lead the wild hounds
on a winter’s night; you hold the throne of the fairy
realm. Bright of aspect, dark of guise, Gwyn of the worlds
about us and beyond, I honor you, O god.
Lludd of the silver hand, of tales and names long told,
long twisted round, turned this way and that, Lludd who rules
the flourishing isle, lord of the western gate,
I call to you. Child of blessed Don, mother
of gods, current of the river; child of Beli Mawr,
bright beloved whose blood flows in the veins of kings;
brother of wise Llefelys and many spirits
great and glorious, yours is the tale of the three plagues,
the three things hidden and then revealed, O catcher
of fish, you are the might of the mists, the builder
of castle keep and wall. O Lludd of the waters
and the ancient words, I praise and honor you.
I call to fair Creiddylad, daughter of Lludd
of the silver hand, loveliest maid in all the isles,
gentlest and most noble woman, comely
of form, graceful of bearing, charming of manner,
shining bright in wisdom and virtue. Creiddylad,
your beauty and your goodness drew to you
the love of worthy men, your lot it was to bear
the strife sown by their rivalry. You know the cost
of jealousy, the sorrow and the suffering,
you know the burden of a pretty face
and a fate unchosen, you know the need
of a living world; goddess, I honor your calling.
I offer my praise to Afallach; I call to you,
O son of the father, father of the mother,
lord of the orchard and the apple red and sweet,
lord of the fortunate isle that men call Avalon.
Yours is the far-famed tor, the hill once bound by the sea;
yours are the tales of the bright new king, his company
dashing and doomed; Afallach, yours is the legend
and the legacy, the mystery and the might.
You are the last best friend of man, you are our guide
and guardian upon our final flight; Afallach
of the fruited tree, god of the endless harvest
and the life lived after life, I honor you.
To Rigani, wise of spirit, noble of heart,
I offer my praise. Gentle goddess, great queen
whose feet are rooted in the sovereign earth,
whose hands reach out into the dark, among the stars,
yours is the heart of fire, the temple amid
the wisps, yours the lands above the fragile shell,
above the living stone. Beautiful Rigani,
gracious and good, you are the glory of the night,
the secret of existence, you are the blossom
and the bloom, the scent before the storm. Rigani
who stands between order and chaos, who rules
each realm, I call your name, I honor your works.
I call to Allitio of the borderland,
lord of the skillful hand, lord of the cauldron
dark and deep, companion of the soldier and the smith;
you are as well acquainted with the forge
as with the battlefield, O god who knows the craftsman
and the tool, the weapon and the warrior,
O god who knows the killer and the kill and all
that follows, as the end follows the beginning,
as the leaf falls from the tree, inevitably.
Allitio, O friend of fate who guides us
to our final rest, who creates that which destroys,
I offer you my praise, I honor your calling.
I call to Bormana of the beautiful mists,
lady of the fortunate lands, well-bounded
by mountain and by river-flow. O goddess,
great of goodness, great of art, friend of the wounded
and the ailing, of those who call out in the night
in pain and desperation, who put their trust in you,
whether you stand alone in strength and service,
whether you unite in might with merciful Borvo,
always you are generous and free with your gifts,
always you answer the prayers of the needy
with kindness and care. Compassionate goddess,
Bormana of the gentle hand, I honor you.
Celeus of the mysteries, subtle and profound,
great god of whom we know but little, your name
lay hidden in the earth, unspoken and unheard,
as generations lived and died, as empires rose
and perished. Upon your fair fields blood was shed,
wars were waged and battles won and lost; the ground
was torn, the crops uprooted, holy groves were burned
and broken, but never did you leave your lands,
never did your secrets fade, never did
your wisdom fail. Celeus who knows much,
whose ways we find in the forest and the stone,
Celeus of ancient insight, I honor you.
Fieldstones 