From the Cauldron Born

by Kristoffer Hughes

  Cerridwen as Mother

  When we first encounter Cerridwen, her role is central to the transformative process. She is the initiator of the brew and its creator. She does this in direct response to the pain she feels for her child—she turns to the powers of magic to imbue within him the essence of Awen. This action expresses her instinct as a mother to sacrifice herself, her time, and her energy to a process that would ultimately benefit her child. This is what drives the tale—this is its purpose and reason for being: it begins with a mother. Only another mother would truly understand and empathise with this overwhelming call to do something so absolutely extraordinary for her child. Her motives are driven by the pain she senses within her son and the fact that he will never be truly accepted by society. Imagine what that must feel like. Consider for a moment the inexorable love that a mother has for her child and the subsequent torment she must endure in the knowledge that that child may never be accepted by the world. Her actions are indicative of a mother’s drive to ensure the happiness of her child whatever the cost.

  Regardless of which version of the story we encounter, it is safe to assume that significant to the virtue of the tale is the presence of a son and a daughter. We are not told if one is older than the other, but when one considers the nature of Creirfyw and Morfran Afagddu, it may be assumed that, in all probability, they are twins. Imagine, then, a mother’s pain to gaze upon the wondrous beauty of one child and then to be forever faced with the hideousness of the other. Within the text we are provided the following insight into Cerridwen’s state of mind:

  Because of their son’s wretchedness, his mother became very sad in her heart, for there was no obvious means by which her son would win acceptance amongst the learned men of the day unless he beheld qualities markedly different from his looks. And so to deal with this matter, she turned her thoughts towards her Craft to see how best she could make him in possession of the Prophetic Spirit and a great storyteller of the world to come.86

  Morfran Afagddu is the drive; he is the catalyst for Cerridwen’s creation of the brew, yet he is reliant on his mother’s ability to transform him. This implies that the inherent powers within Cerridwen are learned, not inherited, otherwise it would make sense that her offspring be in hereditary possession of her powers. Seemingly they are not, but of course the tale has a dual aspect: we are faced with its merits as a tale of a mother’s love for her son and also the sublime aspect where each character is already playing a vital magical role. The tale bridges the river between the profane and the sublime, enticing the querent with identifiable human motifs. It is by means of her identity as a mother that we are initially introduced to her, and this is a vitally important aspect of the tale, for if we fail to identify with her, we fail to effectively transform.

  Cerridwen is a wife, a devoted mother, and a talented witch who has subsequently been elevated to the dizzying heights of a goddess. But her overriding human identity remains that of a mother who just so happens to be a learned witch. What follows is a sequence of magical events ultimately concluding in her familiar human role of a mother. So we begin with a mother and we conclude likewise. At the commencement of the chase we are subjected to the unadulterated anger of a mother scorned—everything she has struggled and worked for is destroyed. She is intent on killing the individual who spoiled her plans and condemns her son to a life of ugliness with no reprieve. When she eventually destroys him in her belly, during her entire magical pregnancy she continues to resent the unborn child, who represents what her son can never be. But when Taliesin is born, we are once again faced with the uncompromising, unconditional love a mother has for her offspring. His beauty is such that her heart cannot bring itself to destroy him, and so she gives him over to the powers of nature to nurture, care, and transform him further.

  Here we have the combination of the mother, witch, and goddess singing in harmony. It is as though regardless of one’s standing or experience, even the most adept and knowledgeable of initiates continues to learn. Cerridwen had her motives, but with the transformation of the initiate, something changed within her as she coursed through the slipstream of Gwion’s initiation. The teacher is always affected by the process of teaching; the student learns from the teacher and the teacher, by proxy, learns something of him- or herself in the process. Cerridwen may be perceived as a superior goddess, yet her tale serves to tell us that she is also the expression of humanity; she is learning what it is to be human by being a mother. Cerridwen’s own personal transformation is summed up beautifully by the Celtic scholar Angela Grant, who says:

  …Cerridwen who, having thereby been impregnated by the combined spirit of poetry, wisdom and prophecy, then becomes the “mother of wisdom” and is changed, in a manner at least, from the dark, angry and vengeful Witch to the wise and beautiful mother who knows her child needs the fosterage of the sea for forty years before he can be truly reborn as the archetypal poet and diviner.87

  We are each born into the world having spent nine months in the wombs of our mothers—we grow, live, and some of us reach for the spiritual. Within that spectrum we find another womb where we gestate and are reborn into the world as lucid practitioners of the magical arts. Cerridwen serves as the nurturer, the initiator, and the gateway by which we access the spiritual continuum of the universe and incorporate it into our human lives. She is the mother as teacher and the mother as student; our relationship with Cerridwen must be reciprocal.

  • • •

  Imperative to a true and experiential understanding of Cerridwen or any other deity is our relationship with them. Without connection there can be no relationship, and without a deep and sacred relationship with our gods, we are condemned to a life of cerebral or armchair philosophy, with no real interaction. A study of the Celtic material quickly demonstrates the personable nature of the deities and their desire to connect with their adherents. They are not ethereal imaginings flapping about in some otherworldly plane that is beyond touch and concept, they are here and present. They are the divine, imminent aspects of us and the powers of nature, which are forever connected to the source of all being, to the constant river of Awen. They exist within us and without us; they are both internal and external, depending on how we interact with them. Cerridwen provides us with the keys to transformation by presenting herself to us as a human being, a mother, and every individual on the planet can identify with that. She teaches us the fundamental qualities of magic, of study, of nourishing our skills and talents; she guides us into the process of change and encourages us to nourish and nurture others who come to us for inspiration. She is not an entity who demands unquestionable worship; she works with us—if we commit to knowing her.

  Within the practise of Paganism, the interaction with deity is necessary to the connection we have with the natural world and its qualities. But we may also be at risk of only developing a conceptual, shallow relationship with our gods, and this is not enough. Think upon a relationship within your life that is of great value to you; it may be with a parent, a lover, or a sibling. Now compare the intensity of that relationship with that of a deity; do they emulate each other? Do they differ? If so, how? The manner by which we connect to deity is incredibly personal, and it is something that develops with time. I consider the flippant calling or invocation of a deity just for the sake of it to be imprudent and foolhardy. We would not assume a reciprocal relationship with a stranger, and we cannot assume the same for deity. We must connect, and as we have seen this is achieved by first identifying with the mythology and the iconography and then the attributes of deity. We then begin to “get to know one another” in a manner that constructs reciprocation. Too often a relationship with deity may be overtly passive or simply observational, with no real substance. This is not enough for magic to occur. When we arise to meet the gods, we must do so with integrity, with honour, and with an appreciation of the sacredness of relationship. We do this by getting to know them. But this is not a simple task, for
we are denied the physicality of the gods. We have no flesh to touch or warmth to feel; instead, we must sense their pulsing spirit within the fabric of our flesh and the land.

  People cannot conceptualise what they have no concept of, therefore when we move to meet Cerridwen we must have a concept of who she is, what she is, and why we approach her cauldron. Our relationships with these archetypes begin in the same manner as our connection to other human beings—we are attracted to them. It is by analysing that attraction and moving into the energy of that archetype that we begin to know them, and essentially they begin to know us. A selfish, one-sided relationship is doomed from the offset; reciprocation is vital. We all have motives and reasons for being drawn to the presence of deity, but Cerridwen and her kin are not there to entertain. When we approach the cauldron, we must do so with confidence. When we look into the dark pools of her eyes, we must do so with conviction and integrity, where we begin a relationship that is forged with honesty and trust.

  In conclusion, Cerridwen may be segregated as a witch; you may approach her entirely as the archetype of Mother or as the Great Goddess. More than likely she is all these things simultaneously. It is your relationship with her that defines and delineates the borders between each role.

  Are you ready to embark on a journey into the embrace of the witch goddess?

  Exercise

  Developing a relationship with an archetype begins just the same as any other relationship: by means of introduction. We would not accost a total stranger in a supermarket, wedge them between ourselves and a wall, and demand that they suddenly be our friend. We would be considered a little unhinged at best, a raving lunatic at worst. Therefore the manner by which you move yourself into Cerridwen’s energy must be gentle and, above all, polite.

  We are not afforded the luxury of Cerridwen in the flesh; we must connect to her energy. At first glance this may seem an impossible task, but in actuality it is no different from recalling the memory of a loved one who has died. The dead and the gods exist beyond the veil that separates the realms of existence, and to meet them we must become adept at parting those veils. Think of someone whom you were close to who has since died. Recall their features and their voices; invoke memories of them and interact with the image. Call them to you from beyond the veils. This task is made easier by the fact that we have a point of reference—a memory, a photo, or a video capturing the deceased in life. We do not have those associations with Cerridwen, so we must forge new ones. But the images that we may subsequently invoke will be similar in nature to those we summon for our dead.

  Begin by settling yourself in a quiet place where you will not be disturbed, and have your journal ready. Think of the witch goddess and her attributes and her role in the tale. Jot down some notes, a poem, perhaps maybe even an illustration of her features as you imagine them.

  Now close your eyes and imagine before you a curtain, perhaps similar to the style in a theatre. These represent the veils between worlds. By the powers of your imagination, cause them to open. As they sweep gently aside, they reveal a woman who stands alone on a stage that your mind creates. Allow her to appear naturally without attempting to steer what appearance she assumes. This is Cerridwen.

  Introduce yourself to her, talk to her, tell her who you are, where you live. Interact with her—chat with her as if you have just been introduced to a new person, which, in fact, you have. Don’t try to be all mystical and spooky, just talk to her like you would any ordinary living person. Tell her where you went to school, what you do for a living, and who the members of your family are. Tell her stuff about you. There is absolutely no need to reel off antiquated words of worship or honour, no point falling to your knees with cries of “O great Mother, I bow before thee!” She may be a goddess, but don’t idolize her; treat her with the respect that you would show any being, human or other. Stand in her presence and revel in the fact that you are starting something new. When you are ready to go home, simply bid her farewell and cause the curtains to close again. Every time you go to meet her, begin by invoking the image of the curtains; this will inform your subconscious mind that the subtle senses are being utilised and that something extraordinary is about to occur.

  Try to avoid direct images of the otherworld, which may serve to confuse and frustrate you. Always use liminality to reach it; this is the purpose of liminality. The curtains act as a symbol of being betwixt and between; they form the bridge between your conscious mind and the subtle realms. However, do not be restricted to this suggestion alone; by all means use your own imagination to conceptualise and envision other symbols that are of a liminal nature.

  It is useful to have an item that is representative of Cerridwen, perhaps a figurine, a talisman, or a statue—something that may be kept on your altar or sacred table or shelf that is evocative of her. It would be best to utilise Awen to create this item, so that as much of your own connection is imbued within it.

  • Meditate on her qualities and how best you will represent them.

  • Sculpt a figurine from clay or wood.

  • Create a talisman with symbols that connect you to her image.

  • Make a pendant that is indicative of her, and wear it during your rituals and devotions.

  • Make a wall plaque that can be placed in a prominent position in your home.

  • Plan a grove or coven day to create items that reflect her attributes.

  • Paint her image and display it.

  • Create heady, highly perfumed granular incense to burn in her honour.

  • Write songs or poetry that invoke her, and share them with your working group.

  Record all your experiences in your journal.

  [contents]

  56. Evans, The Black Book of Carmarthen.

  57. Evans, Facsimile and Text of the Book of Taliesin.

  58. Skene, The Four Ancient Books of Wales.

  59. Bevan, Geiriadur Prifysgol Cymru.

  60. Skene, The Four Ancient Books of Wales, 498.

  61. Note that in modern Welsh the letter V is replaced by the letter F.

  62. Nash, Taliesin or Bards and Druids of Britain, 195.

  63. Evans, Facsimile and Text of the Book of Taliesin.

  64. Translated by the author from Chwedl Taliesin by Ifor Williams, 1–2.

  65. Haycock, Legendary Poems from the Book of Taliesin, 312–19.

  66. Bromwich, Trioedd Ynys Prydein: The Triads of the Island of Britain, 312–13.

  67. NLW 5276D (my translation).

  68. Owen, Welsh Folklore.

  69. The trial and confession of Isobel Gowdie, taken from Robert Graves’s The White Goddess, 401–402.

  70. Ford, Ystoria Taliesin, 48.

  71. Hippolytus’s Philosophumena (ad 170–235) as translated by Philip Freeman and J. T. Koch in Koch’s The Celtic Heroic Age, 35.

  72. Dion Chrysostom, Orations 49 (ad 40–112) in Koch’s The Celtic Heroic Age, 30.

  73. Ammianus Marcellinus (ad 330–395) in Koch’s The Celtic Heroic Age, 31.

  74. Parker, The Four Branches of the Mabinogi, 100.

  75. Williams, A Dictionary of Eminent Welshmen, 73–74.

  76. Davies, The Mythology and Rites of the British Druids, 186.

  77. Nash, Taliesin or Bards and Druids of Britain, 187.

  78. Spence, The History and Origins of Druidism, 57–58.

  79. MacCulloch, The Religion of the Ancient Celts, 117.

  80. Graves, The White Goddess, 68–98.

  81. Parker, The Four Branches of the Mabinogi, 447.

  82. Math Fab Mathonwy, The Fourth Branch of the Mabinogi, translated by the author from The White Book of Mabinogion edited by J. G. Evans.


  83. Isaac, Coelion Cymru, and Frazer, The Golden Bough, 635–36.

  84. Blake and Lloyd, The Keys to Avalon, 144–45.

  85. Ibid., 145.

  86. NLW 5276D, my translation.

  87. Grant, Magical Transformations in the Pedeir Keinc y Mabinogi and Hanes Taliesin, 56.

  Gwion Bach

  the heart of transformation

  • • •

  She employed a young boy called Gwion Bach from

  LlanFair yn Caer Einion in Powys to tend the cauldron.

  Ystoria Taliesin

  When we first meet Gwion Bach, it is in his guise as an employee of Cerridwen, who recruits him from a life as a yeoman’s son from a village to the south of Bala, in the neighbouring county of Powys, to tend her cauldron. The manuscripts specifically note that he is employed, which implies that Cerridwen is rewarding him for the task of cauldron tending. We are not informed if this is by means of payment or board and lodging, but it is significant that he is subservient to Cerridwen and must do her bidding. In light of the circumstances that arise, it is easy to empathise with Cerridwen’s fury when one in her employment robs her of the miraculous potion. But, as with all things in the Celtic mysteries, there is complexity and various levels to the tale, more so than first meets the eye. As we have explored in the previous sections, this tale is more than just a folk tale and is beautifully described by professor Patrick Ford: