100. Markale, The Druids, 152.
101. Extract from the poem “Angar Kyfundawt” in the Book of Taliesin (my translation).
102. Adapted from the poem “Kad Godeu” in the Book of Taliesin (my translation).
103. Chambers Dictionary of Etymology.
104. Adapted from the poem “Kanu y Gwynt” from the Book of Taliesin (my translation).
Taliesin
the prophetic spirit
• • •
And it is not known if my flesh is meat or fish,
And I was for nearly nine months
In the womb of Cerridwen the Witch.
Formerly I was Gwion Bach,
But now I am Taliesin.
Taliesin
Inadvertently, our exploration of Taliesin commenced at the beginning of this book; the babe in the weir is the culmination of our experience with all components of the tale. The true meaning of the Taliesin spirit is conveyed within the Gwion Bach sequence and the subsequent assimilation process. Everything leads to this moment. But it is pertinent here to explore a little more deeply the nature of this being of radiance.
Our knowledge of Taliesin is compounded by the very fact that he spans an impossible amount of centuries; the rational human mind strives to make sense of this by attempting to locate him as an actual historical figure. This is no easy task, for the information that we discover is conflicting, contradictory, and indicative of something other than ordinary history. To begin with, our knowledge of Taliesin as a historical figure stems from the ninth century, when Nennius, in his Historia Brittonum, mentions him as one of the five poets famed among the Welsh during the sixth century. Elis Gruffudd, in his Chronicle of the History of the World, also places the birth tale of Taliesin within the same century. It is tempting to accept Nennius’s writings and accept that Taliesin was a mortal poet who was alive and well and living in sixth-century Wales, and for centuries scholars have been attempting to convince us of this. However, academia itself has had to be rather creative in its attempt to pinpoint the time and place of the physical embodiment of wisdom. Their attempts to convince us of the existence of Taliesin have served to simultaneously enlighten and confuse.
There can be no doubt that some of the works attributed to Taliesin are in direct relation to prominent figures in history; the satirical nature of the material further demonstrates that they were indeed composed by a skilled, courtly bard. We also find incredible poetry that is clearly synonymous with supernatural events and omnipotence. Academia has strived to make sense of or separate the contrasting nature of the poetry for centuries, and as a consequence the material can be split into two groups. On one hand, we have poems that allude to being composed by an actual sixth-century bard who may have been called Taliesin or adopted the title for reasons lost to us. The other is that several poems belong to a body of work of mystical and legendary origin that surpasses the life span of a single individual. The Taliesin material identifies the poet with historical figures who are separated by centuries; this impossible feat indicates that the persona of Taliesin is something other than the ordinary. Marged Haycock states:
[T]he poems of the present collection are clearly dealing with a legendary and extraordinary being—a figure who claims to have been created at the world’s beginning, not born of mortal father and mother, who has been in the company of the divine family of Don and has lived many different forms.105
We are unable to realistically accept beyond any doubt the singular presence of a historical Taliesin, for there is so much of the material that is far from human or in accordance with history. Although there may well have been a Taliesin working as a bard in the sixth century and singing in praise of historical figures, he may have been one in a succession of Taliesins spanning a mind-boggling array of years. Therefore we can assume that the figure of Taliesin is something that transcends time and its limitations; it is suggestive of a spirit that inhabits various poets throughout time, who themselves act as mouthpieces for the Celtic material. We may never discover the names and identities of the individuals who composed most of the poetry, but it is more than possible that they were written and disseminated by people who identified themselves as possessors of the Prophetic Spirit and by proxy were of “radiant brows” themselves—they were Taliesin. It is my belief that the name Taliesin is, in fact, a rank that may be bestowed on any individual who subscribes and is an initiate of the Celtic mysteries. It simply refers to the shining light of Awen that beams from the forehead, the third eye region, and is the fire in the head that burns from the wisdom of ages. It is this mythologized Taliesin that this section is concerned with, as well as the exploration of the spirit of Taliesin as an experiential component of spiritual practise.
There can be no doubt that the historical poems that speak of Urien Rheged and Maelgwn Gwynedd—actual historical figures—are of immense value. They do not, however, form a major discussion within this current body of work; to do so, I fear, would steer the material into another realm of exploration beyond my capabilities. For the purpose of this book it is sufficient to explore Taliesin from a mystical point of view, a notion that is not without standing, as confirmed by the scholar Ifor Williams. In his Chwedl Taliesin, he comments that there is no difference between Taliesin and the old gods, and that he took his place with Lleu and Dylan, with Gwydion and Manawydan, with Math and Don and Arianrhod—in fact, with the entire pantheon of the British Celts.106 Therefore, Taliesin’s standing as a creature of supernatural erudition forms the basis of this examination, as it is pertinent to the exploration of the mystery of transformation contained within the tale of his birth. But in order to understand the nature of the transformed Gwion Bach who is found as the newborn Taliesin, we must consult various bodies of work that substantiate the significance of the embodied wisdom found at the salmon weir.
Other than the tale at hand and the various manuscripts that contain it, Taliesin appears in several other ancient manuscripts of Wales. There is the vast body of work that you will have noted has been utilised throughout this work called the Book of Taliesin. He appears in the works of the Mabinogi, notably the Second Branch, and also within the Black Book of Carmarthen, the elements of which were explored previously in relation to Cerridwen. He is also mentioned within the Triads of the Island of Britain and within a body of work known as The Life of Merlin: Vita Merlini. All these sources are important and worthy of study and will initiate further relations with the figure of Taliesin. However, to begin with, we must look at some of the sources that are suggestive of the state of Taliesin’s being.
His persona undoubtedly supersedes his mortal birthing, first in the guise of Gwion Bach, secondly in the womb of the witch goddess, and finally in his gestation and subsequent birthing from the skin-belly. To identify Taliesin as a single historical figure in this sense would be foolhardy, for we would be attempting to identify with a personage of such incredible supernatural knowledge, we would find it almost impossible to connect with it. Instead we must look at the birthing and nature of Taliesin within the context of the tale. It is indicative of the post-initiated state; it is demonstrative of the universal occult wisdom having been assimilated into the spirit in a manner that can be expressed. To accept Taliesin as a mere historical figure would be to miss out on the vast storehouse of wisdom that he is attempting to teach us. For the language and concepts that Taliesin transmits to sing to the spirit, we must first understand the nature of rebirth—but not simply by cerebral methods. The mysteries of Taliesin and his omnipresent, omnipotent state of being cannot be understood by the mind alone; it must be incorporated into the spirit as experience, and it is this tale that teaches us how that is achieved. It is by process of assimilation in the womb of the witch goddess and within the confines of the skin-belly that the mysteries coalesce into meaning. It is only by means of these actions that we are able to comprehend how Taliesin’s poems
recounting various states of being and the nature of his birth are, in fact, relating directly to his spirit, not simply his mortal coil. To understand these facets of the spirit as concepts is all very well—they are pretty, poetic, and full of profound meaning—but for the spirit to be moved into knowing what they speak of, we must also be transformed as Taliesin, in the tale, demonstrates by example.
When we left the reborn figure of Gwion Bach in the previous section, it was by means of the coracle, or skin-belly. We are not informed of the reasons why Cerridwen stitched the babe into this device and set him adrift on a river for an impossible length of time, but we can safely assume that this is necessary for the transformation process to be complete. Part of the process of assimilation, we can deduce, took place within the womb of the witch goddess, but the Welsh word for skin-belly is bol croen, and the first word, bol, is synonymous with belly, bag, and womb.107 Therefore, this is suggestive that the womb of the witch goddess served only as part of the assimilation process. For Taliesin to be fully transformed and in possession of the Prophetic Spirit, the babe had to undergo another sequence of assimilation, this time by means of device rather than person. This is not unusual; as Celtic scholar Angela Grant notes, the babe Lleu Llaw Gyffes in the Fourth Branch of the Mabinogi also undergoes transformation by device through being placed in a magical chest for a gestational period, in addition to his embryonic stage in the womb of Arianrhod. This subsequent gestation by a nonanthropomorphic device is a recurring theme in Celtic mythology and is explained by Grant as acting “as a sort of suspended animation device, protecting the infant Taliesin until it arrives in Gwyddno’s weir up to forty years later.”108
Upon discovery of the skin-belly in the weir of Gwyddno Garanhir by his son, Elffin, Taliesin is seemingly birthed by caesarean section when the bag is sliced open with a knife. The characters that are involved in this discovery are human figures that belong to a specific time and place. This episode seems indicative of the possessor of the Prophetic Spirit coming into the world and interacting with it, which is in stark contrast to the Irish material, which makes no account of the life of he who is imbued by the Salmon of Wisdom. In the British material we are told of his adventures in the court of Elffin and treated to poetry that is suggestive of the time and also of the Prophetic Spirit. But at the point of his birthing at the weir, one can sense the dismay of Elffin, who is expecting a hoard of fish to line his pockets with silver; instead he finds a battered old bag of skin, a coracle. However, the gift it contains is worth more than all the salmon in the river. It is at this point that we are introduced to the name of Taliesin and how it came about.
Upon slicing open the coracle, Elffin notes the forehead of a human baby and says, “Wele dal iesin (behold, a radiant forehead)!”
To which the babe within replies, “Taliesin bid (I am Taliesin).”
From this point onwards the child is able to converse as an adult, even though we are told that he is merely a baby. However, his name, as you can see, consists of two words compounded together; the first term used by Elffin is dal, a mutation of the word tal, meaning “brow” or “forehead”; interestingly, it is also synonymous with a catch of fish.109 The latter term, iesin, can be taken to mean “bright” or “radiant.” The text of the tale further elaborates that the people accepted this to be the spirit of Gwion Bach, who had been in the womb of Cerridwen; after she delivered him into fresh water, he was reborn as Taliesin. It does not inform us of how or why the people were familiar with the original tale—which, according to the story, happened forty years previously. We are not informed of the reaction of the people at the weir; surely to discover a babe that is fully conversant is not an everyday occurrence, yet they seemingly accept this without question. This implies that although we are dealing with actual historical figures here, they are obviously accustomed to events of a supernatural quality. At every twist and turn we are met with mystery and paradox, and no adequate explanation is provided within the text itself. We are not informed of the reason for Taliesin’s shining brow; that this is synonymous with the region of the third eye and the concept of the fire in the head cannot be disputed, but no obvious explanation is given. Further mystery only pertinent to the initiate must be present in the birthing sequence.
Taliesin’s transformation by device takes him on a journey through the land by means of water, yet he is not actually in water, he rides upon it. In perpetual darkness he is carried by the veins of the land through the landscape of Wales until he arrives at the salmon weir. He claims that it cannot be known if his flesh be that of meat or fish, indicating that his time in the coracle took him through the mysteries of nature and culminated in his being able to fathom and sense the nature and existence of all things, naturally including the animal kingdom. This can be seen mirrored in yet another poem where Taliesin speaks of having been in the form of animals and fish:
I was a blue salmon,
I was a dog, I was a stag,
I was a roebuck on the mountain.110
He may appear in human form, but his spirit is able to conceive any form or shape, and this causes his physical being to be an expression of mystery. It cannot be known if he is meat or fish, for he is all these things at all times—he is the Prophetic Spirit, not an actual individual. He speaks of the connectedness of the spirit that applies to all life; we just don’t hear the message as clearly as we should. Life gets in the way.
The Book of Taliesin provides further clues to the nature of the Prophetic Spirit. This book should be essential reading for any student of the Celtic mysteries, and its spirit is captured dramatically in the following words by one of Wales’s greatest Celtic scholars:
Delphi is deserted and Taliesin is jettisoned, and no lecture room open that names the name of Taliesin. The learned who write in encyclopaedias are like the bards at the court of Deganwy—who in the presence of Taliesin became mute mutterers of nonsense.111
These words were written by the remarkable and groundbreaking Celtic scholar J. Gwenogvryn Evans, who expressed his disbelief that the works of our Celtic ancestors were not being utilised within our society. He took it upon himself to change this and faithfully copied, translated, and interpreted dozens of ancient Welsh manuscripts. Among them was the legendary Book of Taliesin. Evans belies a mystery here, perhaps one that he himself did not fully understand, for the mysteries of Taliesin have captured the heart of a nation for centuries. It was the Narrative Spirit and the efforts of the bards and scriptoriums that ensured the survival of the material, but without the Prophetic Spirit that is embodied as Taliesin, the present would be devoid of the magic that the Celtic culture has retained. The spirit of Taliesin is more than its connection to mystery and the subtle realms; it is more than the initiatory journey into the cauldron of transformation. This spirit is alive as the beating heart of a nation and a culture, a culture that has spread its wings and flown to distant shores and lands to inspire a new people. The current identity of Wales is proudly held in the emblem of the Welsh dragon, a mythical creature that symbolises power, strength, and the determination of a people, and yet within it there swims something else. It is the collective spirit of a nation and its culture; it is the spirit of Taliesin. One does not need to be a practitioner of the Celtic mysteries to appreciate and connect with this energy, for it exists as a sympathetic link that people have with their identity as Welsh Celts.
If we look to other countries, we may encounter emblems that capture the spirit of a people; for example, the bald eagle of the Americans. It sings of something ethereal and powerful; it is the collective spirit of the people. Taliesin embodies these qualities, for throughout the passage of time and the many obstacles that it has cast in the roads of Celtic culture, the spirit of Taliesin is alive and well. It is celebrated annually in the National Eisteddfod of Wales; periodicals that express the beauty and value of poetry and the arts bear the title of its name. Within the landscape of Wales and the tongue of the peopl
e, one can sense the whispers of the Prophetic Spirit. Something mysterious and unique happened to this figure. As the people became transformed by the mystery Taliesin represents, his wings opened and he soared to become the beating heart of a new tradition: Celtic Paganism and Druidry. The spirit of Taliesin is now inexorably woven into the very fabric and traditions of modern Paganism, and we, the practitioners of the twenty-first century, ensure its applicability.
When J. Gwenogvryn Evans wrote those words nearly one hundred years ago, I doubt he had any idea that you would be reading about Taliesin—or about him, for that matter. I imagine that his essence smiles from beyond the misty veils in pleasure that lecture rooms do name the name of Taliesin. That these rooms also consist of Pagan teaching groups, circles, and orders may bemuse him further, but they also serve to perpetuate and ensure the continuation of the spirit of Taliesin as something other than a historical poet. The figure of Taliesin has been taken to represent Wales and its literary jewels long before its adoption by modern Paganism, a fact which continues to bemuse many modern-day Welsh speakers. The identity of the Prophetic Spirit as a tool to access mystery in a Pagan sense means little to the majority of the native Welsh, and this may serve to dishearten—but, in fact, the opposite is true. This totem of mystery and culture has a dual aspect that may be appropriated by Pagans and non-Pagans alike; its power refuses to be compartmentalised or restricted to one form of expression; its brow shines too brightly. Taliesin is totemic of the magic of transformation and also of a nation and its pride in securing the past for future generations, and it does this through the act of celebration. As Pagans, we can share the best of both worlds!
J. Gwenogvryn Evans captures the spirit of Taliesin, and he devoted his life to the preservation of its poetry. The Book of Taliesin is perhaps the most magical and pertinent of that collection. Within this book we encounter the epic poem “Kat Godeu,” meaning “Battle of the Trees,” where we are offered a snapshot into Taliesin’s birth:
From the Cauldron Born Page 23