Three beloved horses of the Island of Britain: …and silver-white, proud and fair, the horse of Morfran the son of Tegid.37
This further reiterates Morfran Afagddu’s inherent connection to his opposite quality. He rides atop a silver-white horse, black and white in perfect balance. We are informed of fairness—a quality of the light half—and pride, an attribute of the shadow; seemingly, they dance in perfect harmony. And atop these qualities is their epitome, Morfran Afagddu—the shadow.
What does this tell us? How is this essential to the brewing of Awen?
The primary message of the shadow is: “Deny it at your peril.” For the brew to be effective, we must consume it knowing who we are down to the minute detail—even what instills shame and embarrassment must be acknowledged for the elixir to work. This is the role of Morfran Afagddu; he is there to teach us the essentialness of our darkness. He is not alone in this teaching; other archetypes in Celtic myth serve to fulfil this role, and pertinent to our exploration is the character of Efnysien. When we explored the cauldron, we briefly encountered this creature, whose name means “hostile enemy” or “un-peaceful,” when he mutilated the horses of the Irish king. He too is a powerful representation of the shadow.
The practise of Paganism is not all sweetness and light. Buttercups and roses have their place, but we take the good with the bad. The beauty of the Pagan traditions is that it allows us to explore the darker side of our nature without fearing it. Beauty and awe is one thing, but we also need to be dropped from a height into a festering pit of excrement from time to time. To truly understand the wonder of nature and mystery, we must also face its less likeable side, including our own. Thankfully we have archetypes and deities who provide effective guides for exploring the darkness; we do not need to venture alone. They are there for good reason: to help us.
The personification of the shadow appears in every culture and is present in dreams and mythology as something that is feared and despised. The shadow comes with power, a power that we fear greatly; it may arrive with little warning, and vanquishing it is never easy, if it’s possible at all. We may brand the shadow as evil—something that is counterproductive to our well-being. Its tendency to act on instinct scares us; to examine it makes us uncomfortable, causing us to squirm. The majority of us do not like our shadows, and we certainly do not want to engage with it, lest it break free from the chains of civility, rationality, and politeness that we bind it with. We fear the shadow aspect, for it epitomises our weaknesses, our instincts, and our shortcomings. All our unexpressed emotions—our tempers, loathing, and hatred—seethe within it. It represents that gut feeling we try to suppress when we listen to that woman in the office who annoys us. We smile insipidly when we actually just want to rip her arms off and smack her with the wet ends! To function in society, we suppress these extreme emotions (thankfully!), yet they are still an undeniable force within us. Left unchecked, our anger can lead to frustration, which in turn can lead to rage, which is a state of helplessness that nobody really wants to venture into too often in life.
We may not like our shadows, but we must recognise them for Awen to flow unhindered, lest it meet the barriers of ignorance set up to protect ourselves from ourselves. To deny the shadow—the Morfran Afagddu within—we risk repressing it without due consultation and tempt it to raise its head, almost against our volition. When this occurs, the shadow may find the cracks that appear in our “pleasant” veneer and suddenly start to express its ways in disturbing manners. Its power over us can, at times, be overwhelming as we find ourselves behaving irrationally or out of character; generally, this is indicative of the fact that we have attempted to suffocate our shadow. It retaliates, it wants to be acknowledged, and if we don’t allow it to be, it will turn and bite us on the backside. Its sheer force and rage has the potential to break free of the restrictions we place upon it. But the shadow is not evil, per se; its role is to challenge us, to provoke and explore the darker aspect of our psyche. If we work with it—if we honour and value it for the qualities it gives us—we diminish the power of its most terrible attributes. The purpose of our shadow is to push our buttons, to challenge us from the darkest recesses of its domain; it affects our relationships with others both socially and sexually. We may sometimes come across people that we just don’t connect with; something about them repels us or grinds at our nerves, causing us to be irritated by their company. These are the times when we are confronted by Morfran Afagddu; we can be assured that when we are annoyed by another, they are simply holding a mirror that reflects the darker parts of our own shadows. Yet our shadows can enhance and enrich our creativity, which Jung suggested in the early part of the twentieth century when he said, “In spite of its functions as a reservoir for human darkness—or perhaps because of this—the shadow is the seat of creativity.”38
The outward expression of our shadow in the form of creativity honours its power and alleviates its hold over us in a negative sense. Many artists create out of pain, passion, anger, or frustration, so rather than subdue the shadow, they give it a voice, thus placating it and lessening its influence to affect us in spite of ourselves. By ignoring the shadow, we fail to acknowledge and assimilate its positive qualities. Our instincts lie in the shadow and our sense of discernment, our ability to act on a hunch that, in hindsight, may have been the correct reaction to a given situation. There is a great deal of authenticity within our shadow; and it can sometimes relate to life in a manner that is far more genuine than the tamer personas we have been programmed to present to the world. But with the shadow comes responsibility and the ability to respond to our darker sides without having to apologise for them. The great mythologist Joseph Campbell once said, “Don’t give up your vices—make your vices work for you—if you are a proud person, don’t get rid of your pride, apply it to your spiritual quest.”39
We may judge ourselves harshly when faced with our shadows; we may punish ourselves unnecessarily when, in fact, there is no need. We may get angry at times, but this reflects our passion; to dismiss it would atrophy what drives us. To shout it into dark recesses will cause it to bark like a dog cornered. So you like to procrastinate? I certainly do. Why punish yourself; use it. That pious, thin bloke who sits opposite you in the office really, really gets on your nerves, and nothing would please you more than to tie him to a radiator and force-feed him donuts! Just ask yourself why—what is it in him that you dislike in yourself? What is the nature of the mirror he holds in which your reflection is cast? We are generally good people and strive to be polite, civil, and well mannered in life; our shadow does not threaten this, it just wants to be heard. A child that is not given a voice will rebel; lock something away, and it will find a way out. So the best course of action is to just leave the door slightly ajar and address it like a friend. Shadows are generally much larger than the objects that cast them, and maybe this tells us an awful lot about the nature of our shadow—how much do you know of your own?
What relationship do you have with your shadow? The majority of us may willingly examine this dark half, but I would imagine that this practise will cause a great deal of discomfort. But its message is clear—do not attempt to vanquish the aspects of yourself that you do not like or the things that make you cry out in frustration or anger. Don’t supplicate the shadow by patronising its power over you or by attempting to ignore it with the typical “I am not that kind of person” attitude. Our shadow can work for us. Instead of turning a blind eye to it, acknowledge that some aspects of your personality—albeit not very nice perhaps—are, in fact, an essential part of you. To ignore it is to tempt it to rebel. To dismiss the shadow is to fail to bring all our qualities to the cauldron.
Morfran Afagddu epitomises the qualities of the dark, or waning, part of the year—in stark contrast to his sister, Creirfyw, who symbolises the light, or waxing, half of the year. For Awen to be an effectively acknowledged and expressed force, it must contain aspects of the shadow. But
the task can be difficult, elusive; the exploration of the shadow may be riddled with pitfalls and obstacles, a fact that the ancient Celtic chronicles record in the poem “Angar Kyfundawt” from the Book of Taliesin when it says “until death Afagddu’s declamation shall be obscure.”40
This line implies the difficult nature of the shadow and that for many its voice will go unheard. The dark speech is essentially powerful and a vital aspect of the querent’s journey. Whilst the chronicles provide us with a warning—the danger of suppressing the shadow—they also provide us with hope that the shadow is indeed essential. In the poem “Marwnat Vthyr Pen” we find the following lines: “I am a poet; my art deserves praise, and may it be with ravens and eagles and raptors—Afagddu, to him there came a great experience, since good men suspend themselves between two poles.”41
Whatever great experience Morfran Afagddu encountered remains unknown, as much a mystery as his essential nature. But what is important is the fact that Morfran Afagddu and his shadow aspect are perpetuated throughout the Celtic chronicles, and within each quote, each line and verse, he is perceived as being a creature of supernatural erudition. The above verse has been dissected by Celtic scholars for centuries, yet nobody, it seems, can shed light on the latter section: “Men suspend themselves between two poles.” In my visions I am reminded of the Long Man of Wilmington, who resides on a hillside in the English county of Sussex. This chalk figure has for countless centuries stood proudly, his hands resting upon two poles, or holding a doorway open so that one can step through into the hollow hills of the ancestors, to the halls of wisdom that lie within. Perhaps this is the great experience of Morfran Afagddu: he acts as catalyst that opens doorways to our darker self, to the dark speech that rises from the abyss and sings in praise of the mysteries.
Exercise
What is the nature of your shadow? What are the things that drive your passions and your anger? Are you familiar with your own shadow—how it developed, what voice it has, how it seeks to teach you or compromise you?
This simple exercise serves to demonstrate the nature of your shadow, to give it a voice that it otherwise would not be given. It allows you to spend time exploring it and listening to its voice, where you gain a deeper understanding of its essentialness.
Take yourself to a room that can be darkened; close all curtains and illuminate the space by candlelight only. Spend some time preparing the room for the exercise, creating shadows and corners of darkness. Arrange yourself at the foot of a length of wall-lining paper cut to your height. Ensure that the majority of candles are behind you in order that your shadow may be cast onto the paper before you. Stand at the foot of the paper and adjust the candlelight so that your shadow is visible on its surface. In a group setting, the outline of the shadow could be drawn onto the paper itself.
Reflect on your shadow and the fact that bright lights cast dark shadows—the stronger and brighter the light, the longer and darker the shadow. The shadow cannot exist without light to cast it; what does this tell of the nature of light and shadow? Ponder and meditate on your dark half, the traits and aspects of your personality that are generally avoided. Can you name them? Do they pain you or bring elements of shame and embarrassment to mind? How has the past—your childhood, your relationships and connections—altered or given voice to your shadow? Do you suppress it or do you allow it to sing?
Look to the shadows within the room you occupy. Contemplate the dark and its powers: how it can cause us to feel insecure or afraid. Watch and note that the demons you perceive on the walls of darkness are from within. Observe your shadow on the paper before you—it is separate from you, yet an inexorable part of you. It cannot be denied.
Take to the floor, on knees or cross-legged, and with a large marker pen or several markers of different colours, express the nature of your shadow directly onto the paper. Give voice to your passions and lust, to your anger and loathing, to your bitterness and envy. Draw symbols and patterns that represent the things that drive you and give your life determination and stubbornness. Allow what pains you to dance from the pen to paper, filling in the shadow, giving it voice. Ponder on these things; give them the time they deserve as vital cogs on the wheel of your story. Do not denigrate them or belittle them; attempt not to judge them; simply give them voice. When you have exhausted yourself, the paper, or the pen, sit back and look at the whole picture. What does it reveal about your shadow?
Do not destroy the paper, but instead fold it and keep it in a box, wrap the box in paper that reflects the nature of your shadow, and tie a ribbon about its form. These are your shadows; they are as unique as you are. Keep them in a secret place, and every three years or so, unwrap the package and look to see what has changed or what may be added to its patterns.
Record your experience in your journal.
[contents]
33. My translation.
34. NLW MS 5276D. Translated by the author.
35. Bevan, Geiriadur Prifysgol Cymru, 1266.
36. Bromwich, Culhwch ac Olwen.
37. Bromwich, Trioedd Ynys Prydein: The Triads of the Island of Britain, 109.
38. Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections, 262.
39. Osbon, A Joseph Campbell Companion, 135.
40. “Angar Kyfundawt” (The Hostile Confederacy) in the Book of Taliesin.
41. Haycock, Legendary Poems from the Book of Taliesin, 321.
Creirfyw
the heart of beauty
• • •
And they had a daughter named Creirfyw,
and the fairest maiden in all the world was she.
Hanes Taliesin
Creirfyw does not appear in the Elis Gruffudd’s text; when we do meet her, it is in the hand of John Jones’s manuscript, where he writes “a merch a elwit y Greirfyw a thegkaf merch or byt oedd honno (and a daughter named Creirfyw and the fairest maiden in all the world was she).”42
It tells us very little of her nature, unlike her brother, Morfran Afagddu, yet she appears in several manuscripts that contain fragments of the tale. However, the writers have recorded two versions of her name—Greirfyw and Creirwy.43 So first we must examine the nature of this elusive creature’s name.
The prefix greir- is a mutation of the word creir, which in turn is derived from crair—according to the Dictionary of the Welsh Language, this is taken to mean “a relic, a holy thing, talisman, treasure, a richly decorated article; object of admiration or love, darling.”44 The addition of the suffix -fyw is a mutation of the word byw, meaning “alive, living, having life, animate, quick, existing, actual.” With this in mind, the name of Cerridwen’s daughter can be taken to mean “living treasure.” Accompanied with the description that she is the fairest maiden in all the world, we begin to get a sense of Creirfyw. However, other manuscripts have her name ending with the suffix -wy, meaning “egg,” so in that sense her name can be taken to mean “a holy egg” or “treasured egg.” But what does this tell us of her nature?
When we first meet Creirfyw in the text, her associations are bright, full of life and vitality; her name sings of treasure and relics and things that are valued. The terms love, darling, and admiration hide within her name—there is a lot of light here; she is a creature who radiates beauty and wonder. When we look a little deeper into the chronicles of the Celts, by the magic of inter-textual references we find Creirfyw in her Creirwy guise within the Trioedd Ynys Prydein: “Teir Gwenriein Ynys Prydein—Kreirwy merch Keritwen, ac Aryanrot verch Don, a Gwen verch Kywryt mab Krydon. (The three fair (royal) ladies of the Island of Britain—Creirwy, daughter of Cerridwen; and Arianrhod, the daughter of Don; and Gwen, daughter of Cywryd, son of Crydon).”45
The inclusion of Creirfyw’s name in this triad is immensely important to our understanding of her. She exists beyond the tale, and the implications of this reveal something of her nature. The triad specifi
es that the ladies mentioned are royal, and according to the scholar Rachel Bromwich the term gwenriein has an extended meaning of “royal lady or princess.”46 Yet we are not informed of this royal lineage within the original tale. The only information we are provided with is Cerridwen’s standing as a wise woman or enchantress and that her husband was a nobleman. There is no indication of royalty, yet Creirwy is listed in the same triad as two significant royal women.
Arianrhod, the daughter of Don, is another creature of supernatural erudition; she is the child of a goddess, one of the chief mother goddesses of the Britons. She herself has powers beyond that of a simple mortal and can be found within the Fourth Branch of the mystical Mabinogi legends. In this tale she steps over the wand of a god/king and gives birth immaculately to two babes, one of whom instantly escapes to the sea, diving beneath the waves. The other grows into a man who undergoes a series of supernatural and transformative processes and is ultimately initiated into the mysteries by proxy of a sow who devours his rotting flesh. According to the triads, Arianrhod’s father is none other than Beli Mawr, the ancestor deity of the Island of Britain, from whom the leading deific dynasties are descended. Within the native tales of Wales, Arianrhod appears as a magical being of royal-godly parentage, yet she lives amidst mortals; she is a demigod who, by the process of apotheosis, has become a fully fledged goddess of the modern Pagan movement.
We are also introduced to another royal lady, Gwen, the daughter of Cywryd, son of Crydon. This seemingly obscure family is directly descended from a list of ancient British kings who are the ancestors of Beli Mawr.47 We have almost come full circle; it seems that these royal princesses are somehow linked, one to the other. Each share a commonality in that their parents are either supernatural or are in possession of magical abilities. If Arianrhod is descended from a god and a goddess, and Gwen is also a descendent of the same father god, then it would be reasonable to suggest that Creirfyw’s parents are also of supernatural or godly origin. This is demonstrative of the paradoxical and sometimes contradictory nature of the Celtic material.
From the Cauldron Born Page 11