Thankfully, this explanation for the meaning of Cerridwen’s name has been rejected by modern Celtic scholars, who are generally sympathetic to the Pagan nature and pre-Christian themes hidden within the material. However, prejudices are still voiced concerning the mysteries of Cerridwen, particularly in relation to her standing as a goddess. It seems that the only evidence put forward by academia to discredit her rank as a deity is the fact that there exists no proof of a previous cult of Cerridwen. Prejudices run deep and arise from various agendas. One of these fountains of doubt was the attitude of the mostly male poets of the Middle Ages. They were seemingly reluctant to accept that the source of Awen was ancestrally denoted as arising from Cerridwen’s cauldron. With the church strengthening its hold on society and suppressing native material, the bards moved away from the magical connotations and the female-driven source of Awen, preferring (or, rather, conforming) the font of Awen as the Christian God. Satirical poetry that denigrated the old ways as consorting with the devil and the old witches who lived in the good old days of Cerridwen arose to further belittle the mysteries. The Welsh themselves (my own family included) turned their backs on the old ways, and the likes of Cerridwen and her mysteries went deeper underground.
• • •
If we take the various forms of her name, they can be listed thusly:
• Kerrituen
• Ceridfen
• Cereidven
• Cyridven
• Cerridwen
• Caridwen
• Cridwen
• Cridfen
The manner by which her name is spelt has been changing for centuries, dependant on the narrative or preceding manuscript the current scribe used as source material. This must be seen in perspective, and one must bear in mind that the majority of scribes were not overly familiar with the native tongue and dialects, allowing greater room for error. Yet it can be surmised that the majority of variations are slight and that her name remains similar in sound and meaning. Eventually her name was modernised in the eighteenth century to the consistent form we know today as Cerridwen.65 According to the Celtic scholar Rachel Bromwich, her name consists of two syllables, the prefix cerid, taken to mean “love” or “loved,” and the suffix wen, meaning “fair” or “pure.” In combination, she translates the witch goddess’s name as “fair and loved,” in stark contrast to the ghastly translation by Ifor Williams.66
As we have seen, Cerridwen’s name is as multifaceted as she, and this gives further depth to the witch goddess. But what of that title “witch goddess”—surely she must be one or the other? Can one be a witch and a goddess simultaneously? You will have noted that I use the term witch goddess throughout this book, and it is here that I present to you my justification for doing so.
Cerridwen as Witch
It is important to stress that within every manuscript—with the exception of the Ystoria or Hanes Taliesin scripts, which form the heart of this study—Cerridwen is not described as a witch or a magician. Within the books of poetry she is presented as the owner of the cauldron of Awen and that all poetic and prophetic abilities and powers emanate from this vessel. She is presented as its guardian; it is only in the later tale that she is directly associated as the creator of the brew that imbues the knowing of Awen into the querent. But, as we have previously seen, the themes exhibited within the tale of the prophet and the witch are remarkably older than the surviving manuscripts; therefore lines become blurry and the edges of knowing frayed. It is at this junction that Awen must be utilised. Within the early poetry attributed to Taliesin, we are provided with tantalising snippets of information that belie Cerridwen’s position as a sacred archetype. She is often described as a component of Awen, in succession or as an aspect of Ogyrwen. She demonstrates that she is in possession of supernatural abilities, and yet her tale portrays her as a mortal woman.
The element that makes her human—and, indeed, identifiable—is the fact that she is flawed; she got it wrong. The brew was never intended for Morfran Afagddu, but in Cerridwen’s mind it was meant for him. When the situation takes a surprising turn, we are subjected to her rage and retribution. The very presence of these traits informs us that she is as flawed as we are; she may be in possession of subtle powers, but she is still human, not an ethereal force that is beyond our reach. The original transmitters of the mysteries had obviously noted that in order for a human being to transform, one must have something tangible and recognisable that the mind can adhere to. With that, the children of the gods were born, together with individuals adept in the magical arts, to guide mortal hands into the dappled groves of mystery with a simple message: “You can; we will help you.”
The old manuscripts refer to Cerridwen and inspiration, to the cauldron and Awen; they are forever forged in unity. Yet when we investigate the scripts that contain the tale of Cerridwen and the birth of Taliesin, we are given a greater insight into her nature. In the manuscript recorded by Elis Gruffudd we are provided the following wonderful description of her abilities: “a oedd geluydd a dysgedic ynn y tair Kyluyddyd, yr hrain yssyd y’w henwi: hud, witshkrafft, a sossri (and she was learned in the three arts of magic, witchcraft, and sorcery).”67
Here we have a direct reference to her standing as a learned magician. Cerridwen is not presented as an amateur; she is an adept of the subtle arts, which the text specifies as magic, Witchcraft, and sorcery. She is identified here as a practitioner of the Craft; she is a witch. She is the totemic witch queen of Celtic/British Witchcraft, the mother of every witch and druid who lives and practises the arts of Celtic magic. A remarkable legacy that current practitioners possess and are able to tap into is this vast cauldron of ancestral knowledge, and at its head is a Witch of profound wisdom. All current practitioners of Witchcraft throughout the Western world can trace their Craft back to the islands of Britain and claim Cerridwen as their patron. The same can be said for all modern-day students and initiates of Druidry, for she is the mother of the cauldron, the one that gives substance to the quest for inspiration.
Pause for a minute, and consider the stereotypical image of the witch—she stands aloft, a wand raised high above her head; words of power fall from quivering lips to be carried by steam. This steam floats from the surface of a bubbling cauldron, its contents singing the songs of the natural world. With her free hand she stirs the cauldron, her chanting increasing in tempo.
This image is evocative of Cerridwen; she is the original witch, whose actual place in time is as mysterious as her relationship with the Ogyrwen. But one can rest assured that each time you reach for your cauldron and gather about it, as a grove or a coven you are imitating the sacred dance of the witch Cerridwen. It is evident from the tale that her cauldron is the original and true witch’s cauldron, the contents of which are boiled according to magical direction and skill known only to her and the initiates of the mysteries. She is not a selfish witch; her knowledge is not restricted but can be accessed and studied by those who approach her cauldron with good intent and integrity. Her role is to teach and to guide; she may also chastise and rebuke, as all mothers must do.
We have previously explored the nature and significance of cauldrons in Celtic culture and the discovery of countless vessels in bogs and lakes throughout northern Europe. But here we are introduced to the iconic witch’s cauldron, a tool that continues to be used today by practising Pagans. What is remarkable is that the vessel, as a symbol and as a tool, has survived for countless centuries and continues to exist as a magical implement that offers direct access to the witch goddess. The next time you use your cauldron, ponder on its connection, hold it between your hands, and rest assured that the witch goddess hears you and can be summoned with ease.
• • •
In part 1, I explained how the Narrative Spirit has ensured the survival of the Celtic material, but it is not the only spirit at work. This may be a difficult statement for the academic t
o swallow, but I suggest that the spirit of the witch goddess, an entity who has been nurtured for centuries, lives on within the blood of the tribe and the land. She sings from the depths of lake and river; she is revered in groves from Anglesey to California; she chants with the covens of Middle England and the Midwest. She exists as a thoughtform and is nourished by the devotion of her followers. We can become lost in the trappings of dates and the semantics of language; the witch goddess is older than these—she sings of a magic that predates the ink of scribes. She is the queen of Witchcraft; her sovereignty resides there. Welsh folklore abounds with references to Cerridwen as the queen or patron of witches, a quality that I believe would enrich the devotional aspect of any modern witch’s practise. Welsh folklore perpetuates the belief that witches had the ability to transform themselves into animals, and that by certain incantations and magic they could change the form of other individuals. There is an account of a Welsh witch called Betti’r Bont who was rebuked by a servant man who disbelieved her supposed powers. He lived to regret his insolence and awoke one night to find himself in the form of a hare. To his horror, he was subsequently set upon by a greyhound, which he managed to escape the jaws of but was thereafter subjected to the same chase until spells were cast to release him from his torment.68 This tale and a hundred others beside it continue to be retold in the villages of Wales, each one mirroring the magical aspects of Cerridwen’s tale.
The trial and confession of Isobel Gowdie, a Scottish witch tried in 1662, echoes some of the transformation sequences in Cerridwen’s tale. Her vivid account offers a detailed and unique glimpse into the practise of Witchcraft during the seventeenth century.
O I shall go into a hare, with sorrow and sighing and mickle care, and I shall go in the Devil’s name, aye, till I be fetched home again. Hare, take heed of a bitch greyhound, will harry thee all these fells around,
for here come I in our Lady’s name, all but for to fetch thee home again.
Cunning and art he did not lack, but aye her whistle would fetch him back. Yet I shall go into a trout, with sorrow and sighing and mickle doubt, and show thee many a merry game, ere that I be fetched home again. Trout take heed of an otter lank, will harry thee close from bank to bank, for here come I in our Lady’s name, all but for to fetch thee home again.69
The witch’s powers are clearly demonstrated in the section of the tale commonly referred to as “the chase.” I shall briefly touch on this aspect in relation to Cerridwen and will further elaborate on its interpretation in the section devoted to Gwion Bach. Cerridwen evidently displays her superior talents as a witch by wilfully changing her shape; the sequence begins after Gwion Bach has ingested the blessed drops. In her rage and immediately prior to the chase, we are informed in one manuscript that she strikes the blind man, Morda, on his head with such force that one of his eyes falls from its socket. This striking of a creature of liminality may imply that she is initiating the chase sequence—she is informing the querent that a liminal process is about to begin.
Throughout the chase, Cerridwen retains her gender as she becomes a greyhound, an otter, a hawk (the female of which is reputed to be the more effective hunter), and finally a black-crested (or tufted) hen. In each case she initiates the transformative process. Immediately before her claws seize upon the escaping initiate, she forces him to transform, to leave the significance of one element and enter another. The chase is a complex and symbolic process that is controlled by the witch in her various guises. She is forcing the initiate forward, and we can assume that in this liminal state the true meaning of the entire sequence is made clear to her. Previously she was driven by the needs of a mother, but within the chase she is partially liberated from her human component; we are informed that her form is changed but not her nature. Therefore, in the shapes of animals and birds, she maintains aspects of her humanity whilst simultaneously accessing the source. Ultimately her task is to initiate.
• • •
Her wisdom and the contents of the Celtic tales and poetry are suggestive of a reliquary of Druidical wisdom and knowledge that continues to be perpetuated in Europe and countries colonised by Europeans. The myriad motifs that we find within the Taliesin and Cerridwen material are indicative of early Celtic narratives and are culturally specific. They include shapeshifting, cauldrons of magic, and the ingestion of liquid that transmits the prophetic and/or poetic spirit; according to professor Patrick Ford, these motifs are particularly specific to the Celtic traditions.70 This implies that the themes within the Celtic material arose within the islands of Britain, and although they may appear to be emulated on the continent, they are deeply specific to the Celtic cultural continuum. The material examined is riddled with magical significance and has adepts of the arts demonstrating their abilities and powers. This vast melting pot of historical documents and the narrative tradition can cause one to question what is what—are these the practises of Witchcraft or those of Druidry?
I would suggest that we are seeing both. It was generally accepted that the druids of the British Isles and Gaul were practitioners of the magical arts. Hippolytus, writing in the third century, said, “The Celts hold the druids as prophets and foretellers of future events because they can predict certain events by Pythagorean science and mathematics…The druids also use magic.”71
The description given above in Hippolytus’s Philosophumena suggests that the druid priests practised science and magic. It can be argued that the majority of ancient civilisations perceived magic and science to be one and the same thing, the theory being that magic is simply the science that we have yet to figure out. However, Hippolytus was not alone in his observations; other classical authors remarked on the magical qualities of the druids:
The Persians have men known as Magi…the Egyptians have their holy men. For their part the Celts have men called druids, who deal with prophecy and every division of wisdom.72
Furthermore, we have an account of the disciplines within the Druidic arts of which one is particularly pertinent to the discussion at hand:
Throughout these regions, as people gradually became more civilised, study of praiseworthy doctrines grew, introduced by the Bards, Vates, and Druids. The Bards sang praiseworthy deeds of famous men to the melodious strains of the lyre. The Vates endeavoured to explain the sublime mysteries of nature. Between them were the Druids, an intimate fellowship of greater ability who followed the doctrine of Pythagoras. They rose above the rest, seeking the unseen, making little of human mortality, for they believed in the immortality of the soul.73
You will note that in central position, balancing the arts of bardism and Druidism, is the sublime ranking of the Vates, modernised as Ovates. These were the magicians of the druid priest caste, those who walked between the worlds, seeking answers and clarity from the forces of nature and its gods. They were learned in the arts of magic, sorcery, and enchantment. Sound familiar? Cerridwen is also said to possess these qualities and to take the wisdom of nature and its mysteries in hand as an adept of the magical arts. It can therefore be argued that the Ovatic priests were the magicians of the druid orders. After the invasion by Rome and the subsequent suppression of Druidry in the British Isles, the philosophies of Druidry were amalgamated into the Roman culture to eventually blend with Celtic Christianity. The Ovatic arts, however, seem to have gone underground and survived in the folk magic of the British Islands, later to become known as Witchcraft.
This Witchcraft is not to be confused with the religion of Wicca. This was the Craft of the wise woman and cunning man; it was not religious observation per se. This wisdom passed the centuries by means of folk tradition, which survived because it existed outside the boundaries of religion. This magic, as old as the hills and valleys, continues to be perpetuated and reinvented by modern practitioners who, by means of subtle skills, tap into the vast cauldron of wisdom that is separated from us only by time. The revival of Witchcraft in the 1950s and the rise of Wicca served to preser
ve the folk magic of the islands of Britain within a religious framework, another example of the incredible ability this magic has to survive and evolve. It can be surmised that Witchcraft and Wicca embrace various magical traditions, whereas Druidry is defined by its course specifically within the Celtic continuum. I believe that the origin of Cerridwen stems from the Celtic Druidic era, and that the magic that she and the tales are, as Will Parker states:
the final and perhaps most unambiguous evidence for a residual druidic element blended in with the biblical and classical traditions… quite unheard of anywhere else in Europe at the time.74
When we look between the lines—when we close our eyes and journey with the spirit—we meet the archetypes of the tales. It is by this method that we can understand and perpetuate the mysteries contained therein. Nothing is truly lost, and we are connected to the past by more than just culture and heritage. This globe is a closed circuit; all the wisdom of all the times are here, waiting for us to access them. We are fortunate that our ancestors provided us with keys to fit the locks of mystery; and one of those keys is the witch aspect of Cerridwen.
Cerridwen as Goddess
We have briefly examined this aspect of Cerridwen, but I feel that it merits further exploration. When Skene translated the name Ogyrven and interpreted it as “goddess” in the Black Book of Carmarthen, I doubt he had any insight into the future dilemma he was to initiate. Subsequent authors followed in his footsteps and sustained the belief that she was indeed a goddess. But where does this leave us? How do we define her role as a goddess, and does it have any merit?
Several influential romantic writers of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries initiated the belief that Cerridwen was not only a witch but also a goddess. The translations by Skene were no doubt influenced by the works he consulted when compiling his Four Ancient Books of Wales. In A Dictionary of Eminent Welshmen compiled in 1852, Cerridwen is described as a British goddess and well-known personage in the Druidical pantheon. It elaborates further that “Cerridwen is a celebrated character in Druidical mythology whose attributes were similar in many respects to those of Ceres.”75 It is more than likely that the above sentiment was heavily influenced by an earlier work by the much-rebuked Edward Davies entitled The Mythology and Rites of the British Druids. Within this work, of which a generous section is devoted entirely to Cerridwen, Davies describes her as an ancient goddess of Britain and the first of womankind. He further elaborates, by means of several tangential diversions, that she is a representative of the moon, the ruler of bardism and poetry, the source of divinely acquired inspiration, the modeller of youth, a goddess of corn and grain, a botanist, and a sailing vessel. He expresses the notion that the history and character of Cerridwen
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