From the Cauldron Born

by Kristoffer Hughes

  The initial cauldron lies broken, its contents deadly toxic; its magic is not designed for another. The tale is meticulously sequential; nothing is happening on a whim. The initial cauldron leads us to another, this one more directly linked with the mother. As the spilt liquid of the cauldron cools on the wet grass, the initiate concludes the chase and is pecked into the belly of the black crested hen, the shapeshifting witch goddess Cerridwen. As a seed battered by the chase, exhausted by our dance through the drama of the elements and the seasons, we descend into darkness. The hen breaks her form, her feathers becoming the black fabric of a flowing robe as Cerridwen stretches from a bird to a woman. As she stands, a cloak of feathers falling about her shoulders, she screams as she senses the seed implanted in her womb. The fires of creation are kindled yet again. In the womb-cauldron the initiate rests, fed by the flowing spirit of Awen that transfers its omnipotence from placenta to babe. Cerridwen’s womb is the second cauldron of the journey. The process takes time; gestation is required to absorb what the initiate has been taught thus far. Previously we stirred the waters of Awen; we familiarised ourselves with its properties. Now we swim in it—it is the primary experience of knowing we are at one with it, but it is not the last.

  As Cerridwen’s cauldron breaks open and she screams the initiate into being, lifting the stunned babe from between her legs, she too is transformed by the power of the cauldron. Her heart filled with empathy and knowing, she fulfils her duty as initiatrix and conceals the initiate into yet another cauldron—the bol croen, the coracle, skin-belly, or womb. Cast onto water—a recurring theme—this cauldron carries the initiate into the song of Taliesin.

  It is apparent by examining the above that there is a connection, both culturally and literary, that sympathetically and symbolically links the cauldron and the womb. This tale demonstrates the vitality and function of the divine feminine in initiatory mythology, beautifully tied and bound to that most enigmatic of Celtic symbols, the cauldron. For any exploration of the significance of the cauldron to be in any way comprehensive, it is imperative that we explore its occurrence within the Celtic mythological and cultural continuum.

  The archaeological and literary records clearly demonstrate the importance of cauldrons both physically and spiritually in Iron Age Celtic culture. Enormous cauldrons have been discovered throughout the British Isles and northern Europe in lakes, pits, and peat bogs. The cauldron was a vessel of dual significance, expressing a physical and spiritual attribution; however, the cauldron was also a symbol of power and wealth. Celtic chieftains were renowned for their generous hospitality in providing their guests with a feast of gargantuan delights, affairs that expressed pride and duty to their fellow tribal leaders. The amount of food prepared and the quality of it demonstrated the wealth and the efforts of the chieftain to entertain and impress. No doubt an aspect of this hosting was the continuous act of outdoing the hospitality of one’s competitors. Central to this tenet was the cauldron and all the ornaments and tools that decorated the hearth, the heart of the chieftain’s kingdom. According to the archaeologist Frances Lynch, the hearth with its accoutrements, firedogs, and cauldrons became the focus of the amount of power the chieftain possessed and his ability to reward those loyal to him.26

  The Gundestrup cauldron from Jutland is perhaps the most ornate and visually stunning cauldron to have survived the ages; this gilded silver vessel is covered in mythical depictions of deities and archetypes, including a cauldron! One of its panels depicts a ritual act of immersing an individual into a cauldron, a motif which appears throughout European Celtic mythology. Archaeologists have since concluded that the iconography upon the cauldron is of pre-Roman origin and that the images portray deities and archetypes pertinent to the Celts of that region.27

  To understand the essential nature of Cerridwen’s cauldron, it is useful to be introduced to other similar vessels that share a magical lineage. I have chosen the following two examples—namely, the Second and Third Branches of the Mabinogi legends, and the poem “The Spoils of Annwn” from the Book of Taliesin—for good reason: Taliesin appears in both. They are directly linked to the initiate of Cerridwen’s cauldron.

  For I will give unto thee a cauldron, the property of which is, that if one of thy men be slain today, and be cast therein, tomorrow he will be as well as ever he was at the best, except that he will not regain his speech.28

  The above is taken from one of Wales’s most enigmatic of tales, known collectively as the Mabinogi, which can be translated to mean “tales of youth.” These consist of several tales, four of which are collectively identified as the Four Branches, that are steeped in allegory and hidden meaning. Akin to the tale at hand, they also serve to guide the querent on a profound spiritual journey. They are filled with archetypes that assist the hero on his or her quest into the realms of the spirit. Within the Second Branch of the Mabinogi we encounter a young woman named Branwen, daughter of Llyr; one of her brothers is called Bendigeidfran (“blessed crow/raven”). Llyr is a British chief god of the sea, and his family is collectively known as the Children of the House of Llyr—they represent the sea and are those who protect Ynys Y Kedeirn, the Island of the Mighty, a synonym for the British Isles.

  The story narrates the tale of the king of Ireland, who sails to Britain to ask for Branwen’s hand in marriage. Unfortunately, he fails to ask her brother Efnysien’s permission (a figure who bears semblance to Morfran Afagddu, who will be discussed later), and in retaliation he mutilates the king’s horses. To compensate for the crime of his brother, Bendigeidfran presents the king of Ireland with a cauldron that will bring the dead back to life; it is the cauldron of rebirth. When questioned as to the origin of this cauldron, Bendigeidfran explains that it came from Ireland, from a place called “the lake of the cauldron,” and it was carried upon the back of giant. The cauldron was forcibly obtained and eventually given to the king of Ireland.

  Alas, the tale takes a tragic turn with the mistreatment of Branwen; she turns to nature and trains a starling to fly across the Irish Sea to warn her brother Bendigeidfran. A battle ensues, but the Irish have an added advantage with the cauldron of rebirth; however many men are killed, they are resurrected by the cauldron. The properties of the cauldron render the resurrected warriors dumb, perhaps to prevent them from speaking of what they experienced within the depths of the magical vessel. Also of interest is the period of gestation within the cauldron: they are cast in on the day of death and resurrected the next. They seemingly must spend a period of darkness in the womb of the mother before they are reborn. This has parallels with the initiation rites of our tale; this act of immersion and gestation in cauldrons, or vessels of the feminine, is a recurring theme throughout Celtic mythology. The battle continues until the instigator of the initial conflict, Efnysien, the shadow, places himself into the cauldron and stretches his limbs within it, thus shattering the vessel and rendering it useless. In the process his heart is torn, and he perishes. The battle ends, and only seven survivors return to Britain. Among them is Taliesin.

  Losing the power of speech is a common motif in Celtic mythology—it implies the secret, individualistic nature of initiation and integration of the mysteries. One cannot speak of what occurs within the cauldron; the quest makes sense only to the one who is being immersed within the experience. To speak of this would be foolhardy in that it would make no coherent sense to a noninitiate and would dishonour the mysteries themselves. The next branch of the Mabinogi, called the Mabinogi of Manawydan, continues this theme of enforced dumbness. Here we witness the tribulations and ultimately the magical binding and disappearance of two deific characters, the enigmatic Rhiannon and her son Pryderi. In turn they are led to a magical caer (meaning “fort”), wherein hangs a giant cauldronlike bowl that swings from four chains that reach beyond the sky. It is said of Pryderi:

  …as soon as he touched the bowl, his hand stuck to it and his feet became fixed to the slab beneath him, and the power
of speech was taken from him so that he was unable to say a single word. And there he stood, unable to move.29

  Rhiannon, in search of her son, discovers him and foolishly touches the same bowl and suffers the same fate. This single paragraph in the Third Branch conceals a staggering amount of hidden meaning and intertextual references that allude to the mysteries, the wisdom and the magic of the Celtic chronicles. Its pertinence to our tale is beautifully narrated by the medievalist Will Parker:

  The bowl in the caer belongs to the same family of symbols…as the Peir Pen Annwfn (the cauldron of the Head of Annwn) which boils not the meat of a coward…These are essentially goddess motifs: symbolic of the nurturing/sexual qualities of the feminine…30

  The importance and magical significance of the cauldron is continuously reinforced and perpetuated throughout the mythology of the British Isles and Ireland; therefore, it is no accident that it plays such a vital role in the tale of Cerridwen and Taliesin. Regardless of the age of the actual manuscripts, the themes and iconography it contains is evocative of a school of mystery that has persisted for millennia.

  There are obvious similarities in the above tale to that of Cerridwen and Taliesin, in that it concerns a mother and her child. In the case of Rhiannon and Pryderi, they represent the Mare of Sovereignty and her foal, who are indicative of the land and the relationship the tribe has with it. This enforces the sanctity and sacredness of horses as symbols of the divine feminine in the British Isles. The cauldron is indicative of the mystical, a vessel of knowledge wherein our route to total immersion in the flowing river of Awen lies. It is the symbol of the divine feminine as a vessel of transformation. Whereas the horse is the feminine symbol of the fertility within the land itself, this diversity of symbology is demonstrative of the plethora of attributes that connect us and the gods to almost every possible aspect of the human condition and potential. The cauldron of Cerridwen opens a gateway to the other cauldrons of Celtic myth that are worthy of exploration. Alas, I can only realistically give a brief account within the confines of this book, but it’s enough, I hope, to whet your appetite.

  In the previous quote by Will Parker, you will have noted reference to the Peir Pen Annwfn, or the cauldron of the Head of Annwn—this is from a poem in the Book of Taliesin and is designated the title “The Spoils of Annwn.” It recounts the heroic journey of Arthur and his warriors, along with Taliesin, on an epic journey to the underworld in search of the cauldron of the Head of Annwfn,31 the ultimate Celtic magical cauldron. There are as many interpretations of the poem as there are words within it—it is appropriate, however, in this section to give you a brief description of its meaning.

  Within my own order, the poem, along with the tale of Cerridwen and Taliesin and the Four Branches of the Mabinogi, are the primary tools of teaching. Within each we find a cauldron. Each cauldron brings a different quality to the quest of the hero; it imparts its wisdom in a manner that prepares the initiate for the next phase of the journey. Within “The Spoils of Annwn” we encounter seven magical forts to which a specific journey is made. The vessel that is used is a ship called Prydwen, a typical feminine deific title in the Welsh language that contains the suffix -wen, meaning “pure,” and denotes a creature of deific attribution. This vessel carries the hero on a tumultuous and perilous journey into the underworld and to the seven different island forts in search of the cauldron. The poem tells us something of the nature of the cauldron:

  My first words were spoken concerning the cauldron; from the breath of nine maidens it is warmed. It is the cauldron of the Head of Annwn, what is its purpose with its dark rim and edged with pearls? It will not boil the food of a coward; it is not destined to do so.32

  The inclusion of one verse that relates to nine maidens further emphasises the feminine nature of the cauldron, but it also implies that the journey will be difficult—a coward will never access the mysteries of the cauldron. To effectively descend into its depths, we are required to be strong and brave, qualities epitomised by the presence of Arthur, who is also indicative of the flawed nature of man. To accept and acknowledge our flaws is to lessen their power over us. Wisdom and insight are necessary for the quest, and it is Taliesin who brings this quality. He is the radiant light of knowing, who instinctively guides us through the subtle worlds in search of the cauldron. Prydwen, the vessel, is the Goddess herself who guides us across the sea of discovery, to “berth” us at each island.

  The Anglesey Druid Order devised a system of teaching from this poem that interprets it as a journey into “self.” It is the descent into matter and the exploration of the nature of who we are, why we are, and what we are. Almost all spiritual traditions incorporate methods of exploring the self—it is not exclusive to Celtic traditions; even the temple at Delphi has the inscription “know thyself” carved above its door. This poem provides an effective tool for the evisceration of the self, which by definition is not an easy journey or quest; it is not intended to be. The Celtic schools of mystery teach us a programme for living consciously and lucidly and with authenticity. They provide us with keys that teach the nature of “self” and that human nature, our nature, is a part of the whole and worthy of celebration. When we embark on a spiritual quest, we embark on a journey into the self, for as the cauldron teaches us, the self is a part of the whole; to know it is to honour it.

  The system that hides within “The Spoils of Annwn” is beautifully complex yet paradoxically simple. Each of the caeri (forts) represents a vital aspect of the human condition. They define us as individuals and are facets of our personalities and experience in this world. They also define how damaged or intact we are upon arrival in this life and how we navigate the waves of our lives. Journeys to the forts can teach us the nature of who we are; by allowing us to “see the wood through the trees,” we step outside of our normal boundaries and venture inwards as a traveller who observes. We may note the strengths and defences of our individual forts and will also learn of their weaknesses and the manner by which events may have compromised them. There are times when wounds from the past can be of such force that they obliterate the walls of our forts; disconnection ensues. When this occurs, there is no mechanism or reserves available for us to rebuild our defences. When our forts have been compromised, we may develop self- perpetuating patterns of behaviour and inappropriate coping strategies, which indicate the damage done. The journey to knowing ourselves takes all of these into consideration, but we are guided and protected through the quest by powerful and ancient archetypes. We do not embark alone; there are forces that help us.

  Within the poem there is an eighth fort, which no journey is made to. It is called Caer Pedryfan, or the “four-walled enclosure.” It is simultaneously interpreted as the island of Britain and as the boundary of Annwn; it is that which contains the experience. In a physical sense, it would be your auric field. It is the serpent’s egg that surrounds your boundary; it is the first point of defence. This powerful fort represents protection, control, and vitality. It is the outward expression of our functionality and the manner by which we respond to the apparent world. The apparent characteristics of this fort can be seen emulated in the body’s immune system, which is determined by our thymus gland, which in turn dictates before our birth our immune capabilities. A chink in the armour of our immune system can indicate the compromised state of one or more of our forts.

  It is by this association that each of the subsequent seven forts has corresponding endocrine organs. This provides a system of energy centres akin to the Eastern chakra tradition but grounded in applicable occidental mythology rather than the dependency on oriental teachings. This brings a subjective concept into the body and makes it apparent; we are able to feel the effects physically. In slight contrast to the cauldron of Cerridwen, which initiates us into the mysteries of our origination and oneness with the universe, the cauldron of Annwn takes us on a journey into our human selves. It provides us with the ingredients for the experien
ce of life. Both journeys are vital for spiritual development; each complements the other. To assist the conceptualisation of the journey to Annwn, it is necessary to engage your imagination:

  Close your eyes and imagine an enormous cauldron, large enough to almost swim in! You climb a ladder that rests against its belly and peer over the edge. Within the cauldron you see an ocean, upon which float a series of islands. Cast yourself over the edge and feel yourself falling towards the sea. You seem to float momentarily, and see a ship beneath you: Prydwen. Your feet land gently upon her deck. Seagulls fly overhead. The sky contains a glowing sun and a silver moon; both smile down upon you. At the prow of the ship, standing side by side, are the stationary figures of Taliesin and Arthur; courage shines from the eyes of the king and wisdom gleams from the forehead of the prophet. With a bump, the ship arrives at the first island.

  Caer Siddi: The Fort of Necessity

  This fort is represented by the pituitary gland, the master gland. Its fort is a single tower, steadfast and strong; it revolves of its own volition and is surrounded by fire in which instruments are playing of their own accord. Above it is a fountain of youthful illusion, and around it is the wellspring of the sea. It is a place of illusion and repetition. It is the assumed earthly state. We are imprisoned here and held by heavy grey chains until we see and acknowledge its illusory nature. It is immovable and steadfast; it is the place of influence. Its illusions can convince all other forts of its truths and untruths. Yet it is the place of the fire in the head—we can see through its illusion as simply a fort that strives to maintain the status quo.