To perpetuate, utilise, and disseminate the myths of our Celtic ancestors is, by proxy, to honour them as vital forces in the process of spiritual development. The total immersion in the subtle powers of the myths and tales of the old Celtic world is a process that heightens our own subtle powers of awareness. It allows us to become better practitioners of the mysteries and effective magicians who take their learning from the continuous wisdom of the past made applicable to the twenty-first century. There is an immanent quality to the tales, and it is this quality that makes them applicable and authentic tools of profound spiritual value.
To fully access the mysteries and allow the process to be immersive, you must first realise that the tale is speaking about one person, and one person only: you! This is the immanent quality that is vital to a true exploration where we are affected on a soul level. The magic contained within the tales are timeless; the written formats may only be a few hundred years old, yet the sense one gets when immersed in them is that of pure timelessness. This quality ensures that the tale is applicable to the journey or quest of any explorer who approaches them with good intention and integrity. They are not observational for the sake of pure entertainment; they act as manuals that guide you, the querent, to a place of initiation and transformation.
Each component of this process is explored in the following chapters; together we will look at their qualities, what they bring to the journey, and how they guide us. The apparent separate nature of the spirits and archetypes in the tale begins to blur upon their practical exploration—they may have individual qualities and attributions that define their purpose or role; they also exist within each other. Every component is a vital cog upon the wheel of mystery, and if one should fall off, it would render the mystery unfathomable and defunct. Keep this in mind as you journey through the tale: every facet exists as a vital aspect. They are not singular powers; they are part of the whole.
In conclusion to this introduction of the primary themes and components, I ask that you throw passive observation to the wind. If you are willing and wanting to embark on this remarkable journey, begin by perceiving this as your tale. This concept will be reiterated throughout the following sections. You are the initiate, and the cauldron and the witch goddess are waiting for you. Your encounter with the magical components of the tale will go beyond the descriptions that follow, which are by definition limited by my ability to articulate them in words of dry ink. I ask that you abandon the normal interaction we have been programmed to accept when in the act of reading; cast aside all thoughts of separation. This is no longer a tale that happened to “someone else”—it is happening to you right now.
[contents]
Divine Intoxication
the three blessed drops
• • •
Three drops, of all the multitude of herbs,
would spring forth. And upon whichever man they would fall,
she would see that he would be all-knowing in all the arts, and full of the Prophetic Spirit.
Ystoria Taliesin
For all that follows to make sense, we must first look at the quality of the brew that Cerridwen strove to create. This was not a task she took lightly: a year and a day of toil and work, of utter commitment, ensured that the final product would do exactly as it said on the can! It would imbue the seeker with wisdom and the Prophetic Spirit. This is the heart of the Celtic mysteries; this is the vitality and the force that brings life to the entire universe and all who dwell within it. The essence of the brew and its fundamental properties has its counterpart in almost every culture around the globe. In the Celtic nations this essence or spirit is called Awen.11 The name, although almost impossible to literally translate, can be described as the divine flow of spirit. The University of Wales’s Dictionary of the Welsh Language describes Awen as “the poetic gift, genius, inspiration, the muse.”12 However, the word can be seen to be composed of two parts: aw—which forms the root of words such as awel, meaning “breeze, light wind” and can be synonymous with breath; it is translated to mean “fluid” or “gas.” The suffix -en shares the same root as the prefix of the word enaid, meaning “soul” or “spirit.” So, in light of this, it is reasonable to translate Awen as meaning “a fluid, gaseous flowing spirit.” Awen is omnipresent; in fact, an effective way of describing it is that everything exists within Awen. It is not out there, ready to be invoked; we swim within it. To make sense of this, imagine, if you will, the following:
A Celtic goddess laughs loudly as she kicks a football towards her fellow deities; it bounces sharply off the forehead of her Nordic counterpart, whose stunned expression causes her to laugh ever louder. She watches in enjoyment and tilts her head upwards, becoming aware of another force. She looks at the fluffy white clouds that decorate the sky, the sun shining brightly and dazzling her blue eyes. The green, soft grass of the pitch upon which the gods play calls to the mountains beyond; their heads, swollen by days of rain, sing to the same song she hums in her spirit. The breeze brings brine to her lips from the sea that hides just out of view beyond the hillock behind her; she nods in reverence as her eyes meet the circle of stones that decorate its summit. She licks the salt from her lips and smiles as she feels the oceans of the world dance within her.
It is Awen she feels; she is within it—it surrounds her and everything else within this vast universe. She hums its music as she breathes, feeling it in the very molecules of oxygen and hydrogen that descend to the fabric of her lungs. It bursts through cells, caressing the carbon molecules that she is constructed of. From there she senses the distant galaxies and their stars, the black holes that suck all matter back into the field of Awen. Awen is all of these things. The tiny insects at her feet, which crawl through grass in search of food, move through the essence of Awen.
Her eyes close as its song rises within her; the other gods stop and turn towards her. She is singing its praise, and they respond. Their voices lift in unison; lost in the rapture of Awen, they sing to the people who revere them, to the cultures and civilisations that bring offerings to their altars. They too swim in the divine oneness of Awen. For a moment, the world stops and lifts its voice—from the deep, energetic soul of the universe, Awen sings too, as it will for all time.
Where Is Awen? Can We See It?
Yes, in various forms it is obviously manifested through the expressions of artists in the apparent world. Awen exists in our songs, artwork, writing, poetry, dance, and craft, all of which enable us to articulate the soul-deep connection we have to this universal force, where the universe experiences itself through myriad lives that live within its embrace. The act of bringing forth Awen can only realistically be expressed through our creativity, where we access the vast cauldron of potentiality and make manifest what was previously unmanifest.
The concept of Awen is a central tenet within the Druidic tradition but is not restricted to it alone. It is a concept that can be incorporated into any of the current Pagan traditions and utilised to enrich their practises and rituals. A deep, soul-filled understanding of Awen will act as a guide to effectively incorporating it into your daily practise, group practise, development circles, and seasonal celebrations. This spirit or essence underpins the Celtic mysteries; it lies at the heart of Celtic myth and magic. It is the force that unifies the mythology of a place and of a people with the universe as a whole. It is imperative for any exploration of Celtic magic and of Druidry to embrace and be fluent in the language of Awen. It is the Holy Spirit of Celtica.
Awen is imbued within the three sacred drops that explode from the cauldron to transform the innocent Gwion Bach. When Gwion’s transformation leads him to another incarnation in the shape of the prophet Taliesin, he sings of the quality of this flowing spirit of inspiration and wisdom. It is in the poetry of the prophet in the deliciously profound Book of Taliesin that we first encounter the term Awen in written form. Within the poem “Angar Kyfundawt” (which translates as “the hostile conf
ederacy”), we find the following verse:
Awen a ganaf, o dwfyn ys dygaf
Auon kyt beryt: gogwn y gwrhyt,
gogwn pan dyueinw, gogwn pan dyleinw,
gogwn pan dillyd, gogwn pan wescryd.
Gogwn pet pegor, Yssyd y dan vor.13
Awen I sing, from the deep I bring it.
It is a river that flows; I know its might,
I know how it ebbs, and I know how it flows,
I know when it overflows, I know when it shrinks,
I know how many creatures there are under the sea.14
The above and all subsequent references by Taliesin to Awen imply that the attainment of the divine spirit gave the prophet the knowledge of all the worlds and of all existences. “From the deep I bring it,” says the prophet, reiterating that Awen is an integral part of all things and that we swim within its flow. In the above verse and subsequent verses of “Angar Kyfundawt,” Taliesin explains how he knows its extent and flow. He knows of its ebb, how it courses, how it retreats, and how many creatures there are under the sea. The conscious acknowledgment of Awen provided Taliesin with the ability to perceive all things at all times, for all things exist within its flow.
The above piece of poetry creatively expresses Taliesin’s embodiment of Awen in a manner that demonstrates its all-pervasive, omnipresent quality. It exists simultaneously in all things, in all places at all times; it is not bound by the laws of the physical universe, for it exists beneath the fabric of the known, visible universe. It is the building block, the soul of the universe, which acts as a house for the countless spirits that move in and out of the physical dimension. Living, breathing, dying, returning, the ebb and flow of life lives as an expression of Awen, which rises from the depths of the unseen world. The denseness of our human experience can cause us to feel separate from Awen—that we stand alone in this world. Awen heals this condition by confirming that we are a vital aspect of the universe learning about itself. But this process cannot be confined to cerebral or intellectual understanding. For it to move the spirit into lucidity, the essence of Awen must be felt, sensed. One must be utterly immersed in it to experience the connection Gwion Bach initially encounters before morphing into the prophet Taliesin. Initiation is required to be conscious of Awen; as the tales and poem recount: “Ac yna yr ordeiniodd hi drwy gelfyddydd llyfrau Pheryllt i ferwi pair o Awen. (So she took to the crafts of the book of the Pheryllt to boil a cauldron of Awen.)” In the same manuscript, the poet further elaborates that “Mi a gefais Awen o bair Karidwen (I received my Awen from the cauldron of Cerridwen).”15
The implication in the historical manuscripts is that knowledge of Awen, or the ability to know it, must be initialised by a creative process that leads to that act of transformation. This, in turn, is assimilated into cohesion, giving rise to the rebirthing of the individual as the Prophetic Spirit. This does not imply the same form of initiation popularised by modern covens and groves but a personal initiation into the mysteries by proxy of the archetypes involved. One is not being initiated into a group but rather into the heart of Celtic mystery and magic. In the case of our tale, Awen is achieved by brewing a magical potion, the constituents of which swim in the essence of Awen. The ingredients are chosen for their ability to impart upon the initiate the spark needed to embark on a conscious journey into Awen. The latter verse connects Awen to the cauldron of the witch-goddess Cerridwen, and it is her wisdom and the knowledge of the elusive priest caste known as the Pheryllt that initialise the potency of the brew. The fact that Cerridwen embarks upon this journey and can shapeshift at will implies that she is a well-versed and practised initiate of the mysteries of Awen; more on this later.
Earthly components are utilised for the attainment of Awen, for it already exists within them—it is not some far-flung force that exists “out there” in an unfathomable void. The entire tale informs us that the ability to perceive it, conceptualise it, and know it is all around us. We may need the guiding hand of another to show us the way; we may need to consult the instruction of our ancestors as we are in the exploration of the tale in written form. But, fundamentally, Awen is everywhere; we do not need to physically travel anywhere to find it. We need only discover the keys that heighten our awareness of it. You hold such a key in your hands.
For decades, scholars have argued over the origin of Awen: is it a Pagan or a Christian concept? This has mostly been fuelled by a line in Peniarth MS 111. In the Hanes Taliesin section, it states that the three drops of Awen are bendigedig and arise from rat yr ysbryd glan, which translates as “blessed and from the Holy Spirit.” However, the Celtic scholar Patrick K. Ford states that these words appear “to have been added over an erasure; the ink is different, and the letters, though carefully imitative of John Jones’s hand, are different.”16 The rewritten words serve to conceal words beneath the text that read ysbryd proffwydoliaeth, or “the Prophetic Spirit.”
This blatant attempt to conceal a Pagan concept with an overtly Christian sentiment serves to demonstrate the trials these manuscripts have endured through the centuries. We may never know the actual reason why this occurred, but it is intriguing that whoever performed the task did not bank on the scrutiny of the twenty-first century. It may be that the Pagan concept was a threat, or that secret members of the bardic schools strove to hide this material in the prophetic knowledge that future generations would eventually find the truth hidden beneath it.
Further demonstrating the ability of Awen to survive differing ages, conquests, and religions can be seen in its acceptance within the Christian tradition. The National Eisteddfod of Wales movement is, on the surface, a typically Presbyterian affair that celebrates cultural poetic expression and the beauty of language. It is also Christian in nature by proxy of the Welsh Presbyterian Church’s influence in preserving our language. However, the concept of Awen moved along from its Pagan origin and became firmly entrenched in the Christian tradition. To this day, Awen is spoken of and acknowledged as a force worthy of attention and expression. Awen is a gift, a trust that is acknowledged and subsequently expressed by the initiate. But the question remains whether Awen is derived from the Holy Spirit of the Christian tradition or from the bubbling depths of Cerridwen’s steaming cauldron. Seemingly, in Wales at least, both concepts are equally valued. However, within the old chronicles of the Celts and particularly within the works of Taliesin, it is the magical origin of Awen that is celebrated. Within the ancient texts we gain a snapshot of a complex period in time where the Pagan and Christian traditions were, for a time, swimming in and out of each other—each one borrowing from the other, each with its own agenda and motive—yet through all this change and turmoil, Awen survived.
During the latter part of the eighteenth century, Awen was given a symbol to represent its attributions, which has since become recognised and associated with the flowing spirit. It can be seen as the emblem for groves, covens, and orders; worn as jewelry; and adorning the ritual items of the Welsh cultural celebratory body known as the Gorsedd of Bards of the Islands of Britain. The primary source for the symbol comes to us from circa 1792, and it is now widely used as what represents the essence of Awen. The insignia is drawn thusly:
Devised by the genius poet Iolo Morganwg, the father of the National Eisteddfod of Wales and to quite an extent the inspirer of modern Druidic practise, the symbol represents the sun at its various stations. Other references imply that the symbol may be significantly older than the inventions of Iolo Morganwg, with similar symbols appearing in Greece and in Egypt, especially within the Temple of Horus at Edfu. The Welsh monk Nennius also presented a symbol startlingly similar to the Awen of Iolo Morganwg as part of an alphabet in the ninth century. It contains a glyph that resembles the three columns, although they are joined at the top.17 It is said to represent the Latin word ego, which is ascribed the phrase “I am that I am.” Nennius in his Historia Brittonum also uses the term Awen in reference to an individua
l called Talhaearn Tad Awen (“Iron Brow Son of Awen”), which indicates that the term Awen and its significance was utilised in the early Welsh language, and no doubt for centuries before within the oral tradition.
Lovingly referred to as the three rays, the central ray represents the sun at its zenith during the summer and winter solstices, the left ray the sun at midday on the vernal equinox, and the right-hand ray at noon during the autumnal equinox. These delightful correspondences connect the symbol to the cycle of the sun and the season. The columns are explained by Iolo Morganwg:
Thus they are made; the first of the signs is a small cutting or line inclining with the sun at eventide, thus / ; the second is another cutting, in the form of a perpendicular, upright post, thus | ; and the third is a cutting of the same amount of inclination as the first but in an opposite direction, that is against the sun, thus ; and the three placed together, thus .18
Iolo Morganwg also elaborated on the columns by explaining that each one vibrates to a vowel sound that intones the name of the creator. Alas, Iolo was outwardly a nonconformist, yet seemingly, deep down, he was in love with Paganism. The intoning of the vowels of Awen in a Pagan sense can be seen as a manner by which we sing in praise of the universe, and they are sung thusly:
From the Cauldron Born Page 7