Good Old Merlin

I’ve written about him before, plenty, because he’s just so gosh darn fascinating.

I really can’t help myself.

So first, let’s just establish here, that the original mentions of our 6th Century CE friend Merlin (from a book called Historia Brittonum, attributed to a monk called Nennius in the 7th Century CE), are all about a wild, mad shaman, who had been a Prophet King in Scotland, got stuck in some ridiculous war over “a lark’s nest” (which seems to mean something truly insignificant and stupid), saw many of his nearest and dearest friends get slaughtered, including his nephews (or possibly sons?), went mad with grief and sorrow, and high-tailed it to the woods where he lived for over 50 years, still a prophet, still a shaman (Merlin seems to be the local word for Shaman), still respected, but utterly uncooperative with civilized life. The Grand Vizier-style, power-behind-the-throne Merlin (Emrys/Ambrosius) of the Arthurian saga was an embellishment and a corruption of that 7th Century source material. Our wild man from the 7th Century is almost certainly based on an actual historical person. The 12th Century corruption is most definitely a total fabrication using the name and reputation of the great prophet king, but embellishing the tale with so much Christianized romantic propaganda that he is nearly unrecognizable.

And it was also pretty clear from other sources that Merlin was a title, not a name. There were a lot of Merlins. It basically meant: one who was so deeply in touch and in tune with the Indwelling Spirits of the Land that they were able to allow these spirits to speak prophetically to them and through them. (RJ Stewart, The Way of Merlin, 1992) Thus, our two famous Merlins, one for either side of the veil. Imagine that. Myrddin Wyllt (“Wild Merlin”) is the visionary, shamanic, Goddess-worshipping seer and poet who lives in the woods with the indwelling spirits of the land; Merlin Emrys/Ambrosius is a Wizard and Advisor who has knowledge and power and uses it to impose his will on the land – and it all goes horribly, horribly wrong.

Myrddin Wyllt, who may have also been called Emrys, suffered from depression, anxiety, and PTSD after his war experience. He seems very stuck in the past, fixated on the war, driven by guilt and regret, and terrified that “they” were “coming to get him.” Sounds exactly like what we now call PTSD to me. He couldn’t function in the “civilized” world, and was suicidally depressed in it. Many of the Myrddin poems were about his struggles with mental illness, and his profound sense of isolation and loneliness. Interestingly, one of his biggest triggers (yes, it is technically and honestly a trigger) that really drove him to despair, was the sacredness of the indwelling spirits of the land being twisted by the powerful for political gain.

Yes. Kind of like today, where civilization is clearly a failed experiment, and religion gets twisted unbearably until it breaks in the name of political gain pretty much every damn day. Huh. Go figger, eh?

Myrddin Wyllt spent a lot of time in the woods, communing with and living in trees and caves, and talking to a little pig, who he felt was his only friend. He wrote many poems about that little pig.

Listen, little pig,
We should hide
From the huntsmen of Mordei
Lest we be discovered.
If we escape - 
I'll not complain of fatigue! - 
I shall predict,
From the back of the ninth wave,
The truth about the White One,
Who rode Dyfed to exhaustion,
Who built a church
For those who only half-believed.
Until Cynan comes
Nothing will be restored.

Excerpted from Oianau (Greetings), translated by John and Caitlin Matthews; Merlin: Shaman, Prophet, Magician, by John Matthews, pub. Mitchell Beazley 2004

A church for those who only half-believed.

Depression, anxiety, despair. Sound familiar? Like half the people I know these days, and myself, honestly. We are also driven to despair by the twisting of spirituality, and by feelings of alienation and isolation. “Nothing will be restored.”

Here’s a man in need of a blanket fort.

The end of the Wild Merlin’s story is that he is restored to himself by his great friend Taliesin (who is 99% likely to be an actual historical person) through talk therapy, and the water of a magically appearing spring. Despite his recovery, he ultimately retreats from the world one final time, into an observatory his twin sister, Queen Ganieda, has built for him out in the woods, where he watches the stars at night and sleeps by day, and is generally a much happier person. He also, after Ganieda is widowed, hands over all his prophetic and oracular responsibilities to her, and she proves to be an even more powerful seer than he was. Interesting. There is nothing in any book, any poem, or any folkloric tradition that specifies that a Merlin must be male, so it’s pretty likely that Ganieda took the title Merlin after his retirement, as well as his responsibilities to the clan.

So did he really even exist? Was he a “real” person? That is a complicated question. Yes, and then again, no. It all depends on which side of the veil you decide to live on. If you choose the side of the veil where magic is an everyday occurrence, where feeling is believing, where the heart is driving the bus, then yes, absolutely, Myrddin Wyllt is totally a real person who’s energetic influence echoes down the ages to us now like water from an ancient and magical spring – and it’s likely that he was an historical person, or combination of a few people, as well. If you choose to live on the materialist side, where evidence is more important than experience, where if things can’t be empirically proven they simply cannot exist, and where if the only sources we have for an historical person are written down by people a few hundred years after the events … well. That’s a whole other issue. Let’s just say he’s as real as Jesus and leave it at that.

So what’s the point of it? Why am I yammering on about this possibly imaginary person?

Well, imaginary is of course how we shape our world, and it is not fanciful or foolish in the slightest. But also, this being, this character, this possible human, held such a fascination and had so much influence over Western literature, poetry, mysticism, magic, folklore and mythology, that pretty much everybody has heard of him, and he is still revered and sought after by believers to this very day. There are Merlin Conferences all over the world. There are shamanistic movements calling themselves Merlinic or Merlinist, and there are literally thousands of books, essays, poems, short stories, movies, tv shows, plays, songs, and operas that feature this iconic figure. He resonates.

But even more than that, think about what I said above. He struggles with depression, anxiety and cPTSD. He retreats to the woods in order to soothe himself after being thrown deeper and deeper into despair by the politics and the patriarchy encroaching on the sacredness of the land he has devoted his life to. He is a powerful role model for non-toxic masculinity, because the blend of the divine masculine with the empowered feminine in his character shines powerfully clear. He’s a strong man who loves deeply and vulnerably, mourns profoundly, and hates war; he’s not afraid to cry, not afraid to admit to his pain, not afraid to ask for help, both from his sister Ganieda and from his friend, the very-probably-actually-historically-real Taliesin, Chief Bard of Wales.

He’s us.

And he made it. He survived. Taliesin had to talk him in off the ledge a few times, sure, and his sister had to intervene and physically capture and restrain him and take him back to civilization from time to time to keep him from freezing and/or starving to death – but he made it. He lived to retire to his observatory. He became the wise, peaceful, enlightened elder, the Shaman’s Shaman. Yes, advisor to kings, though frequently – usually – under duress. He became a legend that has lasted for centuries, and continues to be relevant – and may be even more relevant now than ever, if we strip away the glamour that has been placed over him by purveyors of political and religious propagandas, and look at the flawed, suffering, brilliant human underneath. He was broken, and yet … And yet. His legacy has outlasted most of the actual kings of Britain – even without the benefit of W. Shakespeare as a publicist.

Whether he’s real or not – even if he is an amalgam of several mystic characters who may have been called Merlin; even if he’s just somebody that got invented because we needed him – he’s a worthy role model for us as we struggle to desperately hold on to our sacred selves, and reconnect to the sacred land.