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 people, 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:
It was not of a mother and a father
That I was created;
My creation was created for me
From nine forms of consistency
From fruit of fruits
From the fruits of the first god
From primroses and from flowers
From the flowers of trees and shrubs.
From earth, from the soil
Was I made.
From the flowers of nettle
From the water of the ninth wave.112
There has been speculation and erroneous conclusions that the above is referring exclusively to the creation of Blodeuedd, the magical woman created from flowers in the Fourth Branch of the Mabinogi. But eminent Celtic academics have concluded that this is indeed in reference to Taliesin’s spiritual origin, and that Blodeuedd and everyone else on this planet have been spiritually created in the same manner. It claims that the Prophetic Spirit, although inhabiting the form of a human being, in fact has no active parent, for it is a vital aspect of the universe. This is in stark contrast to the revealed religions, who claim that our spirits are born of an uber-being who controls our destiny and punishment or reward. This is anathema in Celtica, where the spirit is perceived as an inherent aspect of the universe in its totality; it was not born of it and is not subservient to it; it is it. The universe serves only as soul, which in turn is the house of the spirit, not its parent. The poem explores the nature of the body’s physical creation—that it comes from the natural world and that it is formed, nurtured, and sustained by the forces of nature. This animistic view is beautifully Pagan in spirit and sings of our oneness with the entity that we live upon, Earth.
The poem also raises an interesting question that thus far has not been explored in these pages. Following the impregnation of Cerridwen and the subsequent birthing of the babe, there is a liminal period wherein the baby is set adrift in the care of nature; it is forty years later that the babe is identified as Taliesin. Therefore, the implication is that the intermediate babe is of no identity—he is neither Gwion Bach nor Taliesin; he is someone who exists between. It takes a prolonged period of gestation for the brow to shine and for the Prophetic Spirit to be fully assimilated, so this begs the question, what is the nature of the babe in the between times? He floats on a river; he does not require food or water to sustain him; he lies in darkness within a coracle, seemingly abandoned and suspended in time and space for four decades. The journey downriver from Cerridwen’s home in any direction would be three days at most; why would it take him forty years? This liminal, Morda-like quality is present within the tale, as are the attributes of Creirfyw that can be seen expressed in the immense beauty of the babe and in Cerridwen’s failure to kill him. It is my perception that the babe is the true innocent, a child of the mystery who swims the waterways of spirit. This portion of the tale acts as an allegory for the true nature of the spirit as an energy that is fully immersed in the flow of Awen. Within this portion of the tale we are provided a glimpse into the mystery of our permanent identity. The babe in the bag is the epitome of the true nature of the spirit, an energy in perpetual motion floating through the connective fabric of the universe, represented by the river, lost in the blissful rapture of being. If we consider for a moment the possibility that the entire cauldron, chase, and birthing sequence takes place in the otherworld, then this sequence is indicative of the transition from the realm of the spirit to the physical dimension. The journey causes the spirit to concentrate into the denseness of matter; it is born into this world so that body and spirit may dance together. It is only during the times when we return to the state of nonbeing that we are truly at one with the universe, and every day we get the opportunity to sense this, to recharge and be reminded of our permanent identities.
Do you know what you are when you are sleeping?
Are you a body or soul, or an occult and mysterious thing?113
The above lines, taken from the Book of Taliesin, belie a secret that we partake of each and every day. Recall the last time that you were incredibly tired and simply longed for your bed more than anything else in the world. The chances are your head touched the pillow and the lights of your eyes went out; sleep took you into the laps of the gods. Now recall the sensation upon waking after a luxurious, undisturbed night of restful sleep. What can you recall? It is a difficult question to answer, for it is impossible to assign any actual emotion to the state of sleep. Taliesin specifically asks if you know what you are when you are sleeping, but why does he ask? The answer is perhaps one of the most revealing and profound messages that swim within the Celtic mysteries.
There is perhaps one human sensation that can be assigned to the state of sleep: bliss. One cannot say we are happy whilst asleep, and neither can we say we are contented either; they are too specific for such an ethereal state of being. Bliss, however, seems to capture the feeling of being in the void, of being back in the lap of the universal battery charger. During our nightly sojourn into the realm of nothingness we become “occult and mysterious things,” and Taliesin in his wisdom attempts to tell us this, to teach us the nature of the spirit. Marged Haycock translates the second line of the verse as “a pale and mysterious thing,”114 which is suggestive of something deeply energetic or spiritual. The permanent facet of our being is a constant, and this ever-changing apparent identity, a product of our environments, is a mere fleeting second in the grand scheme of time, yet it is essential and deeply valued. We do not need to climb a far-flung mountain to meet a wise man who will show us the way to find ourselves; we discover who we are every night whilst asleep. We have no need to abandon the world and all pursuits within it for the delusional concept that we may become so spiritually advanced we will no longer need the functions of our bodies—that we may vanish into a spectrum of light and ascend to some higher level of existence. The message of Taliesin teaches us that such a quest is unnecessary and that all we require is to listen, and in that listening we will hear the whispers of our eternal aspects singing from the primordial origination of the universe.
Taliesin is able to express his nature as all things, having been in a multitude of existences before attaining his current form, simply because his spirit and body are in tune, one with the other. When we study the works of our Celtic ancestors, we find subtle clues pertaining to the human condition; it seems that our forefathers understood that a symptom of human density is the deafening of the spiritual ears. But this is only a temporary quandary, for we are able to experientially connect the lucidity of the spirit with the wakefulness of the body and allow both songs to raise their voices in pure harmony. We do this by listening to the songs of the spirit that our ancestors provided us; locked into the language and symbolism of culture and heritage, they allow us to access the mysteries. We do this to enable the denseness of the body to become receptive to the ethereal quality of the spirit—not for enlightenment per se, but for lucidity. Our eyes open wider to the magic that surrounds us; the secrets that we could not fathom before become clear as the spirit and body combine consciously.
The dense nature of our human bodies and the material components that make up our vital organs are not antagonistic to the spirit, they are simply constructed of different material. But they cannot be separated; to do so would remove the life source from the physical, and it would fall out of the stream of energy and decompose, as our bodies do upon death. Celtic Paganism, being a life-affirming tradition, does not concern itself much with death, but I offer this as food for thought. The simple question that Taliesin asks is indicative of the “little death” that we partake of every day of our lives—that in order to thrive and live we must succumb to a state of nothingness every twenty-four-hour cycle. We are not given the opportunity to opt out of this state; to survive, we must sleep. It is during this time that we return to the state we occupied prior to the condensing of our spirits in the field of our physical forms. The ability to carry the lucidity of this state into wakefulness is dependent on the human mind’s ability to acknowledge the spirit and respond. Julius Caeser, in De Bello Gallico, recorded that the ancient druids had no fear of death, for they believed in the immortality of the human spirit and of its continuous existence after bodily death has occurred. The Celtic mysteries teach that upon death, the spirit does not leave the body, it is the body that leaves the spirit—it simply falls from the stream of energy that maintained its life force. The spirit does not move or go anywhere; it is in the same position today as it was at the beginning of time. Sleep serves to reminds of us our true state, where consciousness is a more fluid affair than it is in the denseness of our skulls. Celtica empowers people to hear the whispers of the spirit for themselves; they are not reliant upon gurus or self-confessed masters to bring the spirit and body into harmonious lucidity. There is no sense of denial or abstention; we need not turn our backs on the magic of physicality in order to partake of the mysteries, for they are inescapably woven together. This message is further reiterated by material that alludes to another spirit in human form that shares parallels with Taliesin. In the poetry of the Ystoria Taliesin, we are introduced to the following verse:
Johannes the prophet called me Merlin,
But now all kings call me Taliesin.
Within the same manuscript that our tale appears, NLW 5276D, there is an account of the death of Merlin in the hand of Elis Gruffudd. This immediately precedes the tale of Cerridwen and Taliesin. It is important here not to confuse this material in relation to the fictionalised Merlin popularised in the later Arthurian romances, which are not directly related to the Celtic chronicles. They exist as works of fiction inspired by the Celtic material. In his “The Death of Merlin,” Elis records that
Some hold the thought that Merlin, who was a spirit in human form, was in that shape from the time of Vortigern until the beginning of King Arthur’s time when he vanished. After that this spirit appeared again in the time of Maelgwn Gwynedd at which time he is known as Taliesin…
It seems that the Prophetic Spirit was the same spirit within Merlin and Taliesin, and that both were present in human form during various times.115 It can be deduced that the human individuals they represent were, in fact, initiates of the mysteries and in possession of the Prophetic Spirit, which enabled them to be of immense poetic skill and also adepts of the magical arts. Both Merlin and Taliesin identify themselves as poets and magicians; it seems that both skills are derived from the same place and cause the magician/poet to make manifest what was previously unmanifest. However, there is an implication here that may cause concern, which requires examination.
We noted that Cerridwen is “learned” in the magical arts, and yet Taliesin and Merlin, who are both adept practitioners of magic, seemingly did not derive their skills by means of learning alone. They are in possession of an inherited skill that comes to them by proxy of their connection to the Prophetic Spirit. This does not imply that one form of magical attainment and knowledge is superior to the other; I believe the implication is that both are a requirement for the effective practise of the magical arts. Within human form we must learn the arts of magic and the mysteries by proxy of those who inspire and teach us; they, in turn, disseminate that teaching effectively because of their connection to the Prophetic Spirit. It sings of the essential connection of the body and spirit. The process of learning itself is devoid of power or ability if is not in contact with the “force” that gives it animation and motion. A spell or act of conjuration would simply be a recitation of words without reaction; for the magic to be effective, we must access what gives it essence and power: the Prophetic Spirit. To call upon it without connection would be akin to shouting at someone across a dance floor—your voice may rise and move through space and time but not reach its destination, as there is too much dense material in the way. Even if the words arrive by some means at their target, they will be illegible and nonsensical; their impact and intention would be ineffective. Our magic is effective when the voice transcends the denseness of matter and connects directly with what it aims to affect, change, or transform.
The message is clear: Cerridwen epitomises aspects of the physical art of learning, of study, of knowing our Craft. Taliesin acts as the bridge that connects us to the universal flow of Awen by means of the Prophetic Spirit. For us to move lucidly through life we must be in possession of both facets, the structure of learning and the ethereal quality of the Prophetic Spirit. Both are essential aspects of the adept.
The ability to swim between the two is perfectly articulated in the discourse of The Life of Merlin: Vita Merlini:
I was taken out of myself and I was as spirit, and I knew the acts of peoples past and could predict the future of things. Since then I know the secrets of things and the flights of birds and the wandering motions of the stars and the gliding of fish.116
The above serves to demonstrate the power and ability of the Prophetic Spirit. It is all-knowing, it has the ability to predict the future of things, and is simultaneously aware of the existence of all things by means of the omnipresent spirit. By proxy of this connection, Taliesin is able to fully assert his powers over time, space, objects, and the shape of things. He does this by means of the combined magical transformation that occurs throughout the tale; the sequence is teaching us how to access the mysteries and provides us with every single tool that is required. In other words, reading the book is not enough; we must also get out there and do it by putting the information into action and being transformed as a consequence. It is the resulting lucidity of mind, body, and spirit that is expressed by means of the Prophetic Spirit in our earthly lives.
Taliesin continuously sings the praise of the human body and its function and senses; it is a vital aspect of the combined elements of mind, body, and spirit. The body is never denied or denounced as it is in some Eastern philosophies. In the Book of Taliesin we are offered the following verse, which sings the praise of the bodily senses:
I give praise to my sustainer,
Who added through my head
A spirit into my design.
Happily it is made for me,
My seven consistencies
Of fire and earth
And water and air
And mist and flowers
And sweet southerly winds.
My senses were designed
One with which I exhale,
And two with which I breathe,
And three by which I have voice,
And four with which I taste,
And five with which I see,
And six with which I hear,
And seven by which I smell.117
The above demonstrates the vitality and value placed on the senses, where they are experienced as essential elements that connect us to the experience of living. Taliesin expresses himself as an extension of nature, where components of it are imbued into the body and spirit; they are inseparable until the point at which we die. This deeply animistic viewpoint values the earth and earthly life, for it is an essential expression of the universe’s creative force. The Prophetic Spirit is therefore the epitome of the mind, body, and spirit in unison; its outward expression is that of creativity and magic. The importance of poetry and the arts in expressing Awen is a recurring theme in the Celtic material, for realistically we are only able to articulate this connection by means of our creativity. We have seen how the Prophetic Spirit is also able to prophesy the future and divine the nature of things, a task which Taliesin performs in several prophetic poems contained within the Book of Taliesin. We find teachings of deep, old magic in this sequence of verses, for the body is a pathway to the spirit; before we can ascend into the subtle realms, we must live, we must complete the descent into matter. The keys to the spiritual are tied into the land and the bodies of the physical world; every tree and plant, plankton and mountain, child and woman sings of the origin and meaning of the universe. Our brows are literally alight with the magic of it; we need only shift our awareness in order to perceive it. Taliesin and the spirit he represents is one method of attaining this lucid state of being.
• • •
Taliesin speaks of talents and gifts that seem to directly emulate the abilities of Cerridwen as a witch. He also claims to be a magician and says, “Wyf dryw, wyf syw (I am a wizard, I am a sage).”118
Marged Haycock translates the term dryw to mean “wizard,” and this effectively captures the spirit of the word, which may also be translated as “magician.” However, it also means “wren” and is cognate with the Old Irish drui, which can be taken to mean “druid.” Therefore, one could argue that the term dryw may have been the actual indigenous British word for “druid.” The term syw, meaning “sage,” is also indicative of the wisdom required by the magician in the pursuits of his arts. He is learned, wise, and clearly in possession of the Prophetic Spirit. Through the words of Taliesin it is apparent that magic, poetry, and wisdom are expressive components of the mysteries; they provide us with a notion as to the nature of the initiate and the skills that he or she possesses. These facts surmise that the Celtic mystery traditions are indeed magical traditions, not simply facets of celebration and philosophy. Magical transformation and the practise of the subtle arts are byproducts of immersion in the Celtic mysteries.
The poems of Taliesin have been noted and explored throughout the course of this book. Indeed, the actual qualities of Taliesin can be seen swimming within every other archetype and component of the tale; everything is leading up to this point of being. Becoming Taliesin is the true nature and secret of the mystery. Taliesin may be identified as a demigod or other creature of supernatural origin, but this is not the point of the tale. Everything we have encountered thus far serves to guide us to become Taliesin.
Gwion Bach is imbued with Awen, and the creature that he becomes in not of a mother or a father, for the creature that is Taliesin is, in fact, a spirit; little Gwion is still in there somewhere. The babe that is found in the weir is indicative of our coming into the lucidity of the spirit, where we experience the wonders of the universe in this life without the need to transcend it.
In essence, Taliesin acts as the catalyst who creates a lucid experience of the spirit and the spiritual realms; too often these dimensions are mere concepts. The figure of Taliesin breaks down the barriers that may prevent us from encountering the spiritual, and it does this by providing keys to unlock the doors of transformation. What good are concepts if all they are are rationalisations of ethereal ideas? Concepts are all very well, but for us to experientially connect with them, we must identify them as real, not simply fantastical ideas that may be perceived as delusional by the world at large. The commitment involved in attaining the radiant brow immerses us in a spiritual and cultural continuum that has sung the songs of these lands for endless generations. That alone is worthy of devotion to the Celtic mysteries.
So how do we connect to this spirit? How do we become Taliesin? You will note that there is no exercise of connection at the conclusion of this section, and for good reason. The tale is the exercise. Becoming Taliesin is not something that should be conceptualised as mere ideas from a book, which is why this section is naturally concluding. The experience of assuming the radiant brow is too magical to be denigrated as mere conceptualised ideas. But becoming radiant with Awen is not an impossibility; it is as real as the land upon which you walk. It provides a depth of spirit that may be missing from your practise and spirituality, and its attainment is possible. It is by process of devotion and commitment that we journey towards the salmon weir. Our encounter with the cauldron and the witch goddess catapults us forwards, towards the lucidity of mind, body, and spirit in unison. But the journey is far from easy. It requires effort and gumption, but the rewards are incredibly profound and illuminating. The initiate of the Celtic mysteries becomes, in essence, the embodiment of what Taliesin represents. He or she becomes possessed with the Prophetic Spirit and is the expression of profound knowledge and wisdom; this state is the imitation of the divine energy of the universe. Flowing as the ever-coursing river of Awen, the transformed initiate literally becomes the conscious universe singing in the rapture of being. To quote Taliesin, “There is nothing in which I have not been.”
105. Haycock, Legendary Poems from the Book of Taliesin, 9–10.
106. Williams, Chwedl Taliesin, 24.
107. Bevan, Geiriadur Prifysgol Cymru, 296.
108. Grant, Magical Transformations in Pedeir Keinc y Mabinogi and Hanes Taliesin, 23.
109. Ford, The Celtic Poets, 14.
110. “Angar Kyfundawt” in the Book of Taliesin (my translation).
111. Adapted from J. Gwenogvryn Evans’s introduction to his Facsimile and Text of the Book of Taliesin.
112. “Kat Godeu” from the Book of Taliesin (my translation).
113. “Mabgyfreu Taliesin” from the Book of Taliesin (my translation).
114. Haycock, Legendary Poems from the Book of Taliesin, 243.
115. Ford, The Death of Merlin in the Chronicle of Elis Gruffudd, 379.
116. Geoffrey of Monmouth, The Life of Merlin: Vita Merlini, 33.
117. “Kanu Y Byt Mawr” from the Book of Taliesin (my translation).
118. Haycock, Legendary Poems from the Book of Taliesin, 79 and 83.