We are blessed to live in an age where we have access to information at the touch of a button; we have health care and medicines that would have turned our ancestors green with envy. We have technologies to improve our lives and enable exploration of our planet and universe. But by proxy of this we have become used to the “instant society” we have created. Alas, this expectant attitude can also infiltrate the realms of the spirit and its exploration. We can buy courses, purchase the mysteries, and be awarded a title for a few hundred dollars—but, just as the remains of the cauldron were toxic, so can the “I can buy my spirituality” mentality poison and corrupt. The mysteries of any tradition require utmost devotion and commitment, and the Celtic mysteries are no exception. The subtle power of words informs us of how we must commence and what the gods require of us. The process of the brew becoming toxic is teaching us that collateral damage is a real and apparent risk. If we approach the mysteries without integrity and due attention, we may cause damage to ourselves and our environment. In an instantly gratifying world, the Celtic mysteries teach us the importance and value of patience, of absorption and commitment.
We are also informed by means of Gwion’s name that he becomes the embodiment of poison. Whatever collateral damage has been enacted by the spilling of the cauldron’s contents, it seems evident that Gwion is not only transformed into the Prophetic Spirit but is also an embodiment of poison. Gwion becomes the epitome of what nourishes but also poisons, a quality that we explored earlier within the cauldron fort of Caer Feddiwt. Gwion tells us a little of his nature after he is transformed in the Book of Taliesin poem “Prif Gyuarch Geluyd”:
I am old, I am new, I am Gwion,
I am universal, I am the sense of fine things.
I am a bard, I do not disclose secrets to menials.
I am leader, I am a sage in contest.
Convoluted bards will come,
To meet about the mead vessels,
To sing wrongful verse,
To secure rewards that they will not get.96
Here Taliesin speaks of his previous incarnation as Gwion Bach, and of the nature of his being, he claims a universal presence and that he is of superior sense. He also states that he will not (or cannot) disclose his secrets to menials. The term menial is taken to be representative of those who are not in possession of the Prophetic Spirit, and therefore not privy to receive them. To do so would be akin to being poisoned. He also condemns those who tarry about claiming great things and speaking in verse as if they are knowledgeable, and seems to be portraying the common “jack of all trades and master of none” persona. It is apparent that the Gwion Bach/Taliesin figure has very little patience for those who do not approach the mysteries with good intent and preparation. Gwion, as a vessel of poison, mirrors the poisonous virtues of the natural world; not all that is sweetness and light is necessarily good for us. The bees forage among flowers, gathering nectar; their honey is a rich source of carbohydrates, yet it can be immensely toxic to a child. The humble nut can provide protein and nourishment, and yet, to an unfortunate few, it can kill. Hidden within innocence and beauty is the risk of toxicity. The collateral damage that the natural world can cause is emulated in the occult mysteries. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, particularly in the wrong hands. Cerridwen’s rules are steadfast. We must embark alone to seek the wisdom and magic of the cauldron; anything else would be untrue and impure, a corruption of Awen, and, as we have seen, the remains serve only to poison. Gwion Bach’s multilayered meaning serves to guide, to inspire, but also to warn.
There is a further teaching here that emulates the message of Morda: liminality. We are informed that the horses of Gwyddno Garanhir (whose weir Taliesin is later discovered in) were drinking at the estuary of Gwyddno Garanhir and consequently ingested the poisoned waters. Their deaths are eternalised in the name of the river and estuary to this day: Afon Gwenwynfeirch Gwyddno means “the river of Gwyddno’s poisoned horses.” The horses are the only victims of the cauldron’s toxicity, or at least the only ones that we are informed of. It would stand to reason that every creature within the river is also poisoned and subsequently dies. But there is a dichotomy here. To begin with, this is the river in which the watery aspect of the chase takes place; therefore, we must assume that somehow Cerridwen as an otter and Gwion as a salmon are immune to its effects. Secondly, the horses are drinking from an estuary, which is odd in that the water would be primarily salty. Also, an estuary epitomises liminal space: it is neither land nor sea but a combination of both; it is a place that is betwixt and between. However, a further complication to the significance of the horses’ poisoning arises in relation to the fact that horses are indicative of the sovereignty of Britain. Their deaths seem to imply that something is being challenged; perhaps this something is identity, both national and individual.
What can be deduced is that liminal space is a key aspect to the entire transformational process. It does not happen in actual or apparent time. Regardless of whether the tale unfolds in the otherworld or not, what is significant is that the section immediately after the ingestion of Awen takes place in liminality. As mentioned previously, we are not informed of how long the chase sequence takes, but we are informed that the newborn child is set adrift for forty years after birth and then found by Gwyddno Garanhir’s son, Elffin. A paradox is immediately apparent here, as the poisoned horses belong to him; now he must be incredibly old or another creature of supernatural erudition. All of this serves to demonstrate the complex nature and interconnection between the various characters or archetypes in Celtic myth. Whilst they all provide a meaning or teaching significant to them and their part in myth, there is a crossover point where certain attributes are mirrored or mimicked by others, perhaps as a process of reiteration. Therefore, to interpret the archetypes and explore their meanings as I am attempting to do here is fraught with difficulties, for they have a tenacity to share certain attributes and meaning.
Within the sequence that directly involves Gwion Bach, we can see the interchange between him and the other archetypical qualities that continue to interact throughout the chase and birth sequences. Therefore, although the character of Morda seems to have vanished from the tale, what he represents—i.e., the qualities that he brought to the cauldron—continue to be paramount to the unfolding of the initiatory events. All the archetypes are present; they are simply not referred to. If we take Morfran Afagddu and his qualities of shadow, we can see them at work in Cerridwen’s wrath and in the fear that Gwion evokes. Creirfyw’s influence remains in the sense of beauty and wonder and love that Cerridwen feels as the great Mother. This interaction is essential to the unfolding of transformation, reaffirming that the qualities we initially placed in the cauldron are never vanquished; rather, they are assimilated.
exercise
So what is in a name? How important are names to you? We have seen what mystery lies in the name Gwion Bach. How about your name—what does that invoke? Stop for a minute and consider your given or chosen name; what does it describe, if anything? Does it express your qualities? Perhaps your name honours something, maybe an ancestor, or it may provide you with a sense of heritage and belonging. Names are incredibly powerful things, and although we may dismiss their power as simply an unimportant label, we cannot deny that we live in a world of labels. Our names may well be one of those badges, but how do we give them meaning? Meditate on the function of your name, and what it means to you, your loved ones, and your community.
For example, my own name is vitally important to my identity within my tribe. My surname honours the Celtic Hughes tribe; derived from Hu or Huw, meaning “fire” and “inspiration,” by proxy of this name I sense my connection to centuries of Celtic history and heritage. My first name honours my parents and their choices in naming me.
The Sacred Chase
We now move on to the most magical aspect of the transformation process, the chase. In the section devoted to
Cerridwen, we were introduced to her role within the chase sequence and the significant use of shapeshifting magic that she utilised. This section differs in its point of view, for we now explore the chase through the eyes of the hunted. As we previously saw, Cerridwen is the hunter; she forces the initiate ever forward. However, there is further magic to behold in the smallest details. On first glance, it may appear that the purpose of the chase is directly related to the wrath of Cerridwen, and that Gwion Bach is simply responding in a “fight or flight” fashion. The witch goddess may seem to be the aggressor intent on destroying what has, for all intents and purpose, been stolen from her, but by now we realise that there are deeper levels of meaning.
The transformational combat has a specific purpose and meaning and is perfectly adapted in a mythological sense to be of a dual nature. On one hand, it serves to entertain—to pass the dark nights sharing stories by candlelight—and on another level it speaks of a sequence of mysteries that addresses an audience of another nature, those of the schools of mystery. One can imagine the storytellers of old expertly articulating the tale, creating tension and drama, culminating in the thrill of the chase and the peril it contains. Without the latest Hollywood productions to capture the imagination, the old storytellers were the A-list celebrities of their day, each one capable of mesmerising his or her audience. Mouths would be gaping in anticipation, bottoms firmly rooted to the spot as myths and legends were brought expertly to life. And yet, in the gloom of a court or a gathering hall, sat other folk who simply smiled knowingly at the contents of the tales. The old storytellers and travelling bards were the teachers of the day. With no newspapers and no Internet, the only manner by which the students of mystery heard of the latest teachings and developments was through the mouths of the wandering orator.
If we leave aside the thrilling nature of the chase and descend below the depths of entertainment, we begin to find meaning in the transformational combat. This meaning is not a mental exercise but a template for our own initiation into the mysteries of the Celtic tradition. Caitlín Matthews suggests that the changes are in keeping with the various levels involved in the training of the initiate as he or she travels towards transformation. Each sequence of the tale provides the initiate with insights into the nature of things and eventually to a state of “all knowing.” Matthews explains how the chase forces the querent through deeper levels of understanding until he reaches “the primary essence of life itself, here symbolised by a grain of wheat.”97
This is interesting, for the implication is that we have, at some point in our lives, lost this meaning and connection to the primary essence. The individual elements of the chase sequence transmit the mysteries of being to the initiate as he or she is immersed within the experience. There is a relay of information happening whereby the initiate is in receipt of teachings by means of the natural world and its direct link to the source of all being. The aggressor, who appears in this case to be Cerridwen, is none other than the initiator; her role is to ensure that inertia does not occur and that the immersion in each component of the chase is in perpetual motion. Throughout the sequence the initiate is bombarded with information by proxy of the lucidity of Awen; an element of threat and danger is also present in the form of the hunter pushing the querent onwards. Eventually there is a period of rest and assimilation by which the initiate digests and makes sense of the teachings he or she has received. In the darkness of the womb, the teachings coalesce into meaning. Therefore, a function of the chase is the initial coalescence of wisdom and knowledge. The blessed drops have opened the doors to mystery, and the chase sequence is their entrance.
In order for the mysteries to be admitted unhindered, it is necessary for certain human functions to be temporarily suspended. Gwion Bach is suddenly in receipt of such a vast storehouse of wisdom that he is in danger of a mental breakdown; therefore, the functions of the human are briefly halted to allow unhindered ingestion of the mysteries. An animal acts in accordance to its nature; there is no other agenda. Humans, on the other hand, are riddled with agendas. Gwion’s form is transformed, but his essence remains unchanged; therefore, a component of his humanity is retained whilst in animal form, but he is, in essence, acting according to the instincts of the animal shape he finds himself in. The primary instinct here is survival.
There is always an ordeal within transformational rites and initiations, and it is imperative that this element be present, for it causes us to act on instinct. The ordeal causes the brain to be reset to factory settings, if you like, to reconnect with the primary essence of life. The conscious mind is temporarily suppressed to allow access to the higher states of being. Gwion’s form is changed, and he goes forth through the elemental realms, receiving their wisdom as he travels whilst being free of the restraints of the critical mind. His spirit is open; he has surpassed the doubting, insecure, disbelieving aspects of himself and is immersed in the lucidity of mystery; he has been returned to the primary state of being.
At its heart, the purpose of the transformational combat is to return the mind to the default state. It bridges the canyon that forms between the mind and the spirit as we succumb to the programming of our societies. A powerful spell must have been cast over the minds of humans that caused them to believe that they are separate from the world. We are taught to strive to make our lives better by working hard and earning buckets of money—only then will we be truly happy! The spell is so powerful that it may cause us to believe that rather than being an aspect of nature, instead we can control it. Nature is something “out there,” and all that matters is the here and now and the constant battle for gain. The spell also causes us to believe that a lost part of ourselves left and travelled elsewhere and that we must embark on a physical (and sometimes costly) journey to “find ourselves.” And yet, the “self” was there all the while—within us. It never left, it didn’t go anywhere; we simply were led to believe that such things hold no value and do not necessarily exist. The effects of this spell still grasp our human world in its clutches. The process of transformation by returning us to factory settings breaks this spell and causes us to see clearly the interconnection of all things and the primordial origination of the soul. Doreen Valiente, the mother of modern Wicca, captured this sentiment beautifully in her Charge of the Goddess, where she exclaimed that if we seek what we do not find inside us, we will never find it outside of us either.
But is all this worth it? Imagine all the study, the work, the devotion, the commitment that is needed to embark on a journey into the spirit. Surely it’s just a huge waste of time, right? After all, it’s not going to get you a bigger house or those designer shoes that you just have to have. It’s not really going to put an awful lot of money in your purse either, nor will it cause your credit card debt to miraculously vanish. It won’t get you a better job, nor will it cause that sexy guy who works at the coffee shop to fall madly in love with you and whisk you away to the Caribbean! But it will cause pieces of your spirit to float gently back into coalescence with your entire being, so you will be unable to accurately define where you end and the world begins. It will cause you to realise that there was nothing actually missing in your life in the first place. The process of transformation causes our lives to be enriched by the realisation that we are the world experiencing itself. This lucidity brings the spirit in line with the soul of the universe as it sings in praise of itself—aware, conscious, and blissfully swimming in the rapture of being.
Each culture, each tradition has its own unique set of keys that allow doors to open, that return us to factory settings. Our lives are not restricted by this action—nothing is impeded; in fact, the opposite is true. We learn to live by means of a positive morality whereby all life—all elements of the earth and its inhabitants—is an integral part of us. The act of initiation into the mysteries brings all dimensions of the universe into awareness and causes us to experience this world as integral aspects of it, not separate from it. We fall into meanin
gful relationship. What you hold in your hands is one of the keys of the Celtic tradition that fits neatly into the lock of a door that society has taught us is forever locked. The chase allows us to ingest this information before we assimilate it into meaning.
In the past, some of our greatest and perhaps most criticised authors have explored the meaning of the chase and its significance, and without exception they are all in agreement that a profoundly magical process is at work. Edward Davies claims that the swallowing of the initiate at the culmination of the chase is his symbolic placement in the sanctuary of the Goddess and implies that there is much more going on than initially is apparent. He believed that the aspirant is intended for the priesthood and that his imprisonment in the womb is the manner by which he assimilates the doctrines and rites of Cerridwen.98 Robert Graves, on the other hand, presents us with an interesting correspondence that has some merit and can be incorporated into an exploration of the tale. He claims that the entire cycle runs in strict seasonal order, and that by breaking the sequence down we can attribute a particular season to each facet of the chase. He states that the hare is indicative of the autumn coursing season, the fish takes place in the rains of winter, the bird in the spring during the migrating season, and the grain of corn during the summer harvest.99 These links may be somewhat tenuous, to say the least, but it would be foolhardy to dismiss them entirely, for the seasons are of great importance to Pagan practise.
From the Cauldron Born Page 20