It was assumed from that point on that this was the spirit of Gwion Bach imbued with the sacred drops of Awen, having been in the womb of the witch-goddess Cerridwen and then reborn in the form of Taliesin the prophet. Elffin and his family took the child under their wing, who immediately, despite his infancy, began to sing in praise of Elffin. The remainder of the tale concerns the roles of courtiers and princes at the royal court of King Maelgwn of Gwynedd. The second half of the tale is worthy of reading but lacks the magical, transformative qualities of the first half. However, it does contain some lines of poetry that allude to the origin of Taliesin and express his supernatural qualities; these will be taken into consideration and examined in the section devoted entirely to Taliesin and his mysteries.
For the purposes of this book, only an introduction to the themes of the second half is required for an understanding of Taliesin’s development. I would suggest that you read a copy of the tale in both parts, though, for some of the second half’s poetry is indeed rather wonderful. I will explore some themes from the poetry in relation to the first half of the story, and also poetry contained within a further manuscript called the Book of Taliesin, throughout part 3 of this book.
As to the tale itself, the above translations are by no means exhaustive; they are simply the oldest in written form. As previously mentioned, several other manuscripts contain aspects of the story from which a more vivid account can be created whilst retaining the allegories within the tale. I include below a partially novelised version of the tale in an attempt to imbue within your imagination a sense of colour, time, tension, and locale. As suggested earlier, I recommend that once you are familiar with the tale, you retell it in your own words in accordance to your experience with its themes and mysteries whilst simultaneously retaining its fundamental message of magic.
The Tale of the Prophet,
the Witch, and the Cauldron
Once upon a time there lived a nobleman called Tegid Foel, so named because not a single hair grew upon his head. His home stood upon the shores of a great lake near the ancient town of Bala in North Wales. Tegid was betrothed to a powerful and wise witch by the name of Cerridwen, a woman both feared and revered for her powers and her abilities to enchant or curse.
The couple were blessed by the fairest of daughters, perhaps the most beautiful maiden to have ever lived, and she was aptly named Creirfyw, meaning “the finest.” The heads of all men would turn as she passed by, the sparkle in their eyes betraying the lust they harboured for her deliciousness.
But a curse must have been placed upon Cerridwen’s womb, for her son—named Morfran, meaning “sea crow”—was, alas, the ugliest man to have ever lived. His ugliness was such that his mother, in despair, renamed him Afagddu, meaning “utter darkness.” But, as any mother, she loved and adored her child and wished nothing but greatness for him. But Afagddu was shunned by the community, for his countenance was of such ugliness that most found his appearance abhorrent and would serve to avoid him at all cost. In desperation, Cerridwen fathomed that if he was wise, he would gain the respect of the community and be amongst the learned folk, that somehow his ugliness would be compensated by the abilities of his mind. The nobility would adore him and see beyond his countenance and learn to love him as his family did.
Cerridwen—being a wise, powerful magician learned in the three sacred arts of magic, witchcraft, and divination—prepared a plan that would free her son of his appalling countenance. And in her wisdom she contemplated her dilemma and consulted the sacred book of the Pheryllt, the great, ancient magicians who were watchers from the otherworld. These magicians, the keepers of magic and science, once lived in a magical fort in the mountains of Snowdonia but had vanished into the west. Within a surviving grimoire she discovered a spell to brew a magical substance that, when ingested, would impart all the wisdom and knowledge of all the worlds upon the recipient. The brew of Awen—the divine, flowing spirit of inspiration—would take time, devotion, and care in its creation. Such was Cerridwen’s determination, she set out to collect the herbs and materials required. The land about the lake was abundant in herbs and plants of magical qualities, and she took to her task with optimism and a smile, confident that her son would soon be free of the chains that bound him.
She had a great cauldron made of the finest cast iron, the likes of which had never been seen. The cauldron was set upon a roaring fire that would burn for a year and a day; night and day the flames would lick the cauldron’s belly, warming the brew. She employed a blind man called Morda to stoke the fire and keep its hunger for wood at bay, and Gwion Bach to stir its contents.
For the duration of a year and a day Cerridwen worked relentlessly, gathering the sacred herbs and fungi from the banks of the blessed lake. Into the great cauldron they were cast, its magic rising with every ingredient, its song emanating from the depths and origination of the universe. As the appointed time arrived, Cerridwen in her exhaustion took to slumber beneath the trees; her work was done, and time would now dictate the readiness of the brew.
But whilst she slept the brew boiled with great rapidness, and cracks appeared about the cauldron’s belly. Gwion Bach approached the cauldron curiously, at which point the brew in its fury expelled three sacred drops. Alas, the boiling liquid hastily descended onto the edge of Gwion Bach’s thumb. Its heat seared the flesh, and instinctively he raised it to his mouth, plunging the scalded flesh onto the coolness of his tongue. The cauldron, as if anticipating the coming events, sighed heavily; birds became silent, the waves of the great lake fell motionless, and the world held its breath.
In an instant Gwion’s eyes turned black; all the wisdom, knowledge, and sciences of all the worlds both seen and unseen rushed into his being. The whites of his eyes vanished beneath the power of such knowledge, the dark pits of his eyes transforming into pools of nothingness that yet contained the potential for all things to spring into being. The cauldron’s sigh rose into that of a scream; its cracks became chasms, and in a mighty explosion it ruptured, sending shards of cast iron and boiling liquid into the four corners of the world. Its remaining liquid, now more poisonous than the berries of all the yews in all the world, flowed silently into the watercourse; horses and cattle along the river’s banks died so quickly that their eyes remained open, their corpses silent sentinels of the transformative and destructive powers of the cauldron.
Gwion, imbued with universal wisdom, knew the outcome of this event and felt Cerridwen’s eyes spring open at the calamity. When she saw what had befallen her labours, a deep fury rose within her. Her eyes observed the calamity that befell her cauldron, and she saw in the eyes of Gwion Bach that Awen was bestowed upon him. Like a dragon arising from the deepest chasms of the earth, her fury erupted.
Gwion Bach took to the hills, and with Awen within him he found that his shape could be changed. As a hare he bounded over hill and down dale. Cerridwen gave chase, her form changing to that of a greyhound. The chase continued until Gwion as a hare felt his legs heavy under the strain; a river before him compelled him to enter its waters, and as a salmon he swam through the depths. Cerridwen relentlessly followed, diving as a greyhound to transform as an otter bitch. Through the world of water she pursued him, her fury rising ever greater.
Gwion as a salmon looked to the surface and leaped from the water’s hold; as a wren he took to the skies, and she, as a hawk, pursued. The realms of air held the chase as the wren flew from the claws of the hawk. Beneath him, on farmland, he observed a heap of wheat and dived into its mass, instantly transforming into a single grain. But Cerridwen would not surrender her chase. As a black tufted hen she began to peck at the grain, swallowing each one in turn until none remained. The chase was over, her fury satiated in the knowledge that Gwion Bach had been destroyed in the fires of her belly.
But Awen is above all such things, and as a consequence Cerridwen found herself to be with child, whose kicking was a constant reminder of her plight, h
er fury, and her anger. Her son would remain ugly, and Gwion Bach would live! She vowed to kill the child upon birth and drown it in the waters of her sacred lake.
The appointed day arrived, and her contractions grew strong; as her waters broke, her screams echoed through the valley. The child slithered from her womb, and her fury rose yet again. She reached for the babe in readiness to kill it, but its countenance struck her heart. The child’s beauty tore her spirit into a million pieces; his eyes stared at her, and within them she could see all the magic of all the worlds. She found not a vestige of loathing for the child. It would live. She would send the child through the realms of water and into the laps of the gods as they saw fit.
Into a leather coracle she placed the child and set the vessel upon the sacred waters of Lake Bala. Away it sailed and for forty years travelled the width of Wales until caught in the weir of Gwyddno Garanhir. Instead of salmon on that fateful Samhain eve, Gwyddno’s son Elffin found a child within the coracle. Upon unveiling the child from the depths of the leather and raising the babe aloft, a light shone from its brow, a blinding light of inspiration. “Behold, the child has a radiant brow!” he proclaimed. “Let him henceforth be known as Taliesin, he with the radiant brow!”
• • •
The three examples above will serve to demonstrate the subtle differences within the tale yet simultaneously maintain the fundamental magic and mystery at its heart. Regardless of the motives of the scribe or narrator, the tale expresses a unique life of its own. Its power and ability to survive seems to transcend simple human endeavours and feels magical, as if it exists within its own right, as if it can almost take care of itself. However, one cannot deny the power of the bards’ storytelling and the part it has played in the survival of this extraordinary tale.
Consider for a moment the momentous trials, tribulations, and adversity this tale and others have been subject to over the centuries. Admire, if you can, the sheer determination of the Narrative Spirit and the endeavours of the people who risked their lives to ensure its preservation. Cast your mind back if you are fortunate enough to remember the uprising of the Pagan traditions in the mid-1950s and onwards. Gerald Gardner, Doreen Valiente, and Ross Nichols reintroduced the magic that these tales contained and made them available to everyday, modern Pagans, who devoured them as myths appropriate to the new traditions of Paganism. These tales survive, and that fact in itself speaks volumes in relation to their value as mythologies worthy of preservation and dissemination.
Now that you have seen three versions of this tale, and hopefully will have read and re-read them, you will find that the fundamental components of the tale that pertain to its mystery will have been retained by your mind. You may not at this stage have any further understanding of the allegories contained therein, but rest assured: by some power or force beyond the words themselves, their subtle ability to inspire and awaken the spirit will be working away at your subconscious. I suggest that, having immersed yourself in the tale to a lesser or greater intent, you begin to express it creatively, developing a relationship with it as you progress. Your only limit here is imagination; use whatever medium suits you. The key factor here is to develop, to familiarise yourself with the themes of the tale and with the magic that bubbles from the depth of the cauldron to tickle the imagination and tease the spirit into lucidity.
The Power of Imagination
The sheer potentiality of our species is reliant on our ability to imagine. When we tap into this magical cauldron of imagery and potential, we access a realm of possibilities beyond our wildest dreams. There is no doubt that our powers of imagination have moulded and changed the world we inhabit; it is the power of this human ability that has built civilisations and created cities and towns, technology and machinery. We came about this ability by sharing stories; initially they would have been recollections of victories in hunting, of the first spark of fire that changed the human world. Eventually they morphed and transformed into allegories and metaphors, some of which served the realm of the spirit. The tale at hand belongs to this category.
Imperative to connection, one must be fully immersed in the tale; it must be made alive within you. This task is easier than one would initially imagine. If you are working with the tale in a solitary sense, imagine yourself as the characters within it; do this prior to reading the next section of this book. Before you are influenced by the interpretations that follow, journey, by means of your imagination, into the world of the tale, where you begin to see through the characters’ eyes and hear through their ears.
Many people struggle with the task of visualisation; others struggle to meditate or journey into the inner reaches of the mind, but ask someone to imagine something and generally they are able to do so. All that is required to begin the journey of connection is your imagination. Do not be daunted or plagued by doubts or feel insecure that you may not be doing something properly; your way is the right way. Initiate your connection to the primary characters by playing with them in your mind; get to know them through their experiences as told within the tale.
In a group setting, a whole new world of exploration can be at your fingertips. Individuals within a group can be designated a character to work with, to imagine. They may write their imaginings, paint them, draw them, sing to them, whatever it takes to be involved and immersed in the experience. When the group reforms, each individual can express their connection: what they saw through the eyes of the characters, how they felt, what the landscape looked like. It may only be imagination, but you will be tapping into a world as real as this one.
As you imagine, take the following points into consideration:
• What is the character wearing? How does the fabric feel against the skin?
• Is the character barefoot? If so, what does the ground feel like?
• What are the ambient conditions, i.e., what is the weather like? Is it cold, warm, raining?
• What sounds are present in the vicinity?
• As the character, do you feel tall or short?
• What tasks are pressing in the character’s mind?
• What does the surrounding landscape look like?
• What is the character feeling emotionally?
These are simple questions and observations, yet they will provide you with an extraordinary insight into the tale and initiate your exploration of its mysteries.
With that in mind, we can now move on to an examination of the primary characters of the tale, how they interact with it, and what message they have to bestow upon you.
[contents]
6 Ford, Ystoria Taliesin, and Williams, Chwedl Taliesin.
7 Ford, A Fragment of the Hanes Taliesin by Llywelyn Sion.
8 Parker, The Four Branches of the Mabinogi, 98.
9 From NLW MS 5276D and with reference to Ford, Ystoria Taliesin, 65–67.
10 Peniarth MS 111 and with reference to Ford, Ystoria Taliesin, 133–35.
Part 3
Unravelling the Mystery
• • •
I have been a multitude of shapes before I assumed this form:
I was a drop of rain in the air; I was the brightest of stars;
I was a word among letters; I was a book in my prime.
I was a path, I was an eagle, I was a coracle on the sea.
Taliesin: The Battle of the Trees
• • •
At the heart of Welsh Celtic magic and myth, this particular tale has the ability to transcend concepts and sear the spirit and body into a lucid, rapturous relationship of pure enchantment. It does this on several levels; each component is as vital as the other, each one a fundamental step in the dance of initiation. The tale unfolds its layers to reveal archetypical personas and metaphors essential to the initiatory journey. Each individual component has its own song, its own dance, in the drama of transformation; t
hey are each responsible for bringing something unique and necessary to the process of initiation.
In Celtic mythology nothing appears by accident; the concept of “padding out a tale” does not exist; none of the concepts are arbitrary, and each has a vitality that is essential to the transformative process. To ignore or neglect a component is to dismiss part of the story’s spirit. What appears on the surface of Celtic myth or legend is quickly transformed into something entirely different when one scratches at the surface. Nothing is ever black and white; the Celts, being lovers of riddles, have ensured that the multilayered nature of our tales remains a task to decipher—it requires work, commitment, and devotion, and rightly so. To embark on this journey is to tap into a font of wisdom and knowledge that was old when the world was new.
Every individual facet of this tale contains within it keys to access the mysteries of the universe in its entirety. Some of the archetypes may seem to play only a minor role in the unfolding tale, but this is no indication that the strength or message of that component is limited or inferior to another. Sometimes there is great magic in what is given little attention. True magic is never obvious; it calls us to ponder, consider, and above all to explore and learn. These tales invoke a deep, old magic that is reminiscent of the circles of stones from millennia past. The tales do not speak of simple elemental magic but of a deeper kind that utterly transforms the initiate by connecting him or her to the origin of their spirit.
Imperative to the understanding of the following interpretations and for the mysteries to become applicable is your ability to immerse yourself totally as an integral part of the tales’ essential components. Stories are generally observational; we read an account that someone has written of an action or situation that occurs somewhere else. We may see images in our minds or feel an empathic connection to the characters—all of this makes for a good reading experience. The Celtic myths differ, as I have noted previously, for they are not intended to be read; they exist within their own right and must be lived. However, a common problem is that a new practitioner of the Celtic mysteries is unused to this type of immersive quality, which is essential to grasp the mysteries contained therein. We cannot access the magic of the tale if we begin the journey as observers. We must be active components of the tale. To achieve this requires a shift in the way we perceive the world of words and creative storytelling.
From the Cauldron Born Page 6
