The legend of Taliesin and the Cauldron of Ceridwen

This is probably the most profound of old Welsh legends. There is a 6th century parchment containing one of Taliesin's poems , "Y Gododdin" at Jesus college Oxford. There is no doubt that a Poet by the name of Taliesin existed. His story is allegorical. A careful reading reveals the training that a Bard went through, here at the hands of a Welsh Goddess, before being transformed from Gwion Bach (Lttle Innocent) to Taliesin (Radiant Brow) Poetry is described as having a "Fire in the head"
The following is taken from the original Welsh with frequent reference to English translators to make sure I was getting it right.

 

Gwion Bach

In the early days of the reign of Arthur, there lived a man of noble birth called Tegid Foel. He lived with his wife Ceridwen on an island on the lake that is still named for him today, Llyn Tegid. They had two children, a daughter Creirwy, fairest maid in all the land and a son Morfran. As Creirwy was fair, he was foul. The ugliest man in the world, he was known as Afagddu (Utter Darkness) for only in the darkest part of night could he be looked upon. His mother despaired that he would ever find favor in the noble courts of men unless he had some merit to counter his ugliness.

So Ceridwen bore herself to the hidden city of glass and there consulted with the Fferyllt and from their wisdom and arts she returned home and at the edge of the lake she began to boil a cauldron of inspiration for her son. She found a young boy, Gwion Bach, to stir the cauldron and fetch the wood for the fire and an old blind man, Morda, to keep the fire kindled. She instructed them that they were to keep it boiling for a year and a day, during which time she, according to the phases of the moon and the alignment of the stars, gathered herbs to put in the cauldron at their appointed times.

One day, towards the end of the year, as Ceridwen was making incantations, three drops of the charmed liquor flew out and landed on the hand of Gwion Bach. Because of the great heat he instinctively put his hand to his mouth. In the instant that he did so he foresaw all that was to come and he knew that his greatest danger lay in the wrath of Ceridwen. Gwion fled.

When Ceridwen saw that her labor of the year was lost and that Gwion Bach now had the blessings of the potion, she chased after him to kill him. When Gwion saw Ceridwen chasing him he turned himself into a Hare. For the cauldron, among many other things, had given him the power of Fith Fath, the shape changer. Ceridwen changed herself into a Greyhound and was almost upon him when he leaped into a river and turned himself into a Salmon. Ceridwen turned herself into an Otter and was almost upon him again when he jumped out of the river and became a wren. Ceridwen followed as a Hawk and gave him no rest. Just as she was about to swoop down on him he saw a barn with a pile of wheat on the floor. He dived in and transformed himself into a grain of wheat and hid from her. Ceridwen turned herself into a red crested black hen and pecked at the wheat until she found Gwion and she ate him.

When she returned to human form Ceridwen discovered that she was pregnant and for nine months she bore Gwion in her womb. When she delivered him she found she was unable to kill him because of his great beauty. So she wrapped him in a leather bag and cast him into the sea. This was on the 29th day of April.

 

Taliesin

In those days, between Dyfi and Aberystwyth lay the weir of Gwyddno Garanhir. Gwyddno had an only son named Elphin. Elphin was the most unlucky of men. It grieved his father for it seemed that Elphin was born in an evil hour. Everything that Elphin attempted came to naught and good fortune was never with him.

That year Gwyddno allowed his son alone to draw from the weir. For the weir had never given less than one hundred pounds of fish at that time of year. In so doing Gwyddno hoped to turn around his son's bad fortune. The next day when Elphin went to look there was nothing in the weir. He was about to turn away when he saw a black bag caught in the nets. With the aid of the weir guards he drew the bag out and within was a child whose brow was shining with a radiant light. Then one of the weir guards exclaimed "Gweled y Daliesin" (Behold the radiant brow) Elphin replied "Then Taliesin (Radiant brow) he shall be named." Then Elphin carried the boy in his arms and carefully rode with him back to his house. All the way lamenting that he still had no good fortune and nothing to show but an abandoned child.

Then did Taliesin speak for the first time and foretold honor for Elphin and the first words he spoke were a poem called "Y Dyhuddiant" (The consolation)

"Fair Elphin, cease to lament let no one be dissatisfied with his own,
To despair will bring no advantage. No man sees what supports him;
The prayers of Cynllo will not be in vain God will not violate his promise
Never in Gwyddno's weir was there such good luck as this night
Fair Elphin, dry thy cheeks, being too sad will not avail
Although thou thinkest thou hast no gain, too much grief will bring thee no good.
Nor doubt the miracles of the Gods
Although I am little I am highly gifted
From seas and from mountains and from the depths of rivers
The Gods bring wealth to the fortunate man.
Elphin of lively qualities, thy resolution is unmanly.
Thou must not be ever sorrowful, better to trust in the Gods than to forbode ill.
Weak and small as I am, on the foaming beach of the ocean,
In the day of trouble I shall be of more service to thee than three hundred salmon.
Elphin of notable qualities be not displeased at thy misfortune
Although reclined thus, weak in my bag, there lies a virtue in my tongue.
While I continue thy protector thou hast not much to fear.
Remembering the names of the Gods, none shall be able to harm thee."
And from that time forth Elphin had good fortune and was of good cheer wherever he went.

The Awen, lost in translation

The Welsh legend of Taliesin begins with Ceridwen creating a Cauldron filled with a Magical elixir. This is where something tends to get lost in translation. Usually when the story is told, even by me as in this video, it is said that she is stirring the Cauldron of Inspiration. That isn’t exactly correct. Ceridwen is creating Awen.

The Welsh word for “inspiration” is ysbrydoliaeth the legend talks of Awen and that is not so easy to translate. Awen refers to that force in nature that creates inspiration. Frequently the word is translated as “muse” as in a line from the third verse of the Welsh national anthem “Ni liddwyd yr Awen trwy erchyll law brad” The Muse is not hindered by the awful hand of treason. However it means a lot more than that.

Consider the universe as being the ultimate in creativity. Everything in the universe includes all creativity. Creativity permeates the universe because it happens all the time. The universe is also the ultimate in inspiration. The existence of the universe is the product of the greatest inspiration. Awen is the personalization of all the inspiration and creativity that exists. Awen is untranslatable because it is a concept and an event. The event occurs when someone touches the Awen.

In the story of Taliesin he touches the Awen and is transformed forever. He becomes more than he ever could have been. This is the lesson and the challenge for us all. If we could just touch, just take three small drops of the Awen, there is nothing we could not create. We too would be transformed into something beyond our present imaginings. Can we touch the creativity and inspiration of the universe? It’s worth a try. Can we also drink from the Cauldron of Ceridwen?

See you around the fire.

Ceridwen and blind Morda

I was in a group discussion the other day when the question of Ceridwen arose. People had a number of questions about the story. Not surprising really, It is one of the most profound of the old Welsh legends. It tells of the birth of Taliesin, the greatest of the ancient Welsh poets or Bards.  The legend has it that an old blind man, Morda is his name is set to stir the cauldron of Awen. To make sure it doesn’t boil over. Morda falls asleep and three drops of the precious liquid fall on the thumb of a little boy.

 Just so we don’t get lost in translation; the boy’s name is Gwion Bach, literally “Little innocent” The old man is Morda, “Sea Father” Ceridwen is a lot trickier. The oldest manuscripts write her name as Keridvan or in modern Welsh spelling Ceridfan. “Fan” means place Cerid could be “loving” or it could mean “Crooked” or “Bent.” This would seem to reference the crescent moon. There is a deep study here and we have by no means uncovered all of the secret lessons hidden in this legend.

The part of the story that had almost all of my friends questioning was in regard to the action of Ceridwen. When she discovers that the Awen was taken by the young boy, the legend states that she beat Morda until his eye fell out. In Pagan groups Ceridwen is viewed as a Goddess. In fact there is ample evidence from legends and other sources to convince us all that she has always been a Goddess, so what is this passage all about? How could this be the behavior of a Goddess? I had to remind my friends of an important part of the story. Morda was blind. She was beating out the eye of a blind man. So what good was the eye to him? There are meanings within meanings inside these old tales. We are lulled into thinking that blind means “Not-seeing” Instead we should ask; “What was he blind to?” If we think of this part of the story as Morda losing that which prevented him from seeing clearly, then we realize that Morda also went through a transformation gifted by the grace of the Lady. It all revolves around a question that everyone in my group thought they had the answer to. The question of; what was in the Cauldron? What was it that Morda was stirring for a year and a day?

Almost everyone thinks it was the Cauldron of Inspiration. It is not.

My Gods

I was 13 years old when I had a deeply profound experience. I don't remember the circumstances; I don't remember what brought it on. All I remember is this overwhelming feeling that I had the Love of the Divine. A deep abiding love that would always be with me. It didn't matter if my actions were such that I could never enter the divine presence. The love, once given, could never be lost. Even now when almost 50 years have gone by, I cannot think of this experience without emotion.
I am not a Christian. Since I was old enough to look at the stars I knew that the Hebrew God was not mine. The Gods I connect with are the Gods of my Welsh forefathers before the conversion (To Christianity). This is how I connect:
    I walk through the trees and connect with the wild God of the forest. I breathe his air and see the wonders around me.
I stand by the sea and remember Manawyddan ap Llyr. I see his power and draw strength from the wild beauty of the waves.
I stand by the graves of my parents and grandparents knowing they dwell in Annwn in the halls of Arawn and hear again the wisdom of Bendigeidfran. Resting until they once again enter the Cauldron of Rebirth.
I see the pattern of my life as it has unfolded. A series of events, seemingly random at the time but, looking back, there were no accidents. Everything led to where I am now. Then I think of Arianrhod in her castle of glass, spinning the web of life. Each thread having its own path interconnecting with every other thread. Each thread a part of the greater whole.
Many more come to mind in the course of a life filled with wonder. The Goddess Ceridwen, guarding her Cauldron of Inspiration. Waiting to see if I have the audacity to drink of the Awen. Rhiannon on her great white horse ready to sacrifice all for truth, honor and the care of her child
.Everywhere I stand, everywhere I look I see evidence of my Gods. Evidence that exists in the Trees on my street and the sound of the Birds in the morning. A phrase that resonates with me comes from the holy Book of the Hindu, the Bhagavad Ghita. “If you can see me in all things and see all things in me, then you will never lose sight of me and I will never lose sight of you.”
If the Christian Bible were left out in the wind and rain it would be destroyed. My Bible IS the wind and rain.
When I connect to my Gods in prayer and invocation I do not kneel. I do not bow my head and close my eyes. The Gods who made iron, the Gods who send the wind and the storms did not make slaves. Neither do they wish to be worshipped by such. I stand with my hands open and my eyes up towards the sky. I honor but I do not worship. I connect not genuflect.
I have heard it said that the road to Heaven is straight and narrow and the road to Hell is wide and smooth. I follow neither road. I connect to my Gods in a celebration of life on a long and winding road. I do not know what is around the next bend but my life is filled with joy, laughter, wonder and magic.
And the magic never dies.