The Myrddin Who Guides Me

The Myrddin who guides me is Merlin Silvestris not Merlin Ambrosius.

The Myrddin who guides me does not serve Arthur or wear a pointy wizard’s hat and designer robes.

The Myrddin who guides me does not live in a castle and scrape or bow or ensorcel for Christian warlords.

The Myrddin who guides me does not condone the wars the warlords of Britain cause and support.

The Myrddin who guides me remembers the Battle of Arfderydd repeating as if it was yesterday.

The Myrddin who guides me remembers Gwenddolau beneath red soil and stacks of heads and limbs.

The Myrddin who guides me remembers the departing souls and the Gatherer of Souls speaking to him…

a hand gripping him and assigning him to the wild things of the wood.

The Myrddin who guides me shed his battle-madness with his warrior’s calluses like dead skin.

The Myrddin who guides me flew as a hawk and ran as a pine martin.

The Myrddin who guides me was the friend of a happy little pig, a golden apple tree, a silver birch,

and a skinny-flanked wolf with age-whitened hairs who shared the icicles on his naked limbs.

The Myrddin who guides me spoke the Awen from the wells of Annwfn with the aid of a water-sprite.

The Myrddin who guides me was a terrible-eyed prophet who made every tree of Celyddon tremble

with warnings St Kentigern and the Christian warlords ignored.

The Myrddin who guides me died and is dead and haunts me with mynydd ellyllon, ‘mountain ghosts’.

The Myrddin who guides me predicted his death: by stoning, by a skewering stake, by drowning.

The Myrddin who guides me would never have begged for the sacrament from St Kentigern before his death.

The Myrddin who guides me is not the Myrddin kneeling in the stained glass window at Stobo Kirk.

The Myrddin who guides me smashes every window, every text, every screen. He will never be contained.

He bursts from this poem!

The Myrddin who guides me is Myrddin Wyllt: the mad, the wild, the free.

Loch Awe and Cuillich Wood 137 - Copy

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5 thoughts on “The Myrddin Who Guides Me

  1. WOW!! This is incredibly powerful. The cadence of the language. The drumming, the push, the relentless going beyond the boundaries of the mundane into the madness, the wildness of the untamed places. If I may I shall use this a chant now and then, when I feel the closing in of the tempered and tamed places, when my deepest self who follows Elen must be set free to do so. Thank you, Lorna. xx

  2. Yes! He certainly does ‘burst from this poem’ in all his wildness. It ‘s inspired and steeped in the lore of Myrddin Wyllt who speaks not from courts of the powerful but from the heart of the wildwood from where his words (and your words) speak for those who would be guided by the Awen.

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