Beloved Rhiannon,
I have been chasing for a long time, beloved.
Chasing the next thing, and the thing after that. The approval. The finish line. The version of my life that always seems to be one hill ahead. I ride as hard as I can, and it stays exactly as far away.
And then I met you on the road. A woman on a pale white horse, riding at an easy walk. The fastest riders in the land spurred their horses after you for three days and never came close. Until one of them stopped chasing, and simply called out and asked you to wait.
And you stopped. Gladly. You even said it would have been better for his horse if he had asked sooner.
I know your other story, too. How you were blamed for a loss that was not your fault. How you sat at the gate for years, telling your story to strangers, offering to carry them on your back. How you held your head up anyway, and the truth came home in the end.
I come to you as a guest, beloved, from very far from Wales and very long after the tales were first told. But I know what it is to ride hard and get nowhere. I know what it is to carry a story that was never mine.
So I have come to slow down, and to ask. Teach me to stop chasing. And teach me to keep my dignity at the gate.
I
Her Storythe rider no one could catch
Rhiannon is one of the great women of the Mabinogi, a collection of Welsh tales written down in the Middle Ages from much older storytelling. In the tales she is a queen with Otherworld powers, clever, generous and very hard to fool. The texts never call her a goddess. Many scholars believe she carries the memory of an older one: her name is often traced to an ancient British word for great queen, and her horses have reminded them of Epona, a horse goddess honored across Roman Gaul. Others are more doubtful. Here we meet her as the tales do.
Her story begins at Arberth, in Dyfed, in southwest Wales. There was a mound there, and it was said that anyone who sat on it would either be wounded or see a wonder. Pwyll, the prince of Dyfed, sat on the mound, and saw a wonder: a lady in shining gold, riding a pale white horse at a slow, steady walk along the road.
He sent his fastest rider after her. The rider could not catch her. The next day, another rider, a faster horse. The harder they rode, the farther ahead she seemed to be, though her horse never changed its easy pace. On the third day, Pwyll rode after her himself, with the same result. At last he called out to her and asked her, for the sake of the one she loved best, to wait for him.
And she stopped at once, and said she would gladly wait, and that it would have been better for his horse if he had asked her long before.
She told him her name, Rhiannon, daughter of Hefeydd the Old, and that she was being given in marriage to a man she did not want. She had come looking for Pwyll instead. She chose him.
At their wedding feast, the unwanted suitor, Gwawl, tricked Pwyll into handing her over. Rhiannon did not despair. She gave Pwyll a small magic bag that no amount of food could ever fill, and a plan. A year later, at Gwawl's own feast, Pwyll came disguised as a beggar and asked only that his little bag be filled. Gwawl's servants poured in food until he grew impatient and stepped in to press it down himself, and Pwyll closed the bag over his head. Gwawl gave up his claim. The one who always wanted more was caught by the bag that could never be full.
Then came the hardest part of her story. Rhiannon gave birth to a son, and on his first night the baby vanished while the women watching him slept. Afraid they would be blamed, they accused Rhiannon of harming her own child. She was not believed. Her punishment was to sit beside the horse-block at the gate of the court, tell her story to every traveler who came, and offer to carry them on her back inside. Most, the tale says, would not let her.
She sat there for years. And far away, a lord named Teyrnon found a baby boy with golden hair at his stable door, and raised him as his own. As the boy grew, Teyrnon saw how like Pwyll he looked, and he brought him home. Rhiannon was cleared, and she named her son Pryderi, from her own words of relief: she was delivered of her care.
In the Third Branch, Rhiannon, now a widow, chooses to marry the wise and gentle Manawydan. An enchantment empties Dyfed of people, and she and Pryderi are trapped in an Otherworld fortress. Manawydan wins their freedom with patience and cleverness, and she comes home again.
She is also remembered for her birds. In the Second Branch, the survivors of a great war feast for seven years while the three birds of Rhiannon sing to them from over the sea. Another tale calls them the birds that wake the dead and lull the living to sleep.
In the image at the top of this letter, she leans her face against her white horse with her eyes closed, a crescent on her brow and a horse brooch at her shoulder. She is not chasing anything. She has arrived.
II
Her Symbolismwhere to find her
♘The pale white horse
Her horse walks slowly and still cannot be overtaken. In the image above, she rests against it. In your life, she is the pace that is sustainable, and the wisdom that arrives when you stop forcing it.
☾Asking, not chasing
What three days of hard riding could not do, one honest question did. You may be closer to what you want than you think. You may only need to ask.
◡The small bag
The bag that no amount could fill, which caught the man who always wanted more. In your life it is the hunger that more will never satisfy, and the freedom of knowing when you have enough.
▭The horse-block at the gate
Where she sat, wrongly blamed, and told her story with her head held high. A story others tell about you is not the truth of you.
♪Her three birds
The birds whose song could wake the dead and lull the living to sleep. Birdsong at dawn, a song that soothes you, music that brings you back to life after a long grief.
✿The blossom
Pale flowers frame her in the image above. The tales begin and turn on May Eve, at the threshold of summer, when the blossom is out. Patience, too, comes into flower.
◯The mound of Arberth
Where anyone who sat might be wounded or see a wonder. Pwyll sat, and saw her. Sometimes the wonder comes only when we are willing to sit still.
✦The misjudged
She is with everyone who has been blamed for something they did not do, everyone carrying a burden that was never theirs, and every parent who has feared for a child. And with everyone keeping their dignity while they wait for the truth to come home.
III
An Intentionstop chasing, and ask
When you sit with Rhiannon, the question is not how do I go faster.
The question is: what have I been chasing, that I could simply stop and ask for?
Hold this gently. Many of us were taught that everything good must be chased: the job, the love, the rest we will finally take when everything is done. And we ride harder and harder, and it stays one hill ahead.
Set the intention this season to stop chasing, and ask. Ask for help. Ask for what you need. Ask the people you love to wait for you. Ask yourself what you actually want.
And here is the deeper invitation: put down the story that was never yours. Rhiannon sat at the gate carrying a blame she did not earn. She told the truth, again and again, and kept her dignity until it came home. You are not the worst thing anyone has said about you.
You do not have to win the race. You were never really in one.
Slow down. Ask. Let her wait for you.
IV
A Visualizationthe slow white horse
Find a quiet place to sit or lie down. Let your hands rest open in your lap. Close your eyes, or let them rest softly on something still, and let your breathing slow.
You are sitting on a small green mound at the edge of a road in early summer. The hedges are white with blossom. Below you, the road runs away into gentle hills, and somewhere a bird is singing.
Far down the road, a rider appears: a woman in shining gold on a pale white horse. The horse is walking, slowly, calmly. And yet, as you watch, you notice something strange. She is always just as far away.
You feel the old urge to run after her, to catch up, to try harder. Notice where you feel it in your body. And then, instead, stay where you are. Breathe.
Gently, from where you sit, call out to her. Ask her to wait. You do not have to shout. You only have to ask.
She stops. She turns her horse and comes back along the road toward you, unhurried, smiling, as if she has been waiting all along for you to ask.
She dismounts and stands beside the white horse. It lowers its great soft head toward you, and you feel its warm breath. She invites you to rest your hand on its neck, or your cheek, the way she does.
Then she asks you, without words, what you have been chasing. Let the answer come. And she asks what you would want, if you stopped chasing it. Let that answer come too.
From somewhere beyond the hills, three birds begin to sing. Their song is so sweet that the hurry drains out of you. You are not behind. You are not late. You are here.
Stay with her and the singing as long as you need. When you are ready, feel the ground beneath you, take a long, slow breath, and open your eyes.
V
An Invocationto speak aloud
Rhiannon comes from the medieval Welsh tales of the Mabinogi. Some modern Pagans honor her as a goddess today. Speak this slowly, at a walking pace, with your hands resting open.
Rhiannon,
lady of the pale horse,
you who could not be caught
by any who chased you,
and stopped at once for the one who asked:
I call you to this room.
I call you to the one
who has been riding hard
and getting nowhere,
who has carried at the gate
a story that was never theirs.
Slow my pace.
Teach me to ask
for what I have been chasing.
Teach me to keep my head up
while I wait for the truth
to come home.
Let your birds sing to me
until the hurry leaves my body,
and I remember
that I am not behind.
Rhiannon,
I have stopped. I am asking.
So it is. So it is. So it is.
VI
A Ritual in Her Honorthe slow horse
You will need · tick as you gather
IThe Setting
Set the glass of water and the empty bag before you. Start the birdsong playing softly.
Rest your hands open in your lap and say: Rhiannon, I have been chasing. I have come to slow down.
IIThe Slow Horse
Walk slowly around the room three times, as slowly as her pale horse. If walking is not right for your body today, trace three slow circles on the table with your fingertip instead.
With each circle, name aloud one thing you have been chasing: approval, the finish line, being enough, a life one hill ahead.
IIIThe Asking
Sit down again. On the first slip of paper, write one thing you have been chasing that you could simply ask for. Then write the ask itself, as plainly as you can: Will you help me with this? Can we slow down? Will you wait for me?
Choose one person you will ask this week. Or, if the ask is for yourself, say it aloud now.
IVThe Gate
On the second slip, write a story you have been carrying that is not true or not yours: a blame, a label, an old judgment someone placed on you.
Read it once. Then tear it into small pieces and put them in the recycling, saying: This was never mine to carry.
On the back of your first slip, under your ask, write one true thing about yourself. Fold it, and place it in the bag.
VThe Birds
Turn the birdsong up a little. Close your eyes or soften your gaze, and simply listen for three minutes. Let it lull the hurry out of you.
Drink the water slowly. Keep the little bag somewhere you will see it until you have made your ask.
Please enjoy wild birds and horses from a respectful distance: do not leave food out for wild birds as an offering, and never feed someone else's horse without their permission. This story touches on a missing child and a parent wrongly blamed. If that is close to your own life, go gently, and skip anything that does not feel right. If you are carrying a heavy blame or shame, please reach out to someone you trust or a counselor. Rhiannon was not believed at first, but she was not left at the gate forever.
VII
A Final Wordyou are allowed to stop
Beloved, I want you to know this:
You may have been riding hard for a long time. Chasing what always stays one hill ahead, wondering why you never seem to arrive.
The fastest riders in the land chased her for three days and never came close.
And then one of them stopped, and asked, and she waited gladly.
You may also be sitting at a gate, carrying a story about yourself that was never true. Telling it, again and again, to people who will not listen.
Rhiannon sat there for years. She kept her dignity. And the truth came home, golden-haired, in the end.
You do not have to chase. You do not have to carry what is not yours. You only have to slow down, and ask, and keep your head up while you wait.
You are allowed to stop, beloved. You are not behind. Listen: the birds are singing.
With love and an unhurried heart,
the one writing to you,
and the one who is also you,
and the one who stopped chasing
and finally asked.
Back to the Divine Feminine