• The first column resonates to the vowel O (pronounced as a long “oh” sound)
• The second column resonates to the vowel I
(pronounced as a long “ee” sound)
• The third column resonates to the vowel W (pronounced as a long “oo” sound)19
The bardic record shows that it is from the sound of Awen that all language is derived, and that this occurred in response to the utterance of the universe’s voice. In the depth of the infinite chaos, the universe uttered its mighty name. From that utterance all the galaxies, all the worlds, and all life upon them sprang instantaneously into existence with a shout of joy. As the universe sang its name, three blinding shafts of light erupted from its core. Each shaft of light resonating to a sound, which in combination imitates the song of the universe singing in praise of itself. As the universe let free its voice, Iolo offers the following description:
…and with the utterance was the springing of light and vitality, and man, and every other living thing; that is to say, each and all sprang together. And Menw the Aged, son of Menwyd, beheld the springing of the light, and its form and appearance, not otherwise than thus , and in three columns; and in the rays of light the vocalisation—for one were the hearing and the seeing, one unitedly the form and sound; and one unitedly with these three was power…and since each of these was one unitedly, he understood that every voice, and hearing, and living and being, and sight and seeing, were one…20
In the vocalisation of Awen there is great power and mystery. Try intoning the vowel sounds whilst visualising the columns, or rays, of Awen. Feel how they affect and resonate in different parts of your body; sense that you are connecting to a concept that is centuries old. According to the Celtic revivalists, Awen causes us to know truth, to maintain truth, and to love truth. Its primary tenet, which can still be seen on the banners of the National Eisteddfod of Wales, is “The truth against the world,” meaning that within Awen swims the river of pure truth. Iolo Morganwg describes this as
…that is to say, they are called the three columns, and the three columns of truth, because there can be no knowledge of truth, but from the light thrown upon it; and the three columns of sciences, because there can be no sciences, but from the light and truth.21
The Celtic revivalists, in particular Iolo Morganwg, have been scorned over the centuries and even branded forgers, but it can truthfully be stated that without them, modern Paganism and Druidry would have a different face. The likes of Iolo Morganwg gained nothing from their endless collecting, musing, and writing; he was long dead by the time his works came into print. They have inspired not only the love the Welsh have for frightfully long sentences (I am now acutely aware of the length of my own!) but also for exploring the wisdom our ancestors left behind for us to decipher. The old manuscripts and the Celtic revivalists continue to perpetuate the value of the material at hand.
The non-Pagan National Eisteddfod of Wales utilises the three rays alone, whilst the Pagan traditions incorporate a dot above each ray to depict the three sacred drops from the cauldron of Cerridwen, which denotes the origination of Awen within our indigenous mythology. By the simple addition of the three sacred drops, the symbol creates a chain of imagery that directly bonds it to appropriate and relevant myth. This further exemplifies the essential nature and sacred relationship between the tribe and the land. The very act of adding to a symbol, giving it meaning, serves to demonstrate the living, breathing, adaptable nature of the current Pagan traditions. Awen facilitates and encourages maturation and the evolution of traditions that work with it; it is not a stagnant force but an eternally moving stream of energy. Adapting Awen to fit and express modern life has no rules as long as a degree of sagacity and a good smattering of integrity is utilised.
We are like islands in the sea, separate on the surface but connected in the deep.22
Imagine yourself as one of these islands, a vast stretch of sea seemingly separating you from the person next to you; it is a state we find ourselves in daily—the belief that we are separate from one another and separate from the world and the Divine. Nothing could be further from the truth. Awen connects us to everything: it is the water within the ocean; it is the land that reaches out beneath it to connect all to the other. The mind-boggling and sometimes befuddling world of particle physics and quantum mechanics seems to be exploring concepts that mystics and sages throughout time have long accepted. The current theories of the vacuum state, also known as the zero-point field, describe how, even at minute levels, deep within the fabric of the cosmos, there is vitality, a force, that connects every visible and invisible part of this universe to each other.
Particle physics takes a journey to the dawn of creation and to the point of singularity, to the seconds before the big bang. It explores the magic of creation as the universe became aware of itself and exploded in galactic glory, creating worlds and stars, trees and rivers. Quantum mechanics looks deep into the miniature world, into the space between spaces, where it peers into a singular universe that is a seething mass of energy and potential. The scientific community is suddenly aware of a singular field of energy that connects every possible thing in the universe with one another. In a pseudo- scientific sense this is called the zero-point field, and it demonstrates that ultimately there is no such thing as separation; we all exist within a field of infinite potential.
This field of potentiality gives birth to everything in the universe; when we gaze up at the stars, to other worlds beyond our reach, we stare at the magic of Awen. It holds within itself the memory of the universe in its entirety; swimming within its flow is all the memories of all the worlds since the dawn of time. Everything that can exist, has existed, and will exist is within this field, and we have direct access to it. We are not and never have been separate from it; it is only illusion that keeps us apart. The great thinker and scientist Ervin László gives this field an intriguing title: he calls it the Akashic field or A-field, a term I rather like, and I have adopted the A-field to mean the “Awen field” within my own spiritual practise. According to László, this A-field is “the fundamental energy and information-carrying field that informs not just this universe, but all universes past and present.”23
Deepak Chopra explains that we cannot step out of the ocean of potential, out of the zero-point field, for it contains us and everything else in the universe, known and unknown. We are unable to step outside of it and therefore find ourselves in the same position as a fish attempting to prove that the ocean is wet.24 We have spent so many years under the spell of separation that we find it almost unfathomable to comprehend the concept of oneness, but we can. The mysteries of Awen, the zero-point field, the A-field, or any other name we give it is hidden within our mythologies; we need only seek it out.
Exercise
Awen is the soul of the universe, it is the house of the spirit, and we are an essential component of it. Soul—derived from the Proto-Germanic word saiwalo, meaning “coming from the sea or belonging to the sea”25—gives rise to the exercise that follows. This meditative journey may be performed physically or contemplatively. Ideally it will involve a physical journey to the sea wherein the journey itself becomes part of the overall experience.
Take yourself to a beach; if possible, plan your arrival to coincide with dusk or dawn or midnight to utilise natural liminality as part of the exercise. Be safe; ensure there is someone close by to watch over you. Remove your clothing and walk slowly into the water until you are waist deep. Immerse yourself in the contact between flesh and water: sense the temperature, feel the texture of the seabed beneath your feet. Breathe in tune with the lapping of waves. Extend your arms away from your body, palms outward, and assume the pose of the three rays of Awen: .
Take a deep breath and visualise the central column; a blinding ray of light descends from the sky above you to pierce your body. Hold the image for several seconds. Take another breath and visualise anot
her beam of light at 45 degrees penetrating your body from your neck and down through your right arm. Hold the image for several seconds, and then repeat the visualisation for your left arm. Imagine yourself as the three rays, glowing brightly as the waves embrace your lower body.
Raise your voice and intone the three sacred vowels O, I, and W as directed on page 58. Allow the sound to cascade from your lips and fall into the sea that you stand in. Allow your mind to expand with the sea; acknowledge that you are standing in the same body of water that laps onto the shores of distant lands. It sits frozen at the polar caps and crashes onto the rocks of storm-wracked beaches. You and the sea are as one; it mirrors the quality of Awen. It is in all places at all times. You are not an island that floats isolated; like the seabed at your feet and the briny liquid that laps at your skin, you are a part of all these things. You are Awen singing in praise of itself.
Allow the vowels to resonate for as long as you are immersed in the experience. Then come back to the present, allowing the sound to dissipate and flow into the sea. Bring your awareness back to the present, yet take the immersive quality with you. Walk gently back to dry land, knowing that the sea can teach you the quality of oneness whenever you feel separated. Record your experience in your personal journal.
[contents]
11. A tip to effective pronunciation: ah-when—both syllables are pronounced rapidly, with no accent, to elongate the sound.
12. Bevan, Geiriadur Prifysgol Cymru (A Dictionary of the Welsh Language), 240.
13. Evans, Facsimile and Text of the Book of Taliesin.
14. Translated by the author.
15. Excerpt from Hanes Taliesin, Peniarth MS 111, and translated by the author.
16. Ford, Ystoria Taliesin, 133.
17. The manuscript concerned is viewable online at http://image.ox.ac.uk/show?collection=bodleian&manuscript=msauctf432.
18. The Barddas of Iolo Morganwg, 21.
19. To avoid confusion, note that the Welsh language has an additional vowel in the form of W, pronounced as the “oo” in zoo.
20. The Barddas of Iolo Morganwg, 17.
21. Ibid., 67.
22. William James, philosopher.
23. László, Science and the Akashic Field.
24. Chopra, Life After Death, 202.
25. Chambers Dictionary of Etymology.
Cerridwen’s Cauldron
the womb of enchantment
• • •
Come and taste of the cauldron’s brew,
and magic she will give to you,
You will dance in the eye of the storm;
you’re Cerridwen’s children,
the cauldron born.
Damh the Bard, “The Cauldron Born”
Standing in central position is the great cauldron of Cerridwen. This vessel, although non-anthropomorphic in nature, is one of the primary archetypes of the tale. The symbol of the cauldron is commonplace in the modern Pagan movement, but why? Where does it come from? Is it enough to simply state that it is just a symbol of the Goddess? A deeper understanding of this symbol is required.
The cauldron at the centre of our tale is the vessel that contains the essence of the transformation experience. It epitomises several qualities that are of great importance to the process, which will be discussed a little later. Primarily it is the vessel that contains the essence of the three sacred drops; it holds Awen until it is ready to be taken by the initiate.
I begin by exploring the cauldron in reference to the divine feminine and its pertinence to our tale. For centuries the cauldron has been a symbol of the feminine, especially in relation to its semblance as a womb or a receptacle that holds within it the essence of spirit or life. On a purely physical level the cauldron symbolises the hearth, food, and sustenance; it epitomises the heart of the home. Every round and long house from the Bronze Age and through to the Iron Age would have had a cauldron at its centre, held by chains that supported it above the hearth’s warming fires. It is only a small leap from that function to adopting the cauldron as the symbol of what nourishes us. Akin to the body of a mother who sustains us for nine months before we are birthed from her “cauldron”—our initiation into this life—she becomes the physical and spiritual representation of the cauldron. There are two words in the Welsh language for cauldron, crochen and pair; the word crochen shares the same prefix, cro, with the word croth, meaning “womb.”
If we take the above into account, it can be perceived that Cerridwen and the cauldron may be seen as one and the same thing. The cauldron is simply an externalisation of the nourishing properties of the witch goddess’s womb. Suffice it to say that the cauldron, in its central position, represents the potential of Awen as the vessel that holds it, implying that within the womb we swim knowingly in the magic of Awen. It is our birthing into this world—the breaking of the waters within the cauldron—that causes us to forget our connection to this unifying force of the universe. However, for a time within our infancy we continue to swim in the oneness. To a babe in arms, the mother is the universe in its entirety, and the baby is an integral part of that; it is one with its mother.
Alas, we grow independent of our source—of what symbolises the connective magic of the universe—and we fall into the illusion of “I” and “Other.” We become separated from our origin, from the truth of connection that our birth and infancy expressed. For many what follows is the journey to discover oneself, when, in fact, we were never lost to begin with. Mythological allegories arose in response to this, and our ancestors in their wisdom developed methods and techniques that would reunite us with the source of our spirits. In the Celtic continuum this naturally developed as the symbol of the cauldron and found its way from the home to the schools of mystery, epitomised by the witch goddess and the initiate prophet.
“I received my Awen from the cauldron of Cerridwen,” said Taliesin. He received Awen from the cauldron, from the extension of the Great Mother’s womb. In relation to the cauldron as a representation of the divine feminine, it can be seen within the story that there are, in fact, three cauldrons.
Initially the symbol is blatantly apparent in the form of a gigantic iron cauldron, which hangs from a great chain and swings above a roaring fire. This stands in an initial position within the tale; it is the vessel that invokes the essence of Awen into itself; it is the physical introduction to the subtle qualities of magic. For the student of the sublime—for a potential initiate whose only experience in the world is of worldly things—the introduction to the occult world must begin on an earthly level or nothing that follows will make sense. Before we can ascend into spirit, the descent into matter must be complete, meaning that in order for us to understand the spiritual experientially, we must first understand and be fully immersed in the world in which we live. To attempt to fast-track the physical would be foolhardy and dishonour the connection we have to the here and now, to the planet that sustains us. It also implies that the keys to understanding the spiritual are held within the physical. When we consider this in relation to Awen, it makes perfect sense: everything in the world swims in Awen; it is only illusion that causes us to believe we are separate.
The cauldron, therefore, stands as the symbol to a multitude of connective relationships, but primarily it acts as the physical vessel that is indicative of our place in the world. We gather materials from this world, ingredients that we can hold, smell, taste; they are physical and yet they resonate with Awen. They are acknowledged for the relationship they have with their locality; their personalities teach us the diversity of the world whilst simultaneously celebrating the oneness of this organism that we are an inexorable aspect of: earth. They are subsequently cast into water, which symbolises sustenance and oneness. The vessel is teaching us about our world—about the magic that we see in the physical. To create t
he brew, the world must be observed, the dance of sun and moon informing us of when the bulbs of snowdrops stir within their earthly tombs. It shouts in proclamation of spring as the apple blossom gracefully unfolds from tiny buds. Campions raise their glorious heads towards the sun, singing of life, calling to the bees to suckle at nectar. This is magic! This is the awe-inspiring, gob-smacking wonder and sheer magic of the world we inhabit. All of it is singing—every single ingredient of the brew and the creatures they interact with raise their voices in sheer praise of the world. In our quest we reach down and breathe in tune with a primrose that has been singing its little head off in praise of the sun that sustains it; we feel and sense its part of the story, and within it an explosion of magic unfolds. As we acknowledge its presence, its role in our brew, we sense the beating heart of our nearest star, burning with heat beyond imagination, its nuclear fusion and radiations pelting our planet, reaching through the atmosphere to be reflected in the tiny flower we hold in our fingers. This is why the tale begins with such a physical emblem. It teaches us to look for the magic around us; otherwise, how can we possibly find the magic that lies between the worlds?
Being fully immersed in the world is to know the magic it holds—to see the wonder in a sunset, to gasp in awe at the power of the tides. To watch the ebb and flow of the perpetual cycles of life, death, and rebirth in a tree outside your window is to sense the magic that causes our ascent into spirit. And then, all at once, the waters break—the cauldron splits, and the chase begins. We are ascending into the realms of the subtler senses, and we run ahead of the witch goddess who instigates our transformation. Having tasted Awen, we begin to know it, and, with hearts thumping and threatening to shatter the sternum, we run, changing form as we do so, knowing that another fate waits in this cycle of initiation.
From the Cauldron Born Page 8
